"Just try to keep us from going crazy," Rachel says, her blue eyes suddenly becoming watery.
"Of course. We will keep you stress-free." I force a smile at Adam. "Right?"
"I can be civil if you can."
"I'm always civil." I keep the smile plastered on my face so my words come out through gritted teeth.
"Saint Evie," Adam remarks, raising his glass in my direction, "patron saint of civility and frou-frou dresses."
I suck in my breath and think about the gown that Audrey Hepburn wore to the Larrabee party after her return from Paris in the movie Sabrina. It was this beautiful organdy dream made by Hubert de Givenchy. I think of the black silk thread and the flowers and the detachable train. The design of the dress usually calms me right down.
Not this time, though. Because Adam would call that dress frou-frou when it is couture as hell.
"It's a shame about you and Zoe," I say, tearing into a slice of pita bread. Rachel kicks me under the table. "What happened?"
"You know what happened," Adam replies, his teeth now gritted. It's true, I do. Rachel filled me in on the details earlier. Adam is the victim of a cheating girlfriend. I'd have more pity for him if I didn't hate him.
"Yes, but tell me again because it's just so romantic."
"That's it," Carter says in his most authoritative voice. "Both of you leave, now."
"Dude, I wasn't doing anything," Adam defends himself.
"Oh, because implying that I play dress up for a living was just so sweet and innocent," I spit back as I rise to my feet. I dig enough money out of my purse to cover my drink, the appetizer, and a tip for our waiter.
"I didn't say that exactly." Adam throws a few bills down on the table. "And even if I did, I wouldn't be wrong."
I turn on my heel and poke him in the chest with my calloused index finger. "It's not my fault that you're a miserable son of a bitch with a degree in flour."
"Says the girl that sewed her diploma together."
"It's no wonder that Zoe cheated on you," I say with forced calm. I spin around, try not to focus on how the skirt of my dress twirled right into the neighboring table's pizza, and do my best to make a dramatic exit.
Of course, the second I'm out of the restaurant, I feel terrible for what I've said. While Adam is a genuinely horrible and pompous human being, he doesn't deserve to be cheated on, let alone told that he got what was coming to him. Rachel swears that he had always seemed to be an attentive boyfriend toward Zoe.
Adam storms out the door just moments after me, his coat wrapped tight around him. He sneers at me, and I try to put on my most empathetic smile.
"Sorry for that. I'm usually not that terrible," I say in a quiet and guilt-ridden voice.
"I'll believe it when I see it," he shoots back before getting into his car and peeling out of the parking lot.
I stomp my foot. Fine. Be that way, you baking bastard.
***
"Always a pleasure, Evie," Grant says as he raises his hand for a high-five, which has become a ritual for us post-romp.
"Likewise," I reply, and smack my palm against his. He rolls over to check his phone, and I stare at the ceiling. There's a cobweb in the corner above his closet that has been growing larger and larger over the past five months. Every time I'm over, I have to stop myself from knocking it down. Grant is a grown man; he can take care of his own cobwebs. Plus, I would need a broom to knock the cobweb down and I'm not certain that Grant owns one, and I'm too afraid to ask and find out the answer.
He can also purchase his own curtains instead of hanging up a blanket in front of his window, but that didn't stop me from making him a set of curtains for his bedroom. In my defense, I had a bunch of upholstery fabric I bought at an estate sale taking up space in my living room. I'm just glad that I got them out the door without Rachel seeing; there's no way I'd ever live down that embarrassment.
"I should probably get out of here. There's a game tonight, right?" I begin to stand, but Grant grabs my hand and pulls me close to him. "Or maybe you have other ideas."
He laughs. He has a great laugh. His laugh encompasses every available space, his eyes crinkle up, and the dimple on his left cheek shows.
"You never did tell me why you came over tonight," he says, tracing an invisible circle on my arm with his finger. "I thought you had plans."
"I did, but they kind of got ruined." I decide not to mention that I was part of the reason the plans were ruined. I still feel guilty about everything that happened at dinner, and I have a sneaking suspicion that I'm going to continue to feel guilty until I properly apologize to Adam. Which means having to be in the same room as Adam, which is not something I want to think about while snuggled up to Grant. I push the thought from my head. "I'd rather be here anyway."
"And I'm glad for it," he says. "The guys have been gone all week. This place needed some livening up."
"I'm happy to have been of service," I say, raising my hand to my head in salute. The guys he speaks of are his two roommates, both also former frat guys from next door that haven't forgotten or forgiven that I'm the one that called the cops on them during Greek Week a few years ago. I'd apologize, but they were blasting "I Saw the Sign" by Ace of Base at 4 a.m. on a Tuesday. Why they chose Ace of Base as their anthem band, I'll never know. I've learned that when it comes to frat guys, it's better not to ask questions.
Grant's different, though. I mean, he was into me which right away sets him apart from the rest of his fraternity brothers.
"Do you want to stay around and watch the Preds play? I'll let you wear my jersey."
See? Totally different.
But not so different that I can handle watching a hockey game with him.
"Thanks, but I need to get back to my own place. Work on some things. Plus, do you really want me to reference The Mighty Ducks the entire time you're trying to watch the game?"
"Yeah, I don't want you here for that," he says, laughing as he leans over to kiss me.
What's so wrong with this? I mean, really? I get attention and I don't have to watch hockey. Rachel has this situation with Grant and me all wrong.
Chapter Four
I can do this. I can totally deconstruct a cathedral wedding gown circa 1987 and turn it into a modern A-line with simple but intricate bodice detail.
Gulp.
Okay. It's all about getting into the mindset. It's Sunday morning and I have nowhere to be. This is the perfect time to begin this project. I fire up my sewing playlist (yes, I have a playlist tailored - see what I did there? - to keep me focused while sewing. It's mostly film scores and the occasional show tune) and circle around the gown with a pair of scissors in my hand and a seam ripper tucked over my ear like a pencil.
Well, the butt bow has to go. That's an easy decision. I will never understand why anyone ever thought butt bows were a good idea.
I face the front of the dress and stare at the beadwork that travels from the bust all the way down into the skirt. So many fake pearls. So many iridescent sequins. So much seam ripping.
I take the gown off the dress form, grab a beer, and settle into my work.
***
"Holy hell."
I look up to see my twin brother Hank walking through my front door, his head cast down at me and the mess that is covering my living room. Rachel is on his heels, my spare key in her hand.
"It's not as bad as it looks," I say before either of them can tell me otherwise. Hank's bushy eyebrows pop up. They're the same eyebrows I would have if I didn't meticulously pluck mine. He begins to slip on the beads and Rachel grabs his arm to keep him upright. "Oh, yeah. I forgot to mention the beads on the floor. They're everywhere and completely unavoidable."
"This is why I never visit you," Hank says, carefully stepping across my living room. Rachel keeps hold of his arm until she reaches the safety of the couch. Hank stays standing, though he rests his butt on my sewing machine table. I scowl at the action, and he smiles. "Don't let Mom see you with this wedding dress. She'll have you down the aisle before you know what hit you."
"What do you want?" I ask, dropping the seam ripper into the yards of fabric in my lap. "And why did you drag Rachel into this?"
"You wouldn't answer your phone," Hanks says and, as soon as Rachel turns away from him, he presses his palms together, begging me to go along with his lie. He had no desire to visit his only sibling, he just wanted an excuse to talk to my best friend.
"Weird, I never heard it ring," I say with a smile. Torturing Hank is so easy. "You could have knocked on my door before bothering Rach."
"He wasn't bothering me," she tells me. "We both pulled in at the same time."
"Destiny," I say, my grin to the point that it can only be described as shit-eating. Hank stares back at me, his eyes an icy blue, just a shade lighter than my own. "So, what's so important, Hank?"
"A big brother can't visit his baby sister without ulterior motives?"
"You're two minutes older than me," I remind him. "And, no, you can't visit me without wanting something. What is it this time? A button? Jeans' zipper?"