Once Upon A Half-Time 2(46)

“Mandy, I know you’ve been trying hard,” she said.

I braced for it. What was it this time? Maybe she thought I was deliberately causing her problems. Maybe I wasn’t pulling my weight, or I hadn’t asked Dad to fork over another two grand for gold dust in the champagne.

“I wanted you to know…” Lindsey exhaled. “I really appreciate it.”

Wow!

I didn’t know what to say. “Oh. Well. I’m only trying to help.”

“Look, Mom gives you shit because you’re curvy, but you don’t have to go to any extremes. You’re beautiful just as you are.”

I waited for the hammer to drop and crack through the insults. Lindsey said nothing else.

My eyes welled with tears—overwhelmed and suffering from the damn hormones that had me weepy because of songs on the radio, advertisements with puppies, and, of course, a week of avoiding Nate.

“Thanks,” I said.

“And I know I’ve been a little…crazy.” She cleared her throat. “But I’m still your big sister. Do you want to tell me why you’ve been so quiet lately?”

“Qu-quiet?”

“You haven’t been yourself since last weekend at the cabin. If it’s the dance routine, honestly, you’re only bad because…well, there’s a couple reasons. Mainly, you have no rhythm, but we can fake that with alcohol at the wedding. But you also care too much about what people think.” She hesitated. “What happened with you and Nate?”

Oh, no no no. I wasn’t answering that.

“Nothing happened with me and Nate.”

“Then why did he have poison ivy too?”

I only wished the rash had spread over the troublemaker between his legs.

I was super fortunate mine had stopped above my tailbone. I couldn’t imagine the talk with my OBGYN. I was already confused enough about the pregnancy, but I was pretty sure I couldn’t split a tube of calamine lotion with the baby if I had gotten poison ivy in my womb.

“I get it, Mandy,” she said.

I wasn’t falling for it this time. “Get what?”

“You were trying to make up with Nate.”

No, I had been trying to make out with Nate, and, per my usual, we went too far.

“You’re right. We took a walk and tried to…bang everything out.”

“Did it work?”

I cleared my throat. “Well, we had a couple really good moments.”

“Really?”

“Yeah…” No sense lying. “I lost count after five.”

Lindsey’s smile warmed her words. “That’s great.”

“But I don’t think there’s any changing Nate.”

I tugged on my clothes and slipped from the dressing room. Lindsey took my dress and nodded.

“The important thing is that you’re trying to be friends for me,” she said.

The guilt coiled up nicely next to the baby. I should have been helping my sister more with her wedding, but Nate and the baby were the only problems on my mind.

And I had no idea what to do with him now that he’d rolled the entire bridal party in bed.

I expected it. I knew the type of man he was.

So why was he still chasing me? I couldn’t trust his intentions, not with my heart and definitely not with a baby on the way.

Lindsey hurried to the other bridesmaids, just in time to cover her eyes as Mom finally squeezed into her outfit.

Mom marched to the mirror in a designer, form-fitting, completely inappropriate halter dress. The dress was too much bust, not nearly enough over the booty, and came in fire-engine red. Somehow her sweater puppies matured into sweater dogs, and if she didn’t let them breathe, the entire boutique was gonna blow.

“Mom…” Lindsey’s eyes widened. “You can’t wear that.”

“And why not?”

“Because your gazongas are gigunda. Who are you trying to impress at my wedding?”

Mom spun in front of the mirror. She plucked at the material and inched it higher up her leg.

Why my mother felt the need to wear thigh-high hose, I’d never understand, but at least it wasn’t as bad as the fishnets when we met with the caterers.

“Your father is no longer buying my dress for the wedding.” Mom ran her hand over her waist. Whatever corset she wore buckled but hadn’t broken. “And I want to feel beautiful.”

“Know what’s beautiful?” Lindsey stomped her feet. “Layers!”

“What’s wrong with this?”

I bit my lip. “Well, I can see the dimples on your cheeks.”

“I don’t have dimples.”

“Not on your face, Mom.”

Mom got flustered. “Mandy, if you had it your way, I’d be going to the wedding in a parka. You’ll have to accept that your mother is a sexual being—”