Say Forever(37)

"Painting it?" Tia gasps.

"Yes," I say, puzzled by her reaction, "with little cyclamen flowers."

But Tia only stares at me with a look of horror in her wide-eyes. Marie looks away as she mumbles something in Spanish.

I lead them down the hall to the spare bedroom, which we turned into my art studio. I don't know why, but as I hear their footsteps behind me, a heaviness settles in my chest and I feel as if I'm marching to the rhythm of my own funeral.

I open the door and turn on the lights. A fan is propped up on an old dictionary in one corner of the room, blowing across the floor on full speed. The dress is laid out on the carpet, drying on top of plastic sheets.

"Aye Dios mio!" Tia shrieks.

"Red on a wedding dress?" Marie folds her arms and shakes her head. "Seems a little unorthodox."

I cock a hand on my hip and glare at her. "Good thing I'm not having an orthodox wedding."

Tia splays one hand across her heart and gapes at the dress with a slackened jaw. "How do I explain this to our priest?"

"He's not going to like it," Marie snickers.

"What priest?" I ask. Andrés and I have only gone to his family's church once, and that was for a baptism of one of his cousins. I vaguely remember meeting the priest.

Tia backs up a step, bumping into the door frame and then clutching it like a lifeline. "Don't tell me you're not having Father Navarro marry you."

"Are you even a Catholic?" Marie asks.

My gaze sweeps from Tia to Marie, and I get this sinking feeling in my gut. Why are they turning this wedding dress into a criminal interrogation? "My parents never took me to church."

Tia makes a sign of the cross and then clasps her hands in a prayer pose.

Marie waves a hand at me like she's shooing away a fly. "I don't think Father Navarro can marry her, anyway."

Tia purses her lips and regards me for a long moment. "There might be time to make you a Catholic before the wedding."

Make me a Catholic? "I'm not really into organized religion."

"This is not how I envisioned Andrés's wedding." Tia's shoulders fall as she sulks out of the room.

I follow her, the sound of Marie's laughter ringing at my heels. "My mom said she's hiring a minister. It will still be a Christian wedding."

"Yes, but it's not the same," Marie says behind me.

Tia nods toward Marie. "I'll talk to Father Navarro and see if there's anything that can be done." Then she gives me the once over, scowling at me all the way down to my toes. "I was about your size when I got married. I bet my dress will fit you."

My chest tightens. I have given up so much already. I am not giving up my dress. "I like my dress. Once it's finished it will be pretty."

Tia wags a finger at me, scowling. "Red flowers on a bridal gown? Do you know what that means?"

I shrug. "To me, the flowers represent love." Somehow, I don't think I'm going to like Tia's interpretation.

Tia looks at me with sorrowful eyes as if she's about to tell me I've got some incurable disease.

"It's like waving a red flag around announcing to everyone you're pregnant." Tia throws up her hands. "It means you're soiled."

I jerk back, feeling her verbal rebuke like a slap to the face. "I love those flowers."

Marie eyes me coolly. "Is there any way you can change the colors?"

I clench my hands and square my shoulders. There is no way they are interfering with my dress. No way. "It's permanent paint."

Tia waves me off with a flick of the wrist. "I'll bring my dress over tomorrow. Hopefully it will fit. And don't forget to call your mom about the caterer." She holds up her fingers and starts counting off orders. "Tell her we will handle the food. Also, we'll get the band. Better yet, give me your mom's number, and I'll call her."

I'm pretty sure my jaw hits the floor at this point. Tia didn't come over here to see my dress. She came over to assert control over my wedding. Anger boils up inside me and I swear my ears are going to start shooting steam any moment. Just as I'm about to give Tia a piece of my mind, Marie cuts me off.

"I need to use your bathroom."

I've gone numb from shock and anger, and I rigidly direct her to the bathroom in our bedroom. I think about taking her into the guest bathroom, but the sink is full of paints, and I know she'd love to make a snide comment about the mess.

I cringe when we walk inside my bedroom. Andrés's socks and underwear are balled up on the floor and the bed isn't made. I'm sure she'll report back to Tia that my bedroom is sloppy, too. Without saying a word, I point to the bathroom door next to my dresser and turn to leave.

"So when are you due?"