Becky steps up to me and takes my shoulders. "Do you think it covers too much?"
Since I'm the only bridesmaid, Becky decided she'd wait until I came into town before we picked out my bridesmaid dress. I secretly love that she's laidback enough to let me buy something off the rack for her big day.
Dad grunts. "If it were up to me, it would cover more."
Becky rolls her eyes. "She's a beautiful young woman, Eddy."
Dad makes a face and steps back, relinquishing control of the wardrobe decisions to his bride-to-be. I love that she calls him Eddy. Everyone-including my mom-has called my dad Edward for as long as I can remember. Occasionally someone will call him Ed, but I sincerely doubt anyone before Becky Dupree ever had the balls to call him Eddy.
I turn to the wall of mirrors to study myself. The simple black sheath dress is long and three-quarter-sleeved. It covers all my tattoos except the ivy on my shoulder blades. If I didn't already love Becky, I would love her now for giving me an opportunity to object to covering so much skin.
But this dress isn't about Becky wanting me covered up. She's never been like that. In fact, when she met me last October, I think she was downright delighted by my then-pink hair, crazy wardrobe, and loud personality. She's never made me feel like I need to tone myself down or cover myself up, and now she's doing what she does best with me-making it absolutely clear that she's not asking me to do it for her wedding, either.
"I think it's nice." It's gorgeous, but I'd have been happy to wear something that was less my style, as long as it wasn't God-awful lavender or bubblegum pink or covered with that itchy lace that makes my skin all red and blotchy.
Dad nods. "I'm glad my girls agree." He kisses Becky's forehead. "You have my credit card. I'll be in the golf pro shop when you need me. Take your time."
Becky watches him go before turning back to me with a sweet smile. "Thanks for not giving your dad a hard time about this summer. We appreciate you agreeing to stay with Dash."
"It's not a big deal." I shift awkwardly. I don't want to talk about my summer plans, and I definitely don't want Becky psychoanalyzing my motivations for them. Dad asked me to stay with my stepbrother because he thinks I need a babysitter. I agreed because I don't want to live in Champagne, Texas.
"I told Eddy you're a big girl and you can stay at the house by yourself. I don't want you to think we were worried you were going to throw wild parties or something. But you know your dad. You'll always be his baby girl, and he couldn't stand the idea of you being alone here with no one around to watch out for you."
"Come on." I grin and nudge my soon-to-be stepmother. "Who wouldn't want to stay in rural Indiana for a wild summer while they're in college? Isn't that on every girl's bucket list?"
Becky laughs. "Blackhawk Valley is really pretty. I've seen it for myself. And Dash has a nice group of friends there. But it's no New York."
"Are you sure Dash doesn't mind me staying with him?" I already asked Dad this same question, and he was all, "Why would he mind? Are you planning to make his life difficult? Make yourself useful, and no one will ever mind having you around." The conversation ended there.
"I'm sure," Becky says. "I'd feel bad for asking the favor, but I think you two will get along."
I don't know much about my future stepbrother, and I haven't bothered finding out more. I know he's a football player, which is a strike against him, but not all guys who play football are assholes. Or so they tell me.
He's Becky's son, which is a mark in his favor, because Becky is one of the best people I've ever met in my life. Not only does she make my dad happy-which I honestly didn't think was possible-but she's also really fun to be around, and her goodness shines right through her smile.
But the primary mark in Dash's favor is that he doesn't live in Champagne, Texas, and on my list of requirements for summer housing, "Not Champagne" is number one. If my stepbrother is going to be my ticket out of the armpit of Texas for the summer, he's all right by me.
"I'll stay out of his way," I promise. "I don't want him to feel like I'm interrupting his life."
"He won't feel that way at all," she says. "Dash is a good boy and always has been. He's helpful and does what he's asked."
I swallow back a gag and paste on a smile. I don't want to spend my summer with an asshole by any means, but if he's half as sweet as his mom makes him out to be, I might fall into a coma from boredom before I even make it back to the city.
"He's sweet and thoughtful, too," she adds.
"He must get that from you."
"Ha!" She bumps my shoulder with one of hers. "I wish I could take credit for it, but I was just a single mom trying to get by. I think that's the way he was born. I really wish you would have come home to meet him this spring. He's excited to get to know you."
"Sorry about that." I shift my gaze to the sheer hem that lands above my knees. "I couldn't justify the time away from school." I turn around to avoid her eyes. "Would you mind unzipping me?"
She lowers the zipper halfway. "You'll get to meet him soon. He flies in tonight, but your dad said you already have plans?"
"I'm staying with Willow," I tell her. "But I promised Dad I'd be home in the morning so we could all have breakfast together."
"That sounds wonderful. I'll make pancakes." She grins, and I slip back into the dressing room.
When I've changed back into my clothes-distressed jeans and a strapless pink top-Becky's waiting for me at the register, chatting with a bright-eyed blonde. When I put the dress on the counter, the blonde looks at me and her eyes light up with recognition.
"I know you," she says. "Gee-Gee, right?"
My "friends" at the coffee shop today notwithstanding, I haven't been called Gee-Gee since I was fourteen. Hearing the name makes the acid churn in my belly. I lift my chin. "I go by Grace now."
"Oh my God! Your stutter is, like, all gone. That's amazing. I heard you were here last summer but I never saw you. You, like, totally disappeared after . . ." She shifts her gaze to Becky, then drops it to the counter before meeting my eyes again.
"We had to move for Dad's job," I lie. Even if a career move for Dad was the excuse we used, everyone knew why we moved after that night. If Dad hadn't wanted to come back here when he took an early retirement, I never would have returned. But he's a Texas guy at heart, and this is where he belongs.
I stare at the girl's hands, willing her to move faster so we can pay for the dress and get out of here.
She doesn't move, and when I look up, she's staring at me and chewing on the corner of her lip. Is she wishing me dead, like so many other girls did back then, or is she trying to work up the courage to ask if I started a career as a call girl? A couple of people asked me that while I was here last summer. Apparently it was a rumor that circulated for a while.
God, I hate this town.
"Do you take Visa?" Becky asks.
"Oh, yeah. Sure we do." The girl snaps out of her inspection and gets busy ringing up the sale.
When we leave the store, Becky is too quiet, and she stops at a Starbucks kiosk in the center of the mall. "Do you want anything?" she asks.
"La-la-" Fuck. I take a breath and count out the syllables in my head before speaking them. "Latte with four pumps of caramel."
She's studying me. She doesn't ask if I'm okay or to explain what the cashier was talking about. I could count on one hand the number of days I've spent with Becky, but sometimes it feels like she sees me more clearly than my father ever did.
Right now, I wish she were as oblivious as everyone else.
"Oh, my God! Grace Lee! My favorite girl!" Willow Myers steps out into the dark, rainy night and wraps me in a hug so tight I can barely breathe.
"I missed you." I squeeze her back.
There's the kind of friend who makes you smile, who you always know you'll have a good time hanging with, one you can count on for a laugh and a drink after an exam sucked the life out of you. And then there's the kind of friend who knows you inside and out, who knows the secrets you never imagined sharing with anyone, who knows your ugliest pieces and parts and still thinks you're beautiful. That's Willow for me.
"I missed you too. Let's get out of this rain." She tugs me inside her parents' three-story brick home.