On the Rocks (23 page)

“Gee, you’re the best mom in the whole world.”

“I know you’re being sarcastic, but let me remind you that I am your mother. It’s not my job to make you feel better about yourself. It’s my job to tell you the truth.”

The sick thing is, she actually believed that.

“I’m almost ready!” Katie chirped from behind her velvet curtain. “I can’t wait for you guys to see how amazing this dress is!” I found it hysterical that Katie got herself a designer gown and threw me in a giant pink garbage bag. Just in case I wasn’t self-conscious enough as it was. Bobby was right. Bridesmaids probably were supremely easy targets.

“What are you wearing to the wedding anyway?” I asked my mom, trying to change the topic of conversation.

“I’m not telling anyone. I want it to be a surprise.”

“Why? You’re not the bride. Don’t you think keeping your dress a secret is a little bizarre?”

“Abby, I’ve been working hard to look my best for this wedding because I’m planning on actually being able to walk down the aisle this time, and I care what people think of me. I want to dazzle everyone!”

“You’re right. How insensitive of me. I’m so sorry that my fiancé broke up with me and denied you the chance to waltz down the aisle.”

“Oh, stop being ridiculous. It’s not about me,” she said. “I do want to ask you, though, how do I look? I haven’t seen you in over a month, and I’ve been getting these resurfacing facials. They’re supposed to take years off your complexion. What do you think? Don’t you see a difference?” She spun around and placed one hand on her hip like she was posing for some geriatric pageant judges. My mother’s obsession with youth was going to bankrupt her. She had had her entire body nipped, tucked, sucked, and pinned so tightly it was a wonder she could move. If she knew where to find one of those hyperbaric sleeping chambers Michael Jackson had, she’d probably put one in the living room.

“You can definitely see a difference, Mom. You always look great,” I replied without even looking at her. I knew it was what she wanted to hear, and because I loved her despite all her flaws, I wanted to give her an honest compliment. I only wished that just once she could bring herself to return the favor.

“Thank you, Abby. That’s nice to hear,” she said as she turned to face the mirror.

“Okay, are you guys ready?” Katie asked, thankfully putting an end to our conversation.

“We’re ready. Come on out, Katie,” I said.
Hold it together when you see her,
I ordered myself.
You’re her older sister, and it’s your job to hold it together.
I would not allow myself to ruin this experience for her. I would not allow Ben to turn me into a horrible sister on top of everything else.

She threw the curtains aside, and my mouth dropped at the sight of her. She smoothed the skirt over her midsection and held her arms straight out to the side as she turned so we could see the intricately sewn satin-covered buttons running down the back. It was beautiful. It was perfect. It was stunning.

It was mine.

“So what do you guys think? It’s just gorgeous, isn’t it? I can’t wait for Charlie to see me in this!”

My mother eyed her critically. “The dress is beautiful, Katie. I’m just wondering, are you sure you’re tall enough for a train that long?” she asked.

“Yes! It’s exactly what I’ve always wanted,” Katie squealed with the kind of joy only impending brides can feel.

“And you don’t think it makes you look like a giant marshmallow? The skirt is rather full, darling, and the last thing a woman needs is extra fabric around the hips.”

“It’s a wedding dress, Mom. The skirt’s supposed to be full,” Katie replied, gritting her newly bleached teeth.

“Turn around,” my mother ordered as Katie turned to reveal the satin buttons running down the length of the dress. “It’s a lovely dress, but if you want to wear strapless, I think you should start doing some exercises for your back and your shoulders. You know, girls forget that when they’re on the altar everyone will be staring at their back, and you don’t want those little rolls to be spilling over the top,” Mommy Dearest said.

“Do you think it would be
possible
for you to just say something nice for once in your life without the added criticism? Can’t you just say, ‘The dress is lovely,’ and then shut your mouth?” Katie snapped.

“Why my daughters have to be so mean to me, I just don’t understand. I’m only trying to help.”

“Abby, what do you think? Say something,” Katie said as she turned to me, hoping that I’d be the relative who’d tell her how unequivocally beautiful she looked in her dress.

Unfortunately, today was just not her day.

“Take it off. Take it off right now,” I said, feeling beads of sweat run down my back.

“Huh?” she asked, understandably confused.

“What part of ‘Take it off’ is hard for you to understand? Take it off, now.”

“Why? Is there something wrong with it?” she asked nervously as she turned to make sure there wasn’t some kind of flaw on the train.

“What’s wrong with it is that it’s
my
dress,” I said, the same way a three-year-old does when another kid takes her pail in the sandbox.

“I don’t get it,” Katie said, shaking her head, still confused.

“That’s my wedding dress,” I informed her.

“Umm, last time I checked you never got married, so you never had a wedding dress,” she snapped.

That was low,
I thought.
It was accurate
,
but it was still low.

“That’s the dress I was going to buy. That’s the dress I was wearing when Ben broke up with me. You are not wearing that dress. You can wear any other dress in this entire store, in the entire world, but you cannot wear that one.”

“Oh my God. This is the dress you were going to buy? I never got a chance to see it,” Katie said as she placed her hand over her heart. For a second, I hoped she’d feel some compassion and immediately agree that she should buy something else.

“Well, now you have, and I’m sorry, but it’s just too . . . painful to see you in that. You can’t wear it.”

“So, I’m basically . . . you?”

“Yes. Take it off,” I repeated. I could not for the life of me understand why, despite the fact that I had told her to ditch the dress multiple times, she was still wearing it.

“Don’t you think it’s kind of poetic? I fell in love with this dress the second I saw it. Maybe that’s why! Maybe that sisterly bond we have was telling me that if you couldn’t wear it, then I should. To
honor
you.”

“On what Earth do you think this is honoring me? This is not honoring me, this is torturing me! I moved past you buying the same sweater I had when we were in high school, and the same exact boots that I got when I was a freshman in college, but I draw the line here. You are not going to copy my wedding dress. Take it off. Now.”

“I absolutely will not. You’re insane.”

Yup. I most certainly was. And I couldn’t have cared less. So much for sisterly compassion.

“I will not let you impersonate me! That’s my Vera, and if I’m not going to wear it, you sure as hell aren’t!” I shrieked as I lunged at her and tried to force her to spin around so that I could undo the zipper.

“Oh my God! Get off of me! What the hell is the matter with you?” she yelled as she tried to swat my hands away. I didn’t let go of her (correction:
my
) dress as we screamed loudly enough for people outside the fitting room to hear us. If there had been any doubt that I was no longer welcome in this store, it was gone.

“Mom, do something! She’s gone totally mad!” Katie screamed as she tried to pry my hands off the dress.

“Girls, stop that,” my mom said as she moved a single piece of hair off her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. “You’re causing a scene. People can hear you!”

Katie pushed me, and I stumbled backward until I bounced off the wall behind me. Oddly enough, the dressing rooms weren’t large enough for physical altercations with loved ones while trying on designer gowns. You’d think no one had ever got into a fistfight in Vera Wang before. I lunged at her again, grabbed the back of the dress, and before I knew what happened, I had pulled her down on the floor, and we were wrestling as I literally tried to rip the clothes off her annoyingly skinny body.

“Girls,” my mother hissed. “Stop it! You’re embarrassing me.”

Then we heard a noise that froze both of us instantly: the undeniable sound of fabric ripping. It’s a noise every woman knows and never wants to hear, especially when she’s wearing a wedding dress.

“Oh my God,” Katie said as she turned as white as the satin she was lying in.

“Okay, maybe it’s not that bad. I’m sure it’s nothing. Just a little snag,” I said, trying to catch my breath and hoping that if I spoke calmly, Katie wouldn’t go completely ballistic.

I slowly helped Katie to her feet and gasped when I realized that the skirt had been partially ripped from the bodice.

“Is everything okay in there?” a saleslady asked from outside the fitting room.

“Yes, fine, fine,” our mother said airily. “Just a minor sisterly squabble.”

“I realize this might look bad,” I said as Katie stared in horror at the dress wreckage. At that moment, she was a real-life Cinderella, right after the crazy stepsisters ripped her to shreds. At least I felt bad about it. I wasn’t a total bitch.

“What the hell is wrong with both of you?” Katie screeched as she burst into tears. “My only sister just attacked me and tore a hole in my wedding dress, and all my mother cares about is that the salespeople might hear us? We are the most dysfunctional family in America!”

“Relax, sweetheart,” my mother said. “If the dress was going to rip, it’s best it happened here. There are seamstresses everywhere.”

“You ruined my dress,” Katie said through clenched teeth as she took a step toward me. I backed away so that my back was against the wall. Literally and figuratively.

“Hey, I didn’t ruin it,” I said, coming back to earth from my momentary trip to crazy town. “This is so very, very fixable.”

“My own sister just tackled me in my wedding dress.”

“I admit that may have been a bit extreme. I just . . . I don’t know . . . I saw it . . . and what are the odds of you. . . .” I didn’t see the smack coming, but I felt it when she cracked the right side of my face. Hard. Tears automatically filled my eyes, and my cheek burned from the impact. My first instinct was to hit her back, but I figured I had done enough damage to our relationship for one afternoon.

“You’re my maid of honor,” she cried. She was stunned, and embarrassed, and crying. I had felt pretty bad about myself for most of the last year, but it was nothing compared to how I felt now, standing next to my sister in that dressing room. At that moment, I didn’t just feel bad about myself, I actually hated myself, and I couldn’t blame Katie for hating me too.

“I think we need some help in here,” I called out into the salon. We desperately needed help. We needed a team of psychiatrists and anger management specialists. But for starters, a seamstress would have to do.

“Oh my God, what happened here?” the seamstress asked as she examined the gaping hole, the skirt attached to the bodice by mere threads. Apparently, the seamstress and the saleswoman had been lingering outside the dressing room as they materialized the instant I called for help.

“My ill-mannered daughters mistook your dressing room for the WWF ring. That’s what happened. Honestly, girls, it’s as if no one taught you how to behave in public. Can I have some more champagne, sweetie?” my mom said, holding out her glass to the understandably shocked sales associate.

“I think maybe I should go,” I whispered, the realization of what I had just been reduced to, and what I had done to my sister, finally sinking in.

“I’ll never forgive you for this, Abby. Not for as long as I live.”

“That makes two of us, Katie,” I said. And for the second and hopefully last time, I left Vera Wang in tears.

I went directly to the grocery store and bought some ice cream to bring to Grace. We sat on the couch for hours as she cried and talked about how important her relationship with Johnny really was to her, trying to rationalize what had happened and make peace with the fact that the road to getting what she wanted had left some casualties along the way. As hard as it is when you’re the one who ends up hurt, it’s even worse when you realize that you’re the one hurting other people. I lay on the couch with her and tried to cheer her up while knowing that I had just hit my own personal rock bottom. There was no way I could possibly have felt worse about myself than I did sitting on Grace’s couch with a swollen face and a heavy heart.

Hours later I went home and stared out the window, trying to figure out why both Grace and I faced such challenges in the love department. I was too ashamed to tell Grace what I had done, and I felt so badly about myself, I decided to do the smart thing and make myself feel even worse.

You around?

Hey you. How was your day?

Traumatizing. Katie got my wedding dress. She’s going to be married in the dress I was going to be married in . . . assuming they can fix it.

I’m sorry. I’m sure you’d have looked better in it.

Especially considering I attacked her and ripped it, yeah, probably.

You ripped it?

What have you done to me?

I don’t get it.

That doesn’t surprise me. You never did.

I had felt pretty bad for most of the last year, but when I crawled into bed that night, I felt like the worst person on earth. It was time to stop playing the “poor pitiful me” card. After today, it was pretty clear that I deserved everything I got.

Chapter 15

Real Men Wear Pink

I
WENT BACK
to the beach and tried to figure out how to handle the fact that I freaked out on my innocent sister and her even more innocent dress. It took a lot of apologizing to Katie’s voicemail and begging for forgiveness to get her to speak to me again, not to mention two bouquets of flowers and a gift certificate for a pre-wedding facial. I didn’t blame her for being angry with me—hell, I would probably never have spoken to me again—but I had one thing working in my favor, and she and I both knew it. She needed me to control our mother on the quickly approaching wedding day. Granted, that was nearly impossible, but someone had to at least try. And for that, she’d forgive me for just about anything.