Purity (13 page)

I wouldn’t say it out loud, but to be honest, I don’t really want to think about me and Ben Simmons, either—especially when Anna slides back in beside Jonas and I remember that she and Ben hooked up once. I’ll be kissing the same lips Anna Clemens did. That’s just wrong.

But what choice do I have?

Monday morning, when I trudge downstairs in my pajamas, my breath catches in my throat.

Sitting in our dilapidated living room is my dad’s sister, my aunt Kaycee. She’s wearing a short skirt and a cowboy hat. Because, you know, she’s going to wrangle some cattle in those designer alligator-print sandals. Her face is caked in makeup and bears evidence of at least one or two plastic surgeries, and I’m pretty sure the itty-bitty designer handbag she’s carrying probably cost more than most cars.

“Hey, Shel! Are you ready to go dress shopping?” she near-shouts.

“Oh no,” I say before I can stop myself.

“Shelby? Is that you?” I hear my dad call from the kitchen over the sound of running water. He steps out, drying an ancient plastic cup that says
Myrtle Beach
on the side. He’s grinning. “I thought Kaycee could go dress shopping with you today. You know, to help you out and stuff.” His good intentions, clearly based on our conversation post–cake tasting, are laid out on his face. Part of me wants to slap them away. Especially when Kaycee bounces on her heels like a
person in her teens, not forties.
Promise One
, I chant to myself.
Love and listen to Dad. Promise One.
I have to do it.

“Come on, girl! It’ll be a blast. We can even get smoothies afterward—I’m on day four of my carb-sugar-fat cleanse so I’m allowed
anything
with organic strawberries now!” Kaycee says enthusiastically. Dad gives me a hopeful look. This Princess Ball is making Promise One very, very hard to keep.

“Mind if I bring some friends along?” I ask.

“Sure! The more the merrier,” Kaycee says. Is she drunk? I think she might be drunk. Surely no one is this happy about dress shopping without some sort of alcoholic assistance.

I run upstairs and dial Ruby and Jonas.

I have a feeling the desperation in my voice persuaded them to hurry, because within thirty minutes they’ve arrived together in Lucinda. Soon after, Ruby is applying her eyeliner in the back of Kaycee’s sedan as we race toward Four Corners Mall.

“Be careful with that makeup, Reba,” Kaycee says warily. “I just got this whole thing detailed.”

“Ruby,” I correct her. Kaycee doesn’t seem to hear me. When we exit the car, Kaycee glances back at the seat Ruby was sitting in, as if she expects to find giant streaks of Maybelline on them.

“Shoot, someone hold my keys? They don’t fit in my clutch,” Kaycee says, holding up the tiny sparkly purse she’s carrying. Ruby rolls her eyes and allows Kaycee to drop the keys, complete with key chains bearing beads, rubber ducks, and
New Orleans 05!
, into her palm.

Sending Aunt Kaycee to pick out a dress for a virgin ball seems a little bit like sending a wolf to host a sheep’s birthday party. She sweeps into the formal-gown section of Macy’s like the grand duchess of style and begins pulling dresses off racks so quickly that soon she’s hidden behind a mountain of taffeta. Ruby and Jonas look scared, like I’ve just led them into a war zone.

“That’s the eleventh pink dress she’s picked up,” Jonas mutters in amazement. The store is organized by color and, much to Kaycee’s delight, seems to have an extensive collection of dresses befitting Tropical Barbie.

“All the girls in the brochure were wearing white, weren’t they? Didn’t your mom wear white to it?” Ruby asks as Kaycee finds the turquoise dresses with a delighted squeal.

“Kaycee doesn’t like white,” I say. “She
and
her bridesmaids wore sunshine yellow to her second wedding. But I’ll admit, I do sorta want to see everyone’s faces when I show up in lime green.”

“Good point,” Jonas says. “Make sure you take a picture for me. Hey, do you think if we formed a ‘Ban Kaycee Reaver from Ridgebrook’ committee, your dad would join it?”

I smile just a little and answer, “I’ll happily be committee president either way—”

“Shelby! Here, they’re gonna put these in a room for you. Go ahead and start trying them on while I grab a few more!” Kaycee shouts from across the racks of dresses. I give her a thumbs-up and giggle with Jonas and Ruby as soon as Kaycee turns her back.

“Just give me whichever monstrosity you end up with,” Ruby suggests. “I can probably make it wearable.”

“Shelby? Hey!” a voice cries out. I turn to see Mona Banks heading toward me, detouring around circular racks of clothing. It takes her ages to actually reach me.

“Hey, Mona,” Jonas says.

“And Ruby, right?” Mona says, nodding in Ruby’s direction. “I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“It’s a shame, isn’t it?” Ruby answers, though I’m not sure if she means the amount of time they haven’t seen each other is a shame, or the fact that they have seen each other again is a shame. From the snarky expression on Ruby’s face, I’d say the latter.

“Shopping for your ball gown?” Mona asks.

“Something like that,” I say.

“Awesome! My mom and I thought we should hit the stores up early, just in case we need to order one online or have it cut down or something. Or we might just have one custom made!”

“Yeah, of course. You want it to be perfect,” I say. Behind her, Mona’s mother is floating around the white dresses, pulling them out, fiddling with the beads, putting them back. She’s doing so with such care and affection that it’s hard to find it too irritating.

“Do you know what kind of jewelry you’re going to wear?” Mona asks, looking over her shoulder at her mom.

“Not a clue. I hadn’t really thought about it,” I answer.

“My mom wants me to wear these pearls she has—they
were her mother’s. But seriously, Shelby, they make me look like an old woman. I want to wear something cute!”

“I’m sure they look fine,” I say a little tersely. “Good luck finding a dress. Let me know what you chose?”

“Sure thing,” Mona says, and bounds off after her mother.

“Do you suppose they make a medication for whatever it is she’s got?” Jonas asks.

“If so, I’d like it in tranquilizer-dart form,” I answer as I make my way toward the dressing rooms. This store has only two dressing rooms in the formal-wear department, each with ridiculous circular platforms in the center. Lucky for me, they back up to each other and thus the doors are on opposite sides; if Mona’s mother saw the dresses Kaycee was bringing in for me, she’d have a conniption.

“I can’t believe
she’s
taking a virgin vow seriously,” Ruby comments as we reach the dressing room. “She always struck me as the naughty-little-church-girl type, sans the plaid skirt.” Ruby and Jonas sink down in chairs just outside the door, Ruby kicking her legs up and over the side. A store clerk gives her a dirty look, which Ruby ignores.

“She’s not taking it seriously,” I say quietly. “In fact, I’d say I’m the only one who
is
.”

“You’re only taking it seriously because of the Promises,” Jonas says.

“Yeah, but at least I’m taking it seriously,” I mutter.

I duck into the dressing room. My gown options are hanging on all the walls. It looks like a chiffon factory threw up in
here. I wonder what dresses Mom would have picked out for me. Tasteful, white, classy, I suppose. We’d be here making fun of her own dress’s puffy sleeves, or laughing about the
Star Wars
cake story I’d have told her as soon as Dad and I got home. Of course, if she were alive, there’d be no Promises, and I wouldn’t care about some vows at a stupid dance. I’d pick out a dress and go through the motions and be perfectly happy about it.

It’d be so much easier.

I slide my sundress off and pull the nearest dress off the rack—a cyan-colored number that fluffs out so far from my body that I could probably smuggle Ruby and Jonas into the ball underneath it. I step out; Ruby’s and Jonas’s expressions say it all. I go back into the dressing room and give another dress a shot, this one a sort of lavender.

“I look like a cupcake,” I mutter as I step outside.

Jonas snorts. I return to the room.

Seventeen dresses later, I’m down to the orange gowns, which I’m pretty sure flatter
any
ethnicity other than alabaster white. Kaycee offers assistance on a few, but considering her advice that “magenta is
the
color for the Crewe family,” I’m pretty sure I can’t trust a thing she says. The last dress is a bright orange shade that one usually only sees on traffic cones.

Ruby cringes when I step outside. “Holy neons, Batman. Shelby, if you wear that, I will never speak to you again. In fact, I’ll light you
and
the dress on fire, then leave and never speak to you again.”

“This sucks,” I answer, slipping back into the dressing room and slamming the door.

“Don’t go away mad. Just go away and change,” Jonas says, laughing.

I tear the tangerine gown off my body like it’s attacking me and kick it to the side. I can hear Mona giggling through the changing-room wall, then her mother’s voice, just like Mona’s, only without the bubblicious sound.

Fun, sugary Mona, dress shopping with her mom. It must be nice, having a mom to go dress shopping with. Instead I’ve got an aunt who wants to dress me like a mojito. What is she going to do if I ever get married? Am I doomed to wear a pineapple on my head, surrounded by fuchsia-clad bridesmaids? I would do that to make Mom happy, but my willingness doesn’t extend to Kaycee.

For a moment, a horrible moment, I’m angry at Mom. I’ve been angry with her before, of course—for dying, but I’ve never been angry with her for the Promises. The Promises have always guided me, helped me, but now they’re hurting me. They’re making me stand in this dressing room, making me vow to Dad, making me participate in this stupid ball, and they’re all her fault. She made me promise—she made me promise when she knew I couldn’t say no.

I flash back to her in the hospital bed, the papery feeling of her fingers, the desperation in her eyes. She knew she was going to die, I know that now. She knew the end was near, and she didn’t tell me. She just made me promise. The Promises were more important than telling me she was dying; the Promises were her good-bye.

I have to keep them. I hate that I have to keep them. I
inhale, swallowing the feeling of dough rising in my throat. I have to keep them.

“Shelby?” Kaycee calls just as I emerge from the dressing room. “Which one did you like?”

“Whatever,” I say, walking toward the cash registers. “I’ll get whatever one was your favorite.”

“Personally,” Kaycee says, pausing like a game-show host about to reveal fabulous prizes, “I just adore the pale bluey-green one. What’s the color called? Ocean fiesta?”

I don’t answer. Kaycee shrugs and throws the dress on the counter, loudly proclaiming that she’s a longtime customer and has a frequent-shopper card.

“So, Shelby, I was thinking we could go to a few more stores—I’ve got a little shopping of my own to do….”

“I have a headache. Can we go home?” I ask bluntly.

“Oh, but Macy’s is having a shoe blowout! Just a little longer? Do you want to go wait in the car?” Kaycee asks, eyes widening like I’ve just kicked her favorite puppy.

“Sure,” I mutter. Kaycee makes a
squee
noise that actually
does
give me a small headache and begins talking about stilettos versus wedges with the woman behind the counter. I turn sharply and walk away. Ruby and Jonas are fast on my heels.

“We should scratch ‘Ocean fiesta is the shade of whores’ in the side of her car,” Ruby suggests.

“Sounds good,” I mumble over my shoulder, deftly avoiding a pack of women with strollers by slipping through the purse section.

Ruby falls silent; Jonas’s turn. In true Jonas fashion, he doesn’t speak. Instead, as I weave through the ladies’ gloves section, he reaches forward and hooks his arm through mine.

We reach Kaycee’s car in silence. I climb into the driver’s seat and crank the AC up, waiting anxiously for the warm air in the vents to become icy cool, while Ruby and Jonas sprawl out in the back, doors open so the heat inside the car can escape.

“You know,” Jonas finally says, his voice edged with relief as the cold air begins to flow toward the back of the car, “I’m beginning to think your dad is adopted. No way he’s related to Kaycee.”

“Well,” I say, “there’s always the possibility that Kaycee was kidnapped and raised by drag queens or exotic dancers.”

“No one should love sequins that much.” Ruby nods sagely. She scans the parking lot and her face lights up. “Ooh, Shelby, there’s a 7-Eleven over there, past that exit ramp! We should go get Slurpees.”

“You’re suggesting we walk across a five-lane highway for colored corn syrup and ice?” Jonas asks.

“No,” Ruby says, “I’m suggesting we
drive
.”

I adjust the rearview mirror so I can give Ruby a surprised look.

“Come on, we don’t even have to tell Stripperella,” Ruby continues. “We’ll just go over there real fast and be back before she’s out of her shoe coma. It’ll take, like, five minutes, tops.”