If You Only Knew
Page 117

“I...I guess so.”
“Great. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. This is going to be fine, Kimber. Trust me.”
I shower faster than a cat and put on the pale yellow dress I planned to wear to their wedding. Err on the side of hope, I always think. That philosophy hasn’t always worked out—Leo, anyone?—but I can’t seem to help it.
I haven’t seen Leo since Evander’s recital. I sent Andreas over to my apartment to pick up a few things, but Leo didn’t seem to be home. Mrs. James did call me to thank me for befriending her son. Yes, Evander got into the Juilliard program. Not that I had any doubts.
I wonder how Leo is doing.
For a second, I can’t seem to straighten up.
Yearning snatches at me, startling in its hunger.
I miss him so much.
But I promised him he didn’t break my heart, and so I summon a memory of his breathtaking, transformative smile and swallow hard. I loved our short time together. It made me very happy. I laughed a lot when I was with Leo, and so did he.
So I wipe my eyes and pull my hair up into a ponytail. I may have to be at my sewing machine, after all. I have a bride to comfort and a job to do.
Kimber is waiting at Bliss when I arrive, the huge dress bag draped over her arm. Her eyes are red.
Her mother is with her. Dorothy doesn’t quite meet my eyes, and her face is tight with anxiety. She twists the hem of her shirt—the same nervous gesture she used that day in the supply closet.
For a flash, I can picture them, Dorothy and my beloved dad. The memory is so acute that I can almost smell his aftershave and hear the rain that poured from the sky that day.
“Come on in,” I say.
“I can’t go through with this,” Kimber begins.
“Well, let’s talk about it inside. Come on. I’ll put on some coffee.”
It’s too early for customers; we open at ten on Saturdays. Andreas isn’t here yet—have I mentioned how early it is?—so the shop is ours.
Kimber and Dorothy follow me into the dressing room, and I busy myself making coffee. “Gorgeous weather,” I comment mildly, and Kimber bursts into tears.
Ah, brides. I hand her a box of tissues and a cup of coffee and sit down next to her. “So what’s going on?”
Kimber doesn’t answer, she’s crying so hard. I rub her back and look at her mother.
“Last night was horrible,” Dorothy says. “That dried-up old hag kept sticking it to poor Kimber every chance she got. But she’s like a stealth bomber or something. Subtle and mean and polite at the same time.”
“Yeah, I’ve known her my whole life. She’s good at that.”
Dorothy looks grateful for the camaraderie. “So anyways, Kimber tried on the dress this morning and just lost it.”
Kimber blows her nose. “I want her to like me,” she says wetly.
“She won’t,” I say. “She doesn’t like anyone.”
“I tried so hard,” Kimber says with a hitching breath. “I mean, Jared’s her only son, and I know I’m not good enough for him—”
“Oh, please. He’s so happy with you.”
Kimber’s mouth wobbles. “I saw myself in that dress, and I just knew...I’ll never fit into his world.”
I look at her, this pretty, lively girl who grew up without a dad, who once wore my hand-me-downs. Who lights up a room by walking in, and who won over a confirmed bachelor by singing a song. “Oh, Kimber,” I say with a smile. “You are his world.”
Dorothy’s face softens.
“And really,” I continue, “are you going to leave him to deal with that dragon all by himself? I thought you loved him!”
“I do!” Kimber says. “I love him so much I can’t believe it’s real. I never knew I could feel so happy. All I want is to be with him, but his mother is going to make our life miserable, and nothing I do will be enough.”
“You’re absolutely right. It won’t be enough for her. It’ll be more than enough for Jared. And she’s not going to like you, Kimber. But she might respect you.”
“That’s exactly what I was telling her,” Dorothy says.
I look at Dorothy. “Kids. They never believe their own moms.”
Dorothy smiles at me, a little uncertainly.
“Come on,” I say, standing up. “Try on the dress for me, and let’s see what we can do to sex it up a bit. Because Kimber...you’re going to the chapel. And you’re gonna get married.”
Kimber smiles for real this time, though tears still course down her face. “Okay,” she says. “Okay, and thanks.”
Five minutes later, she puts on the dress.
It’s not ugly. Please. I don’t do ugly. The fabric is gorgeous, if heavy, and it fits Kimber perfectly. The seaming is flawless.
But it is horribly plain, completely without ornamentation. No lace, no crystals, no draping. And it covers her up from neck to fingertips to toes.
I tilt my head and consider my bride, feeling a pang of guilt. My job was to make her happy. Not Mrs. Brewster, and so what if she wields her country-club influence and bad-mouths me? I don’t need her approval.
I do need Kimber’s.
“Do you trust me?” I ask.
“Absolutely,” she says.
I make a few marks, but this is easy, really. I have the tingle of inspiration. I’m in my element.
I’m back, in other words.