“Ray Jay?” I echo in disbelief.
She catches my grin. “Oh shit, he hates it when we call him that now.” Brit laughs. “Whatever. Serves him right for staying away so long. Seriously, call him Ray Jay and tell him that’s a special gift from me.”
I giggle. “That’s a gift that’s going to keep on giving.”
11.
Brit methodically works her way around the long, flowing hem. She puts some music on, and we fall into an easy rhythm, chatting about life on the road with the band and her new business.
“You should have seen me to start with,” Brit explains. “I was terrified to even show someone my portfolio. I remember the first interview I ever went on, I thought I was going to pass out from the nerves.”
“But it went great, right?”
She laughs. “Nope. The guy was a real asshole, he said I was a talentless hack, and would never amount to anything.”
I gasp. “That’s terrible!”
“I know, but it happens. There’s always going to be someone telling you that you suck,” Brit shrugs, “you’ve just got to learn to trust your instincts and keep going.”
I think of my notebooks full of lyrics, and the big contest I’ve been too scared to even consider entering.
“What if it’s different?” I ask quietly. “What if you can’t just strike out without everybody knowing about it?”
Tegan looks up. “Right. Your brother.” She looks thoughtful. “Do people really care so much about what you do just because of Dex?”
I sigh. “It’s not just Dex. Blake’s career is really taking off too. His big movie releases at Christmas, and the tabloids are already taking photos of him on the way to get coffee.”
“I can’t imagine living like that.” Brit grimaces. “I mean, I can barely make sure my shirt is on the right way first thing in the morning.”
I smile. “I know, they got a shot of us out when I was in LA, and I looked like I’d just run a marathon, my face was all red and sweaty.”
Brit shakes her head. “I’ll stick with Beachwood Bay, thanks all the same.”
“It seems like a great place to grow up,” I say, with a touch of envy. “Everyone’s so friendly.”
Brit laughs. “Don’t let the cute storefronts and ticker tape fool you,” she warns. “Sometimes it’s not easy, everyone knowing your business. It was tough when we were younger,” she adds, her smile slipping. “You get a reputation here, it’s hard to ever live it down.”
“Do you think that’s why Ryland left?” I ask curiously. “To make a fresh start?”
“He had his reasons, I guess.” Brit pauses, a handful of pins still in her grip. “I was too young to really figure him out back then. I know he and Emerson fought a lot, but we were never really close. To tell you the truth, I barely recognized him when he showed up here last week,” she adds. “I mean, he doesn’t look all that different on the surface, except he’s been hitting the gym,” she adds wryly. “But, it’s something else about him. He seems…peaceful now.”
I blink. There’s nothing peaceful about the Ryland I know. Everything about him is a turmoil of chemistry and power and low, burning desire.
Brit must have seen my expression, because she gives me a look. “But it sounds like you know him better than I do.”
“No, like I said, we’re friends. Not even that.”
“Uh huh.” Brit doesn’t sound convinced. She bends her head again, and pins the final few inches of fabric. “There. What do you think?”
I turn to look in the mirror propped up against the wall.
“Wow,” I breathe quietly. The dress is stunning, a gorgeous long sweeping column of silk, slipping effortlessly over my body in a ripple from the low gathered neckline all the way to the floor.
“It’s perfect,” Brit says in a hushed voice. “Your coloring is just right.”
I stare at my reflection. I look like I’m just about to walk down the aisle. Sure, there are shadows under my eyes, and my hair is in salt-water tangles, but the dress is enough to transform me into something pure and beautiful.
I wonder, is this how I would have looked on my wedding day with Connor?
He proposed a dozen times. The plastic ring from a cereal box; a colored elastic band; the turquoise and silver ring from a street-side vendor in Mexico. It was a running joke with us, but I always thought, one day, he would do it for real.
The last time I saw him, he begged me to stay. He swore it would be better this time.
“You’re my forever,” he told me, desperate and wild-eyed. “Baby, you’re all I’ve got.”
But it was too late for promises, not when he’d broken my heart so many times. Not even the ring could make me change my mind: princess cut, perfect. He threw it down at my feet in a temper as I walked away, screaming that I would regret it, I would see. We would all regret it, one day.
And we did.
“Tegan?” Brit’s voice filters through the memories. She’s looking up at me, concerned. “Are you OK?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry.” I shake my head, trying to push the thought of Connor back into the safe, dark box in the back of my mind. “You did an amazing job, this is incredible.”
“Thanks,” Brit grins. “And thank you for helping, I know I pretty much railroaded you into it, but I really appreciate it.”
She catches my grin. “Oh shit, he hates it when we call him that now.” Brit laughs. “Whatever. Serves him right for staying away so long. Seriously, call him Ray Jay and tell him that’s a special gift from me.”
I giggle. “That’s a gift that’s going to keep on giving.”
11.
Brit methodically works her way around the long, flowing hem. She puts some music on, and we fall into an easy rhythm, chatting about life on the road with the band and her new business.
“You should have seen me to start with,” Brit explains. “I was terrified to even show someone my portfolio. I remember the first interview I ever went on, I thought I was going to pass out from the nerves.”
“But it went great, right?”
She laughs. “Nope. The guy was a real asshole, he said I was a talentless hack, and would never amount to anything.”
I gasp. “That’s terrible!”
“I know, but it happens. There’s always going to be someone telling you that you suck,” Brit shrugs, “you’ve just got to learn to trust your instincts and keep going.”
I think of my notebooks full of lyrics, and the big contest I’ve been too scared to even consider entering.
“What if it’s different?” I ask quietly. “What if you can’t just strike out without everybody knowing about it?”
Tegan looks up. “Right. Your brother.” She looks thoughtful. “Do people really care so much about what you do just because of Dex?”
I sigh. “It’s not just Dex. Blake’s career is really taking off too. His big movie releases at Christmas, and the tabloids are already taking photos of him on the way to get coffee.”
“I can’t imagine living like that.” Brit grimaces. “I mean, I can barely make sure my shirt is on the right way first thing in the morning.”
I smile. “I know, they got a shot of us out when I was in LA, and I looked like I’d just run a marathon, my face was all red and sweaty.”
Brit shakes her head. “I’ll stick with Beachwood Bay, thanks all the same.”
“It seems like a great place to grow up,” I say, with a touch of envy. “Everyone’s so friendly.”
Brit laughs. “Don’t let the cute storefronts and ticker tape fool you,” she warns. “Sometimes it’s not easy, everyone knowing your business. It was tough when we were younger,” she adds, her smile slipping. “You get a reputation here, it’s hard to ever live it down.”
“Do you think that’s why Ryland left?” I ask curiously. “To make a fresh start?”
“He had his reasons, I guess.” Brit pauses, a handful of pins still in her grip. “I was too young to really figure him out back then. I know he and Emerson fought a lot, but we were never really close. To tell you the truth, I barely recognized him when he showed up here last week,” she adds. “I mean, he doesn’t look all that different on the surface, except he’s been hitting the gym,” she adds wryly. “But, it’s something else about him. He seems…peaceful now.”
I blink. There’s nothing peaceful about the Ryland I know. Everything about him is a turmoil of chemistry and power and low, burning desire.
Brit must have seen my expression, because she gives me a look. “But it sounds like you know him better than I do.”
“No, like I said, we’re friends. Not even that.”
“Uh huh.” Brit doesn’t sound convinced. She bends her head again, and pins the final few inches of fabric. “There. What do you think?”
I turn to look in the mirror propped up against the wall.
“Wow,” I breathe quietly. The dress is stunning, a gorgeous long sweeping column of silk, slipping effortlessly over my body in a ripple from the low gathered neckline all the way to the floor.
“It’s perfect,” Brit says in a hushed voice. “Your coloring is just right.”
I stare at my reflection. I look like I’m just about to walk down the aisle. Sure, there are shadows under my eyes, and my hair is in salt-water tangles, but the dress is enough to transform me into something pure and beautiful.
I wonder, is this how I would have looked on my wedding day with Connor?
He proposed a dozen times. The plastic ring from a cereal box; a colored elastic band; the turquoise and silver ring from a street-side vendor in Mexico. It was a running joke with us, but I always thought, one day, he would do it for real.
The last time I saw him, he begged me to stay. He swore it would be better this time.
“You’re my forever,” he told me, desperate and wild-eyed. “Baby, you’re all I’ve got.”
But it was too late for promises, not when he’d broken my heart so many times. Not even the ring could make me change my mind: princess cut, perfect. He threw it down at my feet in a temper as I walked away, screaming that I would regret it, I would see. We would all regret it, one day.
And we did.
“Tegan?” Brit’s voice filters through the memories. She’s looking up at me, concerned. “Are you OK?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry.” I shake my head, trying to push the thought of Connor back into the safe, dark box in the back of my mind. “You did an amazing job, this is incredible.”
“Thanks,” Brit grins. “And thank you for helping, I know I pretty much railroaded you into it, but I really appreciate it.”
