Kerri Carpenter - The Dating Arrangement

“Of course I was worried, Emerson. You’re wearing a ten-thousand-dollar dress. What in the hell were you thinking stepping outside in it?”

Or flinging herself out a window. But she decided not to mention that.

“You could have gotten the hemline dirty.” Beatrice Dewitt’s eagle eye was already examining the dress.

“Looks fine to me,” Amelia said.

Emerson took her sister in. She was wearing an elegant lace gown with cap sleeves that was straight and fitted to her flawless body. Just as she’d told Jack earlier, the two of them had the same auburn hair as their mother. But while Emerson did her best to tame her curly, shoulder-length hair, Amelia’s trendy layers always seemed to float carelessly, as if someone were following her around with a wind machine.

Amelia was two years younger than Emerson, but she’d surpassed her in height before the age of ten and never looked back. Emerson topped off at a whopping five foot three on a good day, while Amelia was a stately five-nine, without heels.

Emerson had needed braces, while Amelia’s teeth had been straight. During middle school, Emerson had become quite familiar with the dermatologist, while Amelia never so much as got a sweat pimple.

Amelia had twenty-twenty vision. Emerson needed glasses and contacts.

Amelia could wear anything off the rack. Emerson paid a good portion of her salary to her tailor.

Amelia had found her Prince Charming and gotten married. Emerson...

Shouldn’t it have been the other way around? Didn’t the law of archetypes suggest that she was supposed to be the overachiever and her younger sister was destined to be the rebel?

Emerson clutched the cell phone in her hand. The reminder that, despite all of their differences, her sister did have her back. At least that was something. And something that was a constant source of guilt.

It would be so easy to be jealous of her sister, but Amelia—her little Mia—made that next to impossible. For every success Amelia achieved, Emerson seemed to fail at something. Yet, ever since she was born, Amelia looked to her big sister with awe in her eyes, as if Emerson were the one realizing great triumphs.

And here she was, silently bitching about her curly hair and lack of height.

She mouthed thanks to her sister and faced their mother. “I’m sorry, Mama. Really. I just needed to take a call.”

“From?” her mother asked, after her cursory examination of the wedding dress was complete.

Her palms began to sweat. “Um, just a client.”

“Which client?” Her mother put her hands on her hips.

“Well, a new client, as a matter of fact.”

“A new client. Way to go, Em,” Amelia added. “Your event-planning business is really growing. I knew organizing that food truck festival was going to put you on the map.”

She gave another grateful smile to her sister, even if Amelia didn’t understand she was lying.

“Food trucks!” Her mother shook her head as her eyes rolled up to the ceiling. “Honestly, who enjoys eating from a dirty truck in the middle of the street?”

“Um, everyone?” Amelia said, with a hint of sarcasm. Emerson stifled a laugh. “Did you see how many people attended the festival? It was epic.”

“Thanks, Mia,” Emerson said gratefully.

“So, who is this new client?” her mother asked impatiently. Clearly they were done discussing food trucks.

“Um, well...” She almost wiped her hands on the dress until she luckily remembered that sweat stains on a ten-thousand-dollar dress probably wouldn’t help her mother sell it.

“Well, what?” her mother said. “Honestly, Emerson, I can’t believe you are twenty-eight years old and still stuttering.”

I don’t stutter. Emerson jutted her chin out. She’d been accused of stuttering since she was a little girl, when in reality she sometimes needed a second.

“My new client is a bar. They want to reinvigorate the place. The Wright Drink, over on King Street,” she supplied. If she presented Jack as a client, it wouldn’t seem so random when she introduced him to the family as her boyfriend, at the anniversary party.

“Don’t we share the alley with that bar?” her mother asked.

Emerson blinked. “The alley? Um, I don’t know. Why would I know that?”

“Are you okay?” Amelia asked, with true concern in her eyes.

Emerson’s mouth was dry, her heart was beating a mile a minute and she was beginning to feel that same overwhelming feeling that caused her to launch herself out of a window earlier. She didn’t know if it was because she was still wearing the dreaded wedding dress or because she hated lying to anyone, let alone her family.

“Yep, great. I’d like to get out of this getup though.”

“Let me at least get a look at you two first,” her mother said as her keen eye raked over her daughters, no doubt taking in every detail.

Emerson and her sister stood side by side as their mother did a circle. She stopped to dust something off the back of Emerson’s dress, and Emerson prayed that she didn’t notice the wrinkles from her fall, or any smudges she might’ve missed. If Jack hadn’t been there with his club soda, not to mention being there to catch her in the first place...

She closed her eyes and remembered the feel of his strong arms around her. And the way he smiled at her from behind the bar.

I think you make a really beautiful bride.

“What’s that smile about?” Amelia asked.

Emerson snapped to attention. “Uhhh...”

“Emerson, you’re all flushed.” Beatrice did that universal mother move of pressing her hand to the forehead. “Are you coming down with something?”

“No, just warm in this monstrosity of a dress,” she covered. Emerson really hoped she didn’t reek of beer or any of the gross alley smells. She took a step back just in case.

“That monstrosity of a dress is going to be a bestseller. I know it.” She took another moment to collect her thoughts. “Just as I thought. Amelia, that dress is prefect for a body shape like yours. Plus it comes in white, ivory, and blush. Customers will like that. I wish I could use you in the ad campaign. Everyone would want to wear this.”

Emerson couldn’t stifle an eye roll.

“And Emerson...”

“I know, I know. I look like a little kid playing dress up.” Emerson sighed and steeled herself for the critique.

Her mother scrutinized her for a moment before stepping forward. She pushed a curl behind Emerson’s ear. “I know this dress is not your personal style, but I was going to say you look beautiful.” She leaned closer and whispered, “Maybe one day you’ll realize just how beautiful.”

Her throat tightened.

Jack told her she’d looked beautiful, and now her mother had too. But there was one person who had never said that. It was no wonder he’d left her at the altar. Why had she even been surprised?

Stepping back, Beatrice said, “Although, now that you mention it, when you slouch like that, you do look like a nine-year-old. Stand up tall, with your shoulders back. Like your sister.”

Once again, discomfort overtook her. She pulled at the dress. “I should change. Amelia, can you help me?” She didn’t wait for a response. Instead she pulled her sister through the store, past the racks of tulle, beading, lace, and organza. She ignored the shelves of sparkly tiaras and the glass cases filled with elegant jewelry. She didn’t stop until she was locked firmly in the dressing room with her sister.

“I really need to get out of this dress.” She began pulling and tugging, trying to figure out how to get it off her.

“Okay, okay, calm down.” Amelia was behind her, quickly undoing the buttons.

When she was finally freed from the cumbersome dress, Emerson let out a long sigh. She crumbled down to the chair in her strapless bra and nude panties. For good measure, she took another long inhale of breath.