All Dressed Up by Lilian Darcy Page B

like
weight gain and other people’s success. Her words had come out all
tight and snippy, though, and Brooke knew her too well.
    “Oh, because I
chose not to blow Scott’s and my house down payment on a more
expensive gown, or hit you up for the money?” She gulped some
coffee, and then a mouthful of orange juice. She chewed off a piece
of bagel, which stuck itself to the roof of her mouth with the
cream cheese for glue, then went back to the coffee.
    Again, again,
Angie had to bite her tongue. She bit and bit, and felt proud of
herself for biting. See? I didn’t say a thing. “I said I didn’t
like Emma’s, not yours,” she said to Brooke.
    “I know that’s
what you said, and I know what you really meant.”
    Well, you know
more than me, then. You’re a better person than me. Shouldn’t I get
some credit that I’ve raised a daughter better than me? How did I
do that if I wasn’t a good person myself at heart?
    “I love Emma’s
gown, I love my gown,” Brooke went on. “It’s my gown, Mom, and I
don’t care if you hate it. Why do you always put down the things
you most want?”
    “Why are you
attacking me?”
    “Because I
know you hate my gown…” Coffee, bagel, juice. “…and you hate my
groom and you’re wrong about both and I chose both and it’s none of
your business.”
    Angie flooded
with heat. “You’re going to wake Ashlyn. I know it’s none of my
business. I can’t help myself, sometimes. I’m sorry. I don’t ‘hate’
him! Hate him, Brooke? That’s an awful strong word!”
    “I know. I
know you don’t. Have issues, then, not hate. I’d just prefer you to
be straight with me, Mom, you know?”
    If you want
straight, Brookie, “I think that would be worse.”
    “Oh God, I
have to go.”
    It was only
six-thirty in the morning, lightly raining. Scott had just left. He
and Brooke had been living here together for six months, now. It
was a great house for them, within budget because of its odd
layout, rocky yard and proximity to the traffic noise on I-87, but
with a warm atmosphere and loft space above the master bedroom.
Angie had helped with their down payment.
    Last night
she’d stayed over to give Ashlyn her breakfast when she woke up and
then take her to her vacation program at nine. She put a lot of
time into helping Brooke with Ash, and Brooke was appreciative,
generally. But yes, sometimes they fought, and if Brooke really
thought she wanted Angie honest all the time, she was wrong,
because then they’d only fight more.
    “Bye. And
thanks for today,” Brooke gave her a juice-and-coffee flavored kiss
on the cheek. “Let’s not fight, okay?”
    “No, let’s
not. I hate it more than you do.”
    “Just… you
know… say what you think, Mom, I can take it, I promise.”
    Say what she
thought? Reveal that much? No.
    Angie followed
Brooke to the door, and out it came, not the honesty but the tight
snippiness she loathed in herself. “Are you going to take the
slightest notice of what I suggested?”
    Brooke kept
moving toward her car. It was parked in the street, the hood of it
all pooled with water from the rain. She called back, “Am I going
to wheedle Emma Dean, who doesn’t like me and didn’t want me in her
wedding party in the first place, into lending me her expensive
never-worn dress, which would have to be majorly altered to fit?
No.”
    “It was just a
thought. It was only a thought.”
    “Well, stop
thinking it, Mom, honestly.” She climbed into the car.
    Waving
goodbye, Angie felt ugly and dried up and old.
     
    Lainie finally
forced herself to call about Emma’s gown on Monday morning at nine,
from the office. Right up until the last minute, she thought she
might speak to Emma herself, but then she chickened out and decided
to ask for Terri instead, even if Emma picked up.
    I’m scared of
Emma, she realized. And scared for her.
    She keyed in
the number, heard four rings and then Eric Dean’s voice. “Hi,
you’ve reached…” She left a stilted