Chapter 3 - "Trust Me"
In the restroom, Bethany and two of my bridesmaids went at the dress with club soda, cold water, paper towels, a Tide pen somebody had in her purse. The edges of the stain lightened a little. The middle stayed dark, almost brown now.
I stood in front of the mirror and tried to keep it together.
Bethany was not trying to keep anything together. "She did that on purpose."
"Bethany."
"I mean it, Claire."
"I know she did."
Her hand stopped moving on the fabric. "You know?"
I nodded. She glanced at the restroom door like she was measuring the distance to it.
"I am going to do something to that woman that I will probably regret."
I laughed. It came out wet and cracked. "Please don't get arrested at my wedding."
"Fine. Tomorrow."
That got another laugh out of me, and then the laugh turned and I was crying, and I hated it. I hated that she'd gotten exactly what she wanted — me in a bathroom in tears, my own wedding happening in the next room without me.
When I came out, Grant was in the hallway waiting. The second he saw the front of the dress, his whole face dropped.
"Claire."
"I'm okay."
"You're not."
"I'm working on it."
His shoulders went tight and square. "She did this."
It wasn't a question, so I didn't answer it like one. "Yes."
"I saw her face after."
"So did I."
He shut his eyes for a second. "I'm sorry. I should have dealt with her a long time ago."
"She's a grown woman, Grant. This is on her."
He looked at the stain again, and his eyes were shining. I took his hand. "I don't want our whole wedding to turn into a story about your mother."
"It won't."
"Then come back inside with me."
He looked toward the ballroom doors, and for one second I was sure he was going to walk in there and burn the room down. Instead he took my face in both hands, very gently.
"I know exactly how I'm going to handle this. Give me a few days."
"Handle it how?"
"Trust me."
I searched his face. He wasn't wild-eyed. He was calm in a way that was almost worse. Grant didn't do reckless.
"Okay," I said.
We went back in. Diane danced. She laughed. She posed for photos with her hand on her hip. At one point she drifted over and murmured, "See? You can barely notice it in this light."
I opened my mouth. Grant got there first.
"Go sit down, Mom."
Her smile blinked out. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
May you like
She looked at me, then at him, and walked off.
And the rest of the night, somehow, was still ours. We cut the cake. My dad cried through his toast. Danny, Grant's best man, told a story about Grant in college so humiliating that half the room was wiping their eyes. For a couple of hours I forgot the dress was ruined.
