Page 5 of Bridesmaid to Bride

As we scoot into the car, I offer West shotgun, but he sits in the back with me. Inside the enclosed space, I become acutely aware of how rank I smell. Dragon’s blood resin—it makes you smell like you’ve been toking a fruity joint, and it’s potent.

Once we’re buckled in, Skye pulls the car out of the lot. “So I got fired.”

“What?” I say with confused concern. Confession: I didn’t know Skye had a job. After she married a Grammy-winning rockstar, she’s loaded. But I guess she’s working to keep busy? When I look at West, he gives me a wide-eyed look. Apparently, she told us about this, but I have zero recollection. I don’t dare tell Skye this, of course, so I say, “Why did you get fired?”

“Because I did Myrtle’s makeup the way she wanted me to do it.”

“Huh?” I shake my head. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Well, I thought so,” Skye says. “I was supposed to do it based on an old picture of Myrtle where she’s wearing brandy-red rouge, but when I started brushing that on her, she screamed at me.”

“Why did you have to do the makeup based on an old picture?” I tear open a bag of rainbow Goldfish and start stuffing my face.

“Because that’s the mortuary’s standard practice,” West says.

I shoot him a puzzled look, and his gaze lingers on me. Finally, I realize West just said the word “mortuary.” I scrub my forehead. “Wait. What?”

Skye turns back and rolls her eyes so hard it looks painful. “Eves, Myrtle’s dead.”

“As a doornail. Don’t you remember, Eva?” West says. “The Zoom call from Skye?”

I remember the call but not this conversation. In fairness, I was multitasking and getting a client file ready. I cock my head at West to see his hand covering his mouth, but the creases around his eyes give his smile away.

Skye continues, “Last month, I took a job at the mortuary doing makeup for viewings.”

“How did you get that job?”

She inhales sharply, indignant. “I went to cosmetology school.”

“I thought you never graduated,” I say, regretting it the moment it escapes my mouth.

“I don’t have an official piece of paper. I’m a gifted cosmetologist, Eva,” Skye snaps. “They hired me right on the spot.”

“Right. Of course.” I look at Skye in the rearview mirror. “Okay, so what happened, exactly?”

“Myrtle’s spirit told me she absolutely did not want brandy rouge,” Skye says. “Her ex-husband had been the one who liked it. She said, ‘God help me if I have to wear that hooker shade. The last thing I want is to please that sorry excuse of a man for all eternity!’ Then I told her I understood exactly how she felt.”

“Good for you—and poor Myrtle,” I say. West nudges me and holds out his hand. I dump some crackers into it before shoveling a bunch into my mouth.

Skye lifts her chin. “I talked her into a coral shimmer that worked with her skin tone. When I informed the mortuary that I’d done the look the dead client wanted, they told me to get out.” Skye blows out a long breath. “I’m sure they changed it back to brandy. I feel terrible for Myrtle.”

“Yeah, me too.” I don’t know whether she really talked to Myrtle or not, but on the chance she had, wearing the wrong shade of blush forever would be sad.

Skye wags a finger. “Like my Billy says, it’s no good being someone you’re not just to please others.”

“Speaking of Billy—where is he?” I say. Skye says that Billy is her twin flame, and we believe her. They’re both the exact same brand of eccentric.

“He’s on tour this week, so our spirits are teleporting to see each other.” Skye sighs. “So, Eva. What’s the thing you always say to everyone but yourself?”

“Huh?” Maybe I did get lobotomized on the plane.

West answers for me. “You gotta kiss a lot of frogs, so just tell yourself they taste like chicken.”

Skye lets out a snort of laughter. “Classic. And it’s time to follow your own advice. You aren’t kissing any frogs. For hell’s sake, you at least need to get in some mattress rodeo this weekend. That’s what people do at weddings.”

I press my fingers into my temples. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

West twirls an imaginary lasso. “Don’t worry, Skye. Eva’s got it in the bag.”

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