Page 38 of Kiss, Kill, Thrill Me, Daddy

His finger tickles my wrist. “I’ll take as much as you’re willing to give me.”

As much as I wish that were true, the painful expression he was just wearing doesn’t give any of those words much credence.

If my heartwas feeling heavy in the car, that heaviness lifts the moment I walk into Foote’s Feet. For the life of me, I don’t understand why we’re buying wedding attire at a shoe store. Scotty was very clear in his text earlier; we’re getting clothing,shoes, and even our wedding-day cologne from the same store. A one-stop shop, he’d called it. Unless Evelyn Foote is an undercover seamstress, I’m not entirely sure what she can offer us other than disappointment.

And what a disappointment it is. The entire store is tragic. The walls are lined with hideous creations. Mismatched wedges. Forgettable flats. As for the heels, I don’t think there’s a single shoe with more than a one-inch incline in this shithole.

Mom is standing by an oversized, papier-mâché pump, orange in hue. The orange of the shoe matches Evelyn Foote’s hair perfectly, as both appear to be the shade of a traffic cone. There’s another woman I’ve never met standing next to Evelyn. They look like mirror images, but in a light-meets-dark situation. While Evelyn wears sassy, snazzy ensembles—today’s being a form-fitted women’s business suit with inconsistently placed stars covering the fabric—the other woman is the epitome of chaste, wearing a beige blouse and an ankle-length denim skirt.

The second they spot me, it’s pandemonium. Evelyn hobbles forward looking dizzied and frazzled, like she might topple over at any moment. “Well, if it isn’t our little Tatum!” she announces to the room like no one knows me all of a sudden. “I’ll tell you, baby; when Scotty said you wanted me to design your outfits, I almost had a nervous breakdown. I’ve never taken on a job of this size before, but it’s like my dear friend Vivian VanDamme used to say: the Lord works in mysterious ways. Ever since she passed, it’s like my life ain’t had a bit of purpose. Then little Scotty called, and it felt like I had a reason for living again.”

I blink at her, trying to figure out why she felt it prudent I know the details of her life. “Yeah, but can you actually make clothing? You work at a shoe store.”

She gives me a nervous nod. “Well, I’m really good at big picture stuff. I might not be able to stitch or sew, but I am fashion personified.” Taking a step back, she twirls around like a ballerina in a music box, her body rocking to a song only she canhear. “See? I had my sister make this up for me, but it didn’t have much personality, so I says to her—I says, ‘Listen, Elmyra, we’re working with gays. We’ve got to give them a little sparkle.’ Two days later, we had this bad boy rocking and ready to roll.”

I stare her up and down. If this is her definition of fashion, Scotty’s wedding is going to be a shitstorm of epic proportions. As I’m drinking in the sight of the abominable business suit, the other woman makes her way over to us, beaming ear to ear. When she reaches me, she thrusts her hand in my direction and waits expectantly. The second our hands touch, I cringe, because her palm seems to be slathered in lotion.

“Tatum?” she says, her voice soft and almost baby like in nature.

“Yes, ma’am. And you’re . . .?”

“Elmyra,” she answers. “Elmyra Foote. I’m Evelyn’s sister. Now, I don’t want you to worry about a thing—I’ve got everything sorted. I’ve been working my fingers to the bone on this outfit for three months, and I think I’ve got it perfected. If you want, we can go into the back, and you can try it on. We’ll make note of anything you think might need changing, and then I can get to work.”

“Three months?” I cock my head to the side, trying to make sense of the words. “You’ve been working on it for three months?” Behind us, Scotty sucks in a quick breath, and when I look over, he’s slowly moving behind Mom, probably hoping to use her as a human shield. Whatever Elmyra is droning on about goes out the window, because I’m seeing red. “Three months, Scotty? How long have you been planning this? Mom said she didn’t even know until two months ago.” My voice is cool and calm. I close my eyes and picture Almighty Rinna’s face. Yes. Yes, I can do this. I am the embodiment of tranquility. A beacon of emotional stability. I open my eyes and exhale love and light. “What the fucking fuck does she mean three months, you son of a—No.” I stop myself, because if I cause a scene, Brody might storm in and slaughter everyone in here except Scotty.

“Goodness,” Elmyra says, clutching her non-existent pearls. “I haven’t heard language like that since my dear friend Kent found out the low-carb cheesecake I baked him to celebrate Pride month was just store-bought cheesecake.” She purses her lips, her shoulders rising and falling quickly when she huffs out a breath. “I’ll tell you, that day he used words I didn’t even know existed. I had to ask my son Nebuchadnezzar to look them up on The Google for me, but he couldn’t find them either.”

“Your son is a Siamese cat,” Evelyn points out.

Elmyra nods. “And he’s a clever boy. He can use the big-boy potty now. Took me dang-near five years to train him, but?—”

“Enough!” I shout, flinging my hands in the air, cutting the conversation off at the root. I point an accusatory finger at Scotty and scowl. “You.”

Scotty shakes his head emphatically, his hands clinging tightly to my mom’s arms as he holds on for dear life. “You don’t get to be mad at me, I already apologized,” he shouts back at me, peeking over Mom’s shoulder.

“No. You apologized for ...” I pause, trying to think of how I can word this. Mom doesn’t know the only reason I’m getting married is because of the terroristic twink currently using her as human levy, hoping to hold back the tsunami of sass I’m about to unload on him. “You apologized for planning our double wedding without my input, Scotty. Now, I find out you’ve been working on it for months. Months! You had no right.” If I was hoping for an apology, I quickly realize I’ll be waiting for a while, because his eyes narrow, and his cheeks go red.

“Jesus, Tatum. How many times must we rehash the insignificant details? I’ve apologized. Move on, already! You already yelled at me. It’s just cruel at this point. Now shut up, put a stupid smile on your stupid face, and let’s try on our clothes! Miss Foote has worked tooth and nail to get them done, and I’m not going to let you spoil the afternoon by being ungracious for whatever outfit she’s come up with. Kindness costs nothing. Use it.”

“Now, you listen to me, you delusional motherfu?—”

“Boys?” Mom interrupts, taking a cautious step toward me. “I think maybe we should take a minute to cool down before someone says something you can’t take back.” She looks at me, then at Elmyra. “Why don’t you go try on your outfit in the back?”

Elmyra takes me by the hand, grinning the toothiest grin I’ve ever seen. “Let’s go get you gussied up, sweety.” Before I can voice my approval, she tugs me onward, behind the shop’s counter, toward the back of the room. Swinging saloon doors separate the back office from the store, and she pushes past them, finally breaking the hold she has on me.

“Alrighty,” she says, setting the black garment bag on a small desk in the corner. “I wasn’t given much to work with, I’m afraid, but now that I’ve seen you in person, I think we’ll need to make a few adjustments.”

“I ...” It’s like I’ve been sucked into a cyclone. I don’t even know who this woman is. Honestly, I’m still trying to process the fact Scotty’s basically been planning this since the moment I first stepped foot in Washington. My blood is boiling, but I know I can’t take it out on this poor lady.

When she turns around, she’s holding the strangest wedding gown I’ve ever seen. I mean, it’s not really a gown, but it’s got that aesthetic. The trousers have wide legs like bells, and they rest so close together, it almost looks like a skirt. I won’t be wearing those. I goddessdamn refuse. The top, however, isn’t completely terrible. It’s black, which doesn’t seem terribly apropos for a wedding, but I bite my tongue. The fabric is so sheer, it almost looks see-through. While it might not be something I would wear to a wedding, I could see myself slipping into it for a night on the town.

I imagine myself walking down the aisle in the outfit. Marching at Scotty’s side, each of us heading toward our happy ending. In my mind, Brody’s eye-fucking Scotty like there’s no tomorrow, but Abi? Abi’s staring at me with an intensity thatmakes me shudder. Makes my knees wobble. Makes my heart slam in my chest. I’m walking toward him, but he’s the one making all the moves. Guiding me to him with the surety of his gaze. Promising protection and devotion with his goofy grin.

I close my eyes and take a breath.

Hold.

Allow myself this single moment.

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