Page 62 of I'm Not Yours
Estelle said, “Buck up, June,” but not in a mean way. “Shoulders back, chin high, quit sniveling.”
“She received another phone call today from Cherie,” Leoni pseudo-whispered, as if I couldn’t hear it, though her mouth was six inches from my ear.
Estelle said, no volume control at all, from my other side, “That’ll upset her hormones. She gets in an emotional tornado and baby bawls each time.”
“And she got a call from you-know-who about the you-know-what,” Leoni said, then hissed. “Grayson!”
“Not good. He gets her panties in a twist, too. Two twists of the panties today.”
“And, you know we have that writer coming from the magazine who’s going to feature all our wedding dresses,” Leoni said. “She’s all jacked up about that, too.”
“She should be,” Estelle said loudly. “We can’t screw that one up. That’d burn our butts.”
“And she’s stressed about her sister’s wedding dress. She wants it to be perfect, more than perfect. She wants it to be a wearable dream.”
“She still hasn’t finished the bridesmaids’ dresses, either, she’s got to get it right for the clan. Go, Scotland.”
“I’m right here, ladies,” I said, still drawing, the oranges blurring and smearing, until I grabbed a black pencil and added a streak of black to the orange Popsicle/sunset/Costa Rica colors. I wouldn’t think about the scary reporter, I already had enough to worry about.
“She has a lot going on.” Leoni’s breath ruffled my hair.
“Too much,” Estelle agreed. “But she’ll manage. She’s a woman with iron panties.”
“Iron panties? Gee, thank you,” I said. I held up the drawing of the non-Halloween orange-and-black bridesmaids dresses. Not bad.
“Gorgeous,” Estelle said. “If women must get themselves swindled into marriage, if they lose their minds to lust and society’s rules of what a woman should do, they must come to you, June. Panty power, that’s what it is.”
“Panty power,” Leoni breathed. “That is stunning.”
That night I circled the work tables in my studio, again and again, while Reece jetted in and out of my head.
I have part of a blue rowboat in the corner where I’ve stacked all my favorite books. I have a blue cheetah lamp stand and art supplies stacked on open shelves painted yellow. I have two six-foot tall white dressers filled with wedding dress paraphernalia.
I need all of it to keep me creative and focused.
But it sure wasn’t helping me keep my mind off Reece.
Reece, Reece, Reece. June and Reece. Reece and June.
Oh, for heaven’s and Pete’s sakes, June!
When I was done I crawled into bed and wrote in my Worry Journal.
Seven Things I’m Worried About
Another sneaker wave.
Sharks in a tidal wave that might land on my deck. What would I do?
