Page 58 of Raise The Bar
I can’t.
The funny thing about those words is that when people say them, what they usually mean is “I won’t.”
I’d hung up as quickly as possible and turned off my phone. I didn’t want him to try to call me back. Didn’t want his explanation. I knew going into this that there was a real possibility that he would not feel the same way and put myself out there anyway, because I had to. I couldn’t keep going on the way we were, not when I knew what I wanted. I got the worst possible outcome, but at least I have my answer and can move on.
I just have to figure out how to do that.
I woke up this morning with a pounding headache, rivaling any hangover. But like Ariana Grande, I had no more tears left to cry. I have a business to grow and a wedding to see through. A wedding Callum was supposed to be my date for.
Well, that won’t be happening.
I’ve decided not to mention anything about him to my sister and certainly not to April. When he doesn’t show up to the wedding, I’ll tell them he has chicken pox, or food poisoning, or explosive diarrhea. I’m sure in all the craziness of the wedding day, he won’t even be missed. By anyone other than me, at least.
I will miss him. I might always miss him. And that’s okay. My feelings for him haven’t gone away just because they aren’t reciprocated. I’m not even able to be angry with him; it would be easier if I could be. But he was always up front and honest with me about what he wanted. I rolled the dice and lost big. That didn’t stop me from ignoring his texts and not listening to his voicemails when I finally turned my phone back on this morning. Just because I don’t blame him, doesn’t mean I want to talk to him.
June saunters out of the dressing room swinging her hips like she’s Jessica Rabbit. The diamond white trumpet style silk gown hugs her body perfectly, and the mid-thigh leg slit elongates her frame. I whistle my approval as she spins slowly in a circle, clearly more in love with the gown than the day she bought it.
“Absolutely perfect,” I squeal, clapping my hands.
The seamstress nods her approval, circling her to see the fit from all angles. “I agree.” She gives the bodice a little tug, making sure it’s not going to go anywhere. “I don’t think it needs any further adjustments.”
“I can’t wait to hit the dance floor!” June says, raising her hands above her head while she shimmies back and forth.
“You’re going to get your dress all sweaty,” April scoffs disapprovingly, as June spins once more before sauntering back to the dressing room. “Do you need my help with anything else?” She’s been on her phone since we got here. Truth be told, she really hasn’t been very helpful with anything these past few weeks. She’s mostly shown up to complain.
“No, you’re good,” June calls from the dressing room. “Oh! We’re doing the place cards for the reception tables tomorrow and you still haven’t confirmed if you’re taking a date.”
“Well, of course I’m taking a date,” April chides. “Only losers attend weddings solo.” Ouch. “I’ve got it narrowed down to a select few. Just put April’s date on the card.”
“Will do,” June says before spinning one final time and reluctantly leaving to change out of her dress. “I’ll see you Friday night for the rehearsal dinner.”
“Looking forward to it,” she tells her, then addresses me. “Bye, Magpie! I hope you get those allergies under control before the weekend. Pictures last forever, you know.”
“Working on it,” I say, attempting to match her fake sincerity. As much as April irritates me, she’s really the least of my problems. Once the wedding is over, I likely won’t have to see her again until Christmas.
My sister comes out of the dressing room with a comically exaggerated frown. “How am I supposed to go back to wearing regular clothes after the wedding?”
“Who says you have to?”
“That’s right. I could work it into my regular wardrobe? Wear it to brunch or maybe the Farmer’s Market?”
“Absolutely. You could even start wearing it to the weddings you photograph. I bet that would go over well.” She laughs, accepting her gown from the store attendant, who had carefully packaged it in its garment bag.
“I’m sure brides would love that,” she giggles as we make our way outside. It’s overcast and humid and I say a silent prayer to the weather gods on behalf of my hair that this humidity breaks before Saturday. June’s place is just a few blocks from the store, so we opt to walk. I offer to carry the gown for her since I am taller and therefore further from the ground. The bag is heavy, but at least it goes with everything else in my life right now.
When we make it to her apartment, we take the dress out of its bag and hang it in the spare room. We take a moment to stand back and admire it before closing the door behind us on our way out.
“You’re sure Colin won’t sneak a peek?” I ask, looking around her living room. They’ve moved some furniture since I visited last and it looks nice. The room is warm and inviting, much like the couple themselves. The walls are covered with photographs of June and Colin, as well as some from her travels.
“Not if he wants to be able to walk on his wedding day.” June walks to the kitchen, grabs two sparkling grapefruit waters from the fridge and hands me one. “Are you ready to tell me what’s going on with you?” Her matter-of-fact tone is not accusatory in the least. I stare at her blankly and say nothing. “Come on, Mags. I know I’ve got a lot going on, but I can tell when my big sister has been crying.”
“I’m fine,” I insist. “It’s just been a crazy couple of weeks and I’m exhausted.”
“Have I been asking too much of you?”
“What? No! June, no. Helping you with the wedding has been the most fun I’ve ever had. I’m so glad I can share all of this with you.” Suddenly parched, I take a drink straight from the can, the bubbles tickling my nose. “There has just been a lot of new developments with the soap business and I’m a bit overwhelmed. But I don’t have any clients booked until after the wedding, so I promise I’ll catch up on sleep and still be able to help you with all the last minute details for the wedding. I’ll take care of everything.”
“You can’t keep doing that, Mags. You can’t take care of everything and everyone except yourself.” She moves to sit next to me at the table. “You’ve been doing it since we were teenagers, since…since we lost Mom.” Tilting her head, she gives me a sad smile. “I get it. And I appreciate how you’ve always been there for me, more than you’ll ever know. But who’s taking care of you while you’re busy taking care of everyone else?”
