Page 12 of Falling for Carla

“No. You said I was keeping you from getting ready. So I’m going to pout and refuse to let you wear the badass feather earrings I got at the stall on the corner by Trader Joe’s last week.”

“Tell me you did not flirt with the earring stand guy and end up buying stupid looking ones.”

“I can’t help it if he finds me irresistible.”

“Gullible. Easy to trick into buying the earrings that won’t sell because no one is going to wear feathers on a hook,” I teased.

“Jealous because he doesn’t flirt with you, but whatever,” she said, “and because you have to have swagger to pull off feather earrings.”

“Girl, I’m from Brooklyn. We invented swagger,” I said, doing a silly runway walk across the room to show off.

“Forget it. You can’t handle my sick style.”

She went to her room and came back in her cute thrifted minidress and a pair of outrageous yellow feather earrings, “See, makes it a whole new outfit!”

“Jesus. It looks like you killed Big Bird. You’re a sesame street trophy hunter and you’re wearing his damn tail!” I fell on the bed in a fit of laughter.

“When my street style shows up on influencer videos and you’re just the boring friend who was walking with me, you’ll see. You need a statement piece.”

“So, like, I should dismember stuffed animals to make my jewelry? I don’t think that’s my style.”

“Exactly. You insult my fashion forward fit of the day. No hashtag for you, honey,” she quipped.

We goofed around some more while we put on our makeup and I hadn’t laughed so much in weeks. It was so good just to act stupid and joke around with Brenda and get all dressed up to go out. I pulled out my Manolos. I had brought one pair with me. The super pretty ones I wore to a formal when I was seventeen.

When my friends wanted Prada or Gucci, I was still enough of a Sex and the City junkie to want the throwback stilettos that made Carrie Bradshaw great. So I had one pair of pointy-toed, nude greatness that I broke out when I wanted to feel my best. I stepped into them and they instantly made my flirty skirt and top feel so much more sophisticated. Brenda had talked me into the matching set, the skirt and little crop top, in a pretty small floral pattern that made it seem more fun than provocative. With the right shoes, it looked amazing.

“Okay, you were right about the two-piece thing you made me buy. I love it. Don’t think I’m listening to you about feathers though. Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Let’s get out of here before I beat your salty ass,” she said.

We met our friends at the bar and pretty soon I was pouring hot honey on chicken wings and then dancing to the latest from Cardi B. We were having so much fun. Brandi had just gotten engaged, and we were all showing her stuff we’d picked out on Pinterest that she just had to do for her bouquet or her bachelorette party or her shower. Skylar and Brenda were scrolling through Tinder together comparing their matches.

I thanked the waiter for the round of pomegranate margaritas that a table of guys sent over. I sipped mine and glanced toward the people who sent us drinks. Instead of the three guys who were raising their beers to us, I couldn’t help noticing a dark-haired man who was sitting by himself. He was holding his phone and scrolling, but his eyes were on me, and his drink was untouched. It was weird. It was even stranger that in a crowded bar, I was so aware of him, like an antenna pinged. Was it an instinctive alert, or was I getting paranoid because of all my coursework, thinking everyone around me was shady?

I returned my attention to my friends. Brandi was telling a story about picking out a wedding venue and I tuned back into that.

“Then, his mom is like, you’re not going to wear a strapless dress, right? Because that’s not appropriate for our church and it means you’re going to hell.”

She rolled her eyes.

“So we’re only looking at strapless dresses, right?” Brenda said. “For all of us. You, the bridesmaids. Flower girl too?”

“Exactly. Set the tone now. This woman is going to be in my face for the rest of my life, and I’m not going to start by giving in to her. I have great shoulders. I’ve been swimming competitively since I was twelve. No way I’m covering these babies up.” She flexed a muscle and we all admired it. She did have amazing arms and shoulders from all that swimming.

I wondered idly if I should do something besides occasional yoga to get my arms in shape for her wedding. Nobody wants to be the flabby bridesmaid.

“Where do you want to go look first?” I asked.

“Well, Saks obviously, and I wish there was a Kleinfelds near here. Guess we could go to New York for a long weekend if you all are up for it…” she said. I bristled inwardly at the idea but pasted on a smile.

“Hey, you’re from New York,” Skylar said to me. “You could show us around!”

“Kleinfeld’s is in Manhattan. I’m from Brooklyn,” I said, like it was Jupiter. “I don’t think I know my way around there. I mean, I saw Lion King on Broadway once…” I said, downplaying my knowledge of the city to try to bow out of it. “It was so busy and full of tourists.”

If there was one thing that rich girls wanted to avoid, it was crowds of tourists or looking like tourists. I knew that I’d pushed the right button to discourage her when Brandi made a scrunchy face. “You know, now that you mention it, Kleinfeld’s would probably be really crowded, and people would be videoing even though the show wouldn’t be filming…”

“You trying on your dress could be in the background of someone’s stupid TikTok video and it would ruin the magical moment when you walk down the aisle and he sees you in your dress for the first time,” I agreed.

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