Page 23 of Pretend With Me

“I just don’t think anyone appreciates the kind of stress I’m under, planning this wedding,” Sissy whined out of the blue. “This isn’t some little podunk wedding at the local church. It’s asocial eventand everyone’s going to expect it to be perfect.”

“You’re under a lot of pressure right now, I know,” Mama cooed soothingly. “But remember, you have a wedding planner to help you.”

“I’m using the wedding planner, but she always sides with Mrs. St. James. No one cares about whatIwant, and it’s supposed to bemybig day!” Her red-tipped fingers wrapped around her fork like an angry villager with a pitchfork. “If we had flown to New York, Skye could have been there, and you know how much I value her opinion. It doesn’t seem like too much to ask for me to have my best friend be there while I try on wedding dresses.”

“Who is Skye?” I asked, for reasons that will remain one of Beacon Hill’s greatest mysteries.

Sissy turned incredulous eyes my way.

“Umm, hello, do you not follow current events at all? Skye Lauren?” She huffed out a disbelieving breath when I didn’t respond. “She’s Ralph Lauren’s third cousin twice removed’s stepdaughter and is basically a fashion icon.”

“I must have missed that exposé in theTimes,” I quipped, earning me disapproving looks from all occupants of the table.

“I don’t know why I expected someone who has never given a single thought to their own appearance to understand the kind of pressure I’m under,” Sissy sniffled, adding another level of ridiculous drama to an already ridiculously dramatic conversation. “It would have been nice to have my own sister support me.”

I pushed back from the table, reaching for my plate. My tolerance for this conversation was disappearing faster than the casserole, and it was getting more and more difficult to keep my own promises.

“I’m going to head upstairs and get ready, so we’re not late.” My comment earned a few sounds of approval, so I rinsed my dirty dishes off and placed them in the dishwasher. I pulled out my phone on the way upstairs and texted Maxine.

Me: Wedding dress shopping this morning. Pray for me.

Maxine responded almost immediately.

Maxine: On today’s episode of the Real Housewives of Beacon Hill...Sounds about as fun as a paper cut from cardboard but you better send me updates!

Maxine: And before you ask, I’m on my way to feed your rodents. I will send you proof of life photos when I get the little beasts fed.

Me: You’re the best. Have I mentioned how much I wish you were here?

Maxine: Only a couple hundred times.

I smiled, setting my phone down on the bathroom counter and turning on the shower. I stepped into the hot water and felt my muscles relax. I let it wash away the tension from breakfast and all the negative emotions.I can manifest the energy that I want to follow me through the rest of the day.At least, that was what the self-help podcast I’d listened to in bed last night had promised.

The slight tremor in my hand as I applied mascara and pulled my damp hair into a ponytail was evidence, however, that I couldn’t manifest all my nerves away. I felt the same anxious unease every time I went into town now. Small towns had long memories, and most people in town would still remember the things I had written about them. It didn’t matter how many years had passed or that I’d been just a kid when Sissy had plastered my stories all over town. Over the years, I had endured countless snide comments, turned heads, and bless-your-hearts, and I wished I could say my skin was thick enough that I didn’t care anymore. There was even a small part of me that felt like I deserved their ire for writing about them, even if it was never meant to be seen by anyone.

Thankfully, Charlene hadn’t been featured in any of my stories — but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t run into anyone else around town. It was also unrealistic to continue being a hermit while I was home.

I pulled on a pair of skinny jeans — without holes, for Mama’s sake — and a flowing cotton shirt that did a great job of hiding my “extra weight.” With a final glance in the mirror, I made my way out of the safety of my room.

“There you are!” Mama exclaimed as I came down the stairs. “I was just on my way up to get you. We’ve got to get a move on.”

She didn’t wait for a response before opening the door and heading out. Her excitement was not contagious.

“Sutton, hold on a minute!” Daddy yelled from the direction of the kitchen. I stopped, listening to the awkward thud heralding his approach. He appeared with a to-go cup balanced precariously in one hand.

“Is that for me?” My hand was already reaching for the cup.

“It is. Thought you might need it. I added something extra, so drink it slowly.” He winked as I took the cup.

The burning in my throat at the first sip had nothing to do with the temperature of the coffee.

“Bless you, you sly old — ” My words were cut off by the blaring of a car horn. Daddy and I both winced. “I think I’m being paged.”

“Just...” Daddy hesitated, “remember how important this is to your mama. Not just the wedding dress shopping. I mean doing it with both her girls.”

I nodded, unsure of what to say as the weight of guilt pressed down on me — a weight I knew Sissy would never feel. Being a good person was kind of the worst.

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