31
Brynn
I’m alone.
There’s no sleeping body next to me. Not even an indent in the mattress. No evidence that Josh was ever here. The empty condom wrapper on the nightstand is my only solace, proof that I didn’t dream up the perfect man. It’s a reminder that he was under my metaphorical nose and actual roof for months, but I was too preoccupied with my own cluster of a life to notice. I needed to drag us both to an alternate reality to see it.
My jeans are still in their heap on the floor. I pull them on, but when I reach for my T-shirt, I instead grab his. As I pull it over my head, I inhale the last fumes of his smell. And then I debate crawling back into bed for a good ugly cry. But I can’t.
Today, I’m not mopey, glass-half-empty Brynn, who just said goodbye to the love of her life.
No, today I am Sloan Edwards. Carson’s Cove’s beloved wallflower. About to become a beautiful swan.
And I have a pageant to win.
Sherry is already behind the bar when I descend. She gives me a funny look when she spots me coming down the steps, but if she’s curious about why I’m coming out of Fletcher’s room at eight-thirty in the morning, she doesn’t say anything. She continues drying glasses with her bar rag, humming what sounds like an old Alanis Morissette song under her breath.
“Good morning, Sherry,” I say in my best Sloan voice. “Fletch asked me to tell you that he had to leave town unexpectedly. He’s not sure when he’s going to be back, and he wanted to apologize for leaving you hanging.”
She sighs, visibly annoyed. “That kid. Where’s he gone off to this time?”
I shake my head. “I’m not quite sure,” I lie. “It’s because of me. I got myself into a bit of a mess. And…well…he’s helping me work through the consequences. He’s a really good person, honestly. He wouldn’t have—”
Sherry holds up her hand. “I don’t need the lecture. I know he’s a good kid. A few years ago, I’d tell you you’re full of it, but he’s changed. He’s a good egg. And if you say he’s helping out a friend, that’s all I need.”
It’s a small relief but a welcome one. “Thank you, Sherry. And if you ever need a hand, I’m happy to—”
Sherry stops me again, this time with a loud snort. “Honey, I’ve seen you in action. Thanks, but I think I’ll be okay.”
She goes back to wiping down the bar as I head outside and walk to Sloan’s to put on a Poppy-approved sundress, then head toward the town hall for the last pageant practice.
It’s yet another beautiful, sunny day in Carson’s Cove, but it feels different.
Josh is gone.
It might just be a trick of the light, but Carson’s Cove looks different too. The paint on the door to the grocery store is chipped. Its color is more of a dull rust than a bright red. There are cracks in the sidewalk with tiny green weeds peeking through. The flowers in the curb boxes are wilting. They look how I feel. Sad. Uninspired. Homesick.
I don’t have time to mope though. I push open the front doors of the town hall. Every unmarried female between the ages of sixteen and thirty seems to be in some stage of pageant preparedness. Every available space is filled with sparkling evening gowns, string bikinis, hairspray, Red Bull, and duct tape. There’s even a Kirkland Signature box of plastic wrap.
I don’t want to know what it’s used for.
Poppy has us run through the opening number so many times that I start to lose count.
My feet are achy and raw from my too-high heels. It feels like I’ve come full circle. But there is no more Josh to pick me up and carry me home, both literally and figuratively.
So I channel all of it into earning the crown.
My cheeks ache from smiling. My stomach hurts from sucking in.
But it works.
I glide with the grace of a non-plastic swan.
I port de bras and pas de basque and chassé with an ease that makes Sandra Bullock look like an amateur.
I am pageant ready.
“Okay, ladies,” Poppy calls through her megaphone. “We have finished rehearsals. You will be ready to go on at seven p.m. sharp. Am I clear?”
There’s a low murmuring of agreement from the contestants.
Luce appears at my elbow; she uses me for balance as she removes her heels. “Good god, that feels good. I have no idea why I’m still wearing these puppies. It’s not like anyone can see me in the back.”
Poppy moved Luce’s spot in the opening number to the far back corner, far away from my front-and-center position. Not only did it put poor Luce out of the judges’ sight line, but it also made it almost impossible for the two of us to talk today.
Luce unzips her purse a third of the way, just enough for me to see the bottle of strawberry wine concealed inside.
“Want to get ready with me?” she asks. “I brought just enough to ease the pre-pageant jitters.”
“Heck yes,” I tell her, grabbing the suit bag with my dress from the rack.
She grabs her bag, and the two of us find an empty bathroom on the third floor, where we plug in our curling irons and alternate taking swigs of her strawberry wine, the entire time talking and laughing about nothing in particular.
I like Luce.
She tells funny stories about her farm animals as we curl our hair.
She says out loud all of my feelings about pantyhose and strapless bras. She’s a magician with a contour brush, but she doesn’t make me feel like I need it. We’re just having fun.
And it makes me feel that this is exactly what I’ve been missing. A friend. Someone who just gets me. Accepts me. Doesn’t want to use me for anything but simple companionship. And although I haven’t directly hurt Luce in the same way Sloan has, I’ve still judged her from behind the safety of my television screen.
“Okay.” Luce and her contour brush lean back. “You look amazing, but you need to tell me what the deal is with that face.”
I debate the best way to explain. “I’m just sorry. For all of it. All those years…”
She holds up her hand. “Water under the bridge. We’re good now, okay?”
I nod.
“I haven’t seen your man around today. I thought he’d be by.”
My heart thumps heavily in my chest. “He had to leave town for a bit.”
“Spencer left?”
My mouth drops open as I realize my fuck-up. “I meant Josh. I mean Fletch. I thought you were asking…”
She knocks her shoulder into mine. “I think he’s good for you. And I’m glad you’re finally admitting it.”
I swallow away the lump that’s suddenly formed in the back of my throat. “Shall we get dressed?”
Luce rolls to her feet.
I unzip the bag with Poppy’s dress. It’s even more beautiful in the late afternoon light. I twist the hanger, letting the crystals catch the sun. When I hear a gasp, I think it’s Luce looking at it in awe until I turn and see her face.
“What’s wrong?”
She holds up the red material of her dress in her hands.
It takes a moment for me to see what she’s looking at. What I thought was a slit in her sequined dress is actually a sizable rip.
“Oh my gosh. What happened?”
She sinks down onto her knees, the dress still cradled in her hands. “I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up. I should have known better.”
“Should have known what?” I ask, still confused. “What happened to the dress?”
When she looks up, her eyes are glossy. “What do you think? This place never changes. It’s like living the same Groundhog Day over and over and over again. I should have been used to it by now, but no matter how often it happens, it still hurts.”
I begin to piece together what has happened. “No,” I tell her. “We can fix this. Let me go downstairs and talk to Poppy. Maybe someone brought a backup.”
Luce holds up the dress, making the rip even more apparent. “Don’t waste your breath…. Let’s take this as a sign from the universe that I’m not meant for that stage….”
“You are.” I place my hand over hers and squeeze. “Give me ten minutes. I’ll figure something out, I promise.”
I find Poppy backstage, yelling at one of the crew members about the awkward hanging angle of the giant sparkling lobster meant to be the backdrop for the show. “Hey,” I call to her. “We have a bit of a problem.”
As Poppy turns, the crew member uses the moment to scurry away.
“What?” she barks, holding up her hands.
“Luce’s dress is ripped—”
“Yes, I know that—” Poppy interrupts.
“What do you mean, you know? How?”
Poppy grabs my arm, pulling me into one of the wings.
“Come on, Sloan.” She covers the mic of her headset with her hand. “She’s your biggest competition. If she makes it to the evening round, you’re screwed. I was helping you.”
My stomach drops.
“You ruined Luce’s dress on purpose? Poppy, that’s terrible.”
She waves me off with a flick of her wrist. “It’s not terrible. Maybe a little predictable—unimaginative, even—but I couldn’t let her win the thing.”
“Why not?”
“Because this is the year Sloan Edwards, golden girl of Carson’s Cove, finally gets her crown. The year she wins Spencer’s heart. It’s what everyone wants, obviously! So I just…helped it along a little bit.” Poppy presses her finger to the earphone of her headset. “Are we done here? There’s a crisis with the seating.”
Stunned, I slowly walk back to the bathroom. Luce looks up as I walk in, her eyes big and hopeful, until I shake my head. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugs slowly with a resigned sigh. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine. Here.” She tosses her dress into the sink. “Let me help you zip yours up.”
All of a sudden, all of the feelings I’ve been repressing all day bubble to the surface.
“No.”
Luce looks confused at the force behind the single word.
“No,” I repeat. “I’m not wearing this dress.”
I’m not wearing the dress, and I’m not winning the pageant.
I pick up Poppy’s sparkling blue evening gown. “You’re going to wear it.”
Luce shakes her head, confused. “You want me to wear your dress? Sloan, that’s not right.”
But it is.
Luce is right about everything.
This town is still stuck. It will never change unless it’s forced to. The least I can do is take the first baby step.
“I want you to wear it, and I want you to win. You deserve this, Luce.”
She takes the dress from my hands. As its weight leaves my arms, the lingering weight of my actions isn’t lost.
“Are you sure?” She holds the dress up to her body. I can already tell that it’s going to fit her perfectly. A Carson’s Cove miracle.
“Absolutely sure.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Poppy is going to flip her lid. You know that, right?”
“Yup.” A slow smile spreads across my lips. “She’s going to lose her freaking bananas.”
An idea occurs. One that Poppy is probably going to hate even more than our last-minute dress swap.
I check my watch. We have exactly two hours until the pageant.
“Hey, Luce? I’m gonna need your help again with my hair.”