Blushing Pink Read online

  Yes, she was sort of working it. But if Brian Doren was coming to the house, she couldn't leave anything to chance. After the vivid dreams she'd had the night before, she'd started seriously considering the possibility of seducing Brian. Maybe it was far-fetched, but she couldn't help noticing that he didn't wear a wedding ring. Sure, he might hate her now, but... well, stranger things had happened.

  Reese approached the family room, a little wobbly because she hadn't worn heels this high in a year. As she entered, she spotted her mother sitting in an armchair across from Ally, Ben, and Lane McBride. Lane seemed to be entrenched in a story about her harrowing ordeal at the MAC counter, when she'd learned her lipliner shade was discontinued, so Reese figured that she could slip in discreetly, without attracting any real attention. Unfortunately, though, fate conspired against her. "Whoa!" Ben said as soon as she entered, forcing all heads to turn. "Why are you so dressed up?" Reese stopped in her tracks, feeling vaguely like a fool. "You got a hot date after this?" he asked, smiling.

  She swallowed, and held back from admitting that this was her hot date—with any luck, that is, and if Brian came, and oh, yeah, if she got a chance to apologize, and if he even accepted her apology—

  "Yeah, you look hot, girl," Ally said approvingly. "Ooh, Reese," Lane crooned with phony camaraderie, "you look so pretty!"

  Okay, now she was starting to feel stupid. "What, you guys? What's the big deal?" She casually moved over to the love seat. "Just go on with what you were saying."

  "Oh, honey, are you wearing lipstick?" Joanna asked, leaning forward and squinting. "Let me go get my glasses—"

  "No—I mean... no, I'm not wearing—"

  "Yeah, what color is that? It's cool," Ally said. "Uh, it's just Chap Stick," Reese said. "So, anyway—"

  "You should really wear lipstick every day," Joanna urged—with enthusiasm for the idea that bordered on desperation. Reese shot her a look that said Can we move on? And Joanna ignored it—quele surprise. "Why don't you wear makeup more often? You really should—"

  "Okay," Reese interrupted, trying to keep her tone relatively neutral, as she felt her face turning pink. She hadn't been looking for this kind of attention; she'd only wanted to look good in case Brian came to the meeting. Now she was starting to feel a little ridiculous with the way everyone was carrying on. "Um, so what were you guys talking about before?"

  Just then Angela and Drew called from the front hall, "Hi, we're here!"

  A moment later they entered the family room carrying a bottle of merlot. Everyone greeted them, and Reese just barely got out a hello, when Drew said, "Hey, you look great! What's the occasion?"

  She sank lower in the love seat.

  "I know, doesn't she?" Joanna said excitedly. "I told her she should wear makeup all the time—it really makes her look pretty!"

  "Mom, I'm not even wearing makeup—I mean, not really." Well, technically she'd put on some dark-chocolate eye pencil. And a bit of dark-chocolate mascara, but it wasn't like she had a choice there—the two had come as a set. Anyway, it was supposed to be barely noticeable.

  "Ooh, Reese, I never knew you had such long lashes!" Lane cooed. "And your hair... did you get a body wave?"

  Reese's cheeks flamed. I never should have tried to style it. "No... it's always like this."

  "No, it looks a little different, honey," Joanna said.

  Reese abruptly cleared her throat. "Um, so we should probably start the meeting?"

  "No, we can't," Ally said with a shake of her head. "We're still waiting for people to arrive." Yay! If Brian was coming, then all this gratuitous embarrassment wouldn't be in vain.

  "Oh, no," Lane said, "Deb said not to wait for her; she doesn't think she'll make it."

  "Then I guess this is pretty much everybody," Ally said.

  What? No, no, we're missing someone....

  "Where's Dad?" Angela asked.

  Try again.

  "Oh, he should be coming along any minute," Joanna said, hopping up, and bustling toward the kitchen. "That reminds me, I'm gonna set some food on the table buffet-style. You can all help yourselves."

  "Yes," Ben said, rubbing his hands together.

  "And Brian isn't coming, right?" Ally asked him.

  Reese tried not to salivate, as she pathetically turned on Ben's response. He shrugged absently. "I left him a message about it yesterday, but I never heard back, so I'd say no."

  Reese's spirits plummeted. Damn her luck. She'd let herself hope that Brian would actually come, and she'd get a chance to explain. And, if that went well, maybe to flirt a little. But of course he wasn't coming. But then, who would in the same situation?

  There went her femme fatale act. She sighed, feeling dumb in hip-asphyxiating black pants, strappy fuck-me heels, and so much red-raspberry Chap Stick, her lips were starting to stick together. She supposed that now all she'd really like was to get on with the meeting, and put any romantic ideas about Brian Doren out of her head.

  But could her family let her do that? Noooo.

  "So you're never told us why you're so dressed up," Ben said amiably.

  "I'm really not," Reese insisted. "I mean... it's just a sweater and pants."

  "Yeah, but for you," Lane said.

  Joanna came back in the room, carrying a glass of Chablis. "By the way, honey, you never told us why you're so dressed up!" Reese bit her lip hard in frustration. "Oh, my God! Do you have a date with Kenneth? Is that it?"

  "No."

  "Oh," Joanna said, disappointed. "Then where are you going?"

  "I'm... going to the library," Reese lied.

  Joanna's eyebrows shot up. "Dressed like that?"

  "I am not dressed up, okay?"

  "Who's Kenneth again?" Ben asked.

  "Can we please change the subject?" Reese said, exasperated.

  Joanna held up her hand, as if taking an oath. "All right, sweetheart, just calm down."

  "I am calm," Reese said.

  "Shh, okay, okay, take it easy, honey."

  "Mother..."

  "Sweetheart, just take a breath. You're a little high-powered right now," Joanna said—as if she were only trying to help with her unabashed, selfless honesty—then took a seat in the green silk armchair in the corner of the room.

  Meanwhile, Reese swallowed a scream.

  She didn't know how long they'd been sitting there, because she'd pretty much zoned out after she'd filled a plate with hors d'oeuvres and resigned her spot on the love seat. It couldn't have been more than an hour, that much she knew, but her untouched plate was now undeniably cold. The last thing she recalled was everyone sampling Joanna's cuisine, complimenting her cooking, and listening to her insistences that it was truly no bother at all.

  Michael and Drew had been offering to freshen people's drinks, and Lane was informing the room that alcohol made her "feel icky" because of the high caloric content. And Joanna had reiterated roughly five times what she'd learned from Wedding Story about round bouquets making bridesmaids look "hippy."

  So far, not much of a meeting. And after two and a half glasses of merlot, Reese was getting sleepy. Not to mention, she was dying to change—to put her hair up with a durable scrunchy, apricot-scrub her face, and trade her hip-huggers for oversize flannel pajamas.

  This night had obviously not gone the way she'd hoped when she'd showered and attempted to put "sculpting spritz" in her hair. Maybe she'd just excuse herself and go change. She'd tell her mom she was too tired to go to the library after all.

  Ugh, thinking of the library reminded her of school, which reminded her of Kimble, and of how he expected to see chapter eight of his book on his desk tomorrow. The Crewlyn College history department was about the last place in the world she felt like going. In fact, the only thing keeping her from sulking was the fact that she had to drive into the city to work at Roland & Fisk that afternoon anyway.

  "Reese?" She registered someone whispering her name. Looking up, she saw Ben motioning toward her plate. "Are you gonna eat that?"


  "Oh... no. Go ahead," she said, handing him the plate over the coffee table.

  Meanwhile she heard her mother scolding her father, "You know, Michael, I could really use your input here."

  Her father adjusted the unlit pipe in his mouth, and said, " 'He that speaks much is much mistaken.' "

  Ally rolled her eyes, Ben grinned while cramming canapés into his mouth, and Joanna started writhing in her seat with that stricken, panicked look that usually indicated she was about to go off the martyr deep end. "Michael, that is not helping me!"

  Quickly, Drew spoke up. "Joanna, I think what you said was a great suggestion. I think you should go with it."

  "Yeah, Mom," Angela agreed supportively.

  "Really?" Joanna said, getting immediately cheerful again. "So then you really think I should tell the caterer to fold the napkins in a three-dimensional diamond, rather than an origami formation?"

  "Definitely, uh-huh, yeah, sounds good," everyone said at the same time. By the look on Joanna's face, she was supremely relieved that that crucial detail was covered, and she could cross it off the meeting "agenda."

  "Okay, so then let's review so far," Joanna said, looking down at her pad. "So we agreed that Reese should drive the van from the church to the reception—"

  "Yep."

  "Uh-huh."

  "Right."

  "Sounds good."

  "What?"

  That one was Reese. Okay, she'd obviously missed something while she was staring into space, trying not to think about Brian What's-His-Name. Now, snapping to attention, she tried to find out what she'd been roped into. "What are you talking about?" she asked.

  "What's wrong, sweetheart?" Joanna asked, her voice lilting with unnatural innocence. "We mentioned that before... don't you remember?"

  "We did?" No, Reese did not remember; in fact, she hoped her mother forgot about it real soon, because it was not going to happen.

  "Well"—Joanna brushed some of her own wavy hair away from her face, and pushed her reading glasses higher on her nose—"we touched on it."

  "Refresh my memory," Reese said. "Why am I doing it? And what van?"

  "Lane's brother is loaning us his van to take out-of-towners from the church to the reception. You know, sweetheart, several people won't have cars."

  Angela piped in, "Reese, nobody else knows how to drive stick."

  "Ben does," Ally offered, and Ben nodded eagerly.

  "Ally, no!" Joanna scolded. "It's Ben's wedding day—that's not his responsibility!"

  "He doesn't care, do you?" Ally said, turning to him.

  He started to shake his head, and Joanna spoke for him. "It's unheard-of, Ally." She went back to her pad. "Now, Reese, it shouldn't be too bad. With almost two hours between the ceremony and the reception, you should have plenty of time. Anyway, we don't have that many who'll need a ride. You should have to make only two trips." You spoil me, Reese thought. "Oh, wait," Joanna said, pulling a page back in her pad and rereading. "Actually... you know what? Make that three trips. Some of the gals from the Gardening Society are going to need a ride."

  "What? Why?" Reese asked, feeling her annoyance rise. "They aren't from out of town!"

  "Well, some of them really like to 'tie one on,' you might say. So I told them not to worry about transportation, and I'd take care of it." Joanna's version of taking care of it often meant delegating it. She added, "I had to; I felt bad." Famous last words. She'd invited them in the first place only because she'd felt bad. Now this?

  Joanna painted on a smile that said; I may be pushing it, but after what you put me through in the delivery room, you'll cooperate with deference. Reese ignored it, though, and threw up her arms.

  "That's just great, Mom. They're your friends, and I'm supposed to be their designated driver now?" Reese turned to the rest of the room. "Does anyone besides me see how absurd that is? Dad, do you approve of this?" she asked, knowing that her dad was so conservative he would probably balk at the idea of his daughter facilitating the liquored-up antics of the Gardening Society.

  But he didn't balk—he quoted. " 'There's more old drunkards than old doctors.'" He gave a knowing look to Reese, which was, of course, completely one-sided, and somewhere in the background, Ally muttered, "Christ."

  "I can take them if it helps," Drew offered. "I can drive stick."

  "No, absolutely not," Angela said immediately, shaking her head.

  He looked over at her, and she held her ground, albeit gently. "I'm sorry, but I don't want you chauffeuring a van back and forth. It's too much pressure."

  "This meeting is getting so irritating," Ally muttered, and then Reese felt a pang of guilt. She realized that she was being selfish. After all, what was she going to do—make a federal case out of this, and cause problems for her sister's big day? No, she couldn't do that.

  "Fine, Mom, fine," she said curtly. "I'll drive the van."

  "Ooh, Reese, you're the woman!" Lane cheered with saccharine sincerity. Then she added, "I'd offer but I always have trouble driving stick shifts, and it makes me feel yucky."

  "Mmm-hmm," Reese mumbled, and forced a smile. Lane beamed a real phony one back, and Joanna made an annoyingly loud screech with her pen as she crossed yet another item off the agenda (Unload Bus Driver Duty on Robust Single Daughter).

  Well, fine. Reese just hoped her mother didn't mind if the toast at Ally's reception touched on some latent wounds from childhood. Perhaps the Christmas Reese was in sixth grade and her mother had refused to get her a crimper would come up....

  "Now for our next order of business," Joanna said breezily. "I got the floral wreaths from Betty." (Whom she'd also invited out of a bizarre, misplaced sense of guilt.)

  "Pardon me," Michael intercepted, pulling his lighter out of his tweed blazer. "Does anyone mind if I smoke?"

  "Yes," everyone said at once, both bothered by smoke and irritable in general. So Michael nodded with understanding, and excused himself to his study.

  Lucky bastard.

  Meanwhile, Joanna left the room to fetch the wreaths, and everyone released a sigh. "I'm gonna get some more food," Ben said, suddenly rising from the couch. "Anyone want anything?" he asked, while lovingly toying with Ally's braids.

  "I'll come too," Drew said.

  Ally said, "Wait, me, too. I need more wine."

  As soon as she was gone, Lane whispered (well, first she looked from Angela to Reese in a cutesy "I've got a secret" motion; then she whispered): "Listen, I wanna throw Ally a surprise shower! I was thinking we could do it right after the main shower."

  The main bridal shower was a pretentious high-tea thing that in no way reflected the Brocks' real lives, but projected the image Joanna wanted for the benefit of the Women's Club. Plus, Remmi Collindyne had recommended it as the only way to go—case closed.

  "It's gonna be great!" Lane went on, clapping her manicured hands together. "I've got something special lined up—Oh, shh, shh!" Ally descended the three steps from the kitchen balancing a plate of crackers and Brie, and two glasses of merlot. She brought one over to Reese.

  She took it, surprised, and Ally winked. "I thought you could use a fresh one, cutie." Reese smiled. "Thanks."

  "Here they aaaare!" Joanna sang, and reentered the room, carrying a big plastic bag labeled in loopy, purple script; Betty's Decorations on Main Street. She plopped down in the armchair again and fished through the bag with a big smile on her face, as though they were really going to love this. Then she pulled out one of the floral wreaths.

  Lugged was more like it. In fact, her brow creased as she hurled it out and set it down on the coffee table with a whap.

  The room fell silent.

  After a few beats, Joanna clapped her hands and said, "Well?"

  Angela, Ally, and Reese all just stared at the monstrosity before their eyes—obviously Betty's twisted version of a subdued headpiece—and it was Lane who finally broke the silence. (Well, why the hell not? She didn't have to wear it.) "Ooh!" she squealed. "How diffe
rent"

  Different was right. Huge holly leaves were strung together with heavy wire, and after every third leaf was a big, spurting bunch of bright red berries. Angela was shaking her head with slow comprehension, and muttering, "Oh... my... Lord."

  "Mother," Ally said finally, "what are those?"

  "What?" Joanna looked confused. "I love them, don't you? I think they're so unique! And it's perfect for the season. Holly. For Christmas, get it? Holly at Christmastime?"

  Ally said, "Yeah, we get it, Mom. Now how do we get rid of it?"

  "And look!" Joanna went on, picking up the wreath again. "It's not real holly; it's only a simulation! That way none of the leaves will die or fall off." Reese couldn't help wondering how that was a good thing. "Remmi says faux foliage is very 'in' this season," Joanna added enthusiastically.

  "Oh... that's... good," Angela mustered.

  "But they're gonna have fruit coming out of their heads," Ally said. "It's weird."

  "Well, it's not real fruit, sweetheart," Joanna said, sounding frustrated. "The berries are just decoration. See?" She tugged on one of the unnaturally red, unnaturally shiny bunches—the entirety of which filled her palm.

  "Oh, plastic gargantuan fruit. Much better," Ally said.

  "Very comforting," Reese said.

  "Yeah, we wouldn't want to walk around with real fruit on our heads; that might be gauche," Angela said.

  Then Joanna put a stop to all complaints, which were futile anyway. "Now, look. These will just have to do. Betty wanted to surprise you with something different, and you can't very well insult her by not wearing them." She splayed her hand over her heart dramatically. "I'd feel bad. Besides, I'm sure we just need to see what it looks like on. Reese, c'mere."

  "Wha—why me?"

  "Well, somebody's gotta try it on."

  "I repeat the question," Reese muttered, setting her wineglass aside and getting up to fulfill her duty as simulated-foliage model (yet another one of her things).

  Joanna motioned for her to get lower, so Reese bent at the knees, crouching lower and lower, until she finally gave up and knelt on the floor. And then the torture really began. The wreath refused to stay on her head, no matter how much Joanna tried to set it in place. "Wait... hold still, sweetheart," she said with frustration.