Page 56 of Came the Closest
Indi floats into my room unannounced, looking effortlessly gorgeous in a flowy red maxi dress and brown leather sandals, her blonde hair in a half up half down. “Oh, my gosh, Cheyenne. You’re hiding these clothes in this closet?!” She nudges me out of her way and sifts through my wardrobe, slender fingers assessing the fabrics with practiced grace. “Cheyenne. Some of these still have the tags on them.”
Bitterness stings my throat, but I smile to hide it. It’s not like I can tell her I bought the green and white Farm Rio dress to wear when I got my promotion, but that never came because my husband (and boss) decided my colleague deserved the position more than I did. Not only that; he also decided she deserved the love and commitment he promised me on our wedding day.
“Yeah, well, it’s not like I’m gonna wear them here,” I tell her dismissively. I wrap my arms around my middle, feeling my shoulders begin to curl in on the emptiness there. “I’m actually thinking about skipping tonight, though. It’s not like I even really know—”
“You will do no such thing,” Indi pronounces, pivoting to face me fully. “For one, Ember will literally welcome anyone into her bubble of sweetness. And two—” she spins back to my closet to pull something from the rack “—because you need to wear this.”
I inhale sharply. The dress she’s holding is the one I planned to wear that night. Unlike most of my wardrobe, it’s not designer. It came from the clearance rack of a charming boutique in the mall, and it’s flowy, covered in a soft blue floral pattern with a deep V neckline and open back.
“No, I—”
“No nos about it,” she says, pressing it into my hands. The faded tag chafes against my palm, not unlike unpleasant memories chafing against my thoughts. “This is perfect for the vibe of tonight’s party. With your tan and if you put your hair up in a clip?” She shakes her head and presses a fist to her mouth. I’m convinced there are actual tears in her eyes. “Gosh, it’s like a whole new you has emerged. No offense to your regular outfits, Chey, but seriously. I will adopt these clothes if you continue locking them up like this.”
Despite myself, I laugh. I’ve thought of Kaia as a sister since she and Beau got married fourteen years ago, but my sister-in-law leans toward quiet and introverted. Indi has a bold personality, blunt opinions, and beautiful determination stuffed into a petite body.
I love her.
“Fine,” I say. I’m not sure I have a choice. I fold the dress over my arm, take Indi by the shoulders, and gently push her toward the door. “I’ll wear it. But you need to reiterate to Colton that the kitchen is off limits tonight. They can order pizza from Giorgi’s for supper. If a kitchen becomes necessary, they can go up to Sam’s.”
She squints at me over her shoulder. “You do know Dad can’t cook very well either, right?”
“But Jordan can,” I say. “Both Sydney and Jolene will be at the party with us. He’ll need something to do.”
With that, I close the door so I can change. She mutters something like wear that dress, or else, but even with the threat, I consider choosing something else. Nearly anything else. She could have picked any other dress out of the couple dozen on the rack, and she had to choose this one.
But I told her I’d wear it, and I don’t break promises. Unless, of course, they’re to myself. Promises to myself are much too easy to break.
I toss my shorts and t-shirt into my hamper and pull an ivory bralette over my head. Taking a deep breath, I tug the tags from the armpit of the dress. The rayon flutters over my body just like it did the day I tried it on two years ago.
But the woman looking at me in the mirror isn’t the woman who bought it. She has the same naturally highlighted blonde hair. The same blue eyes and summertime freckles. The same pronounced collarbone and plain face.
But she’s not about to become a curator at The Art Institute of Chicago. She’s not married to a man as powerful in his circle as men came. She’s not the mother who wasn’t showing yet.
She’s a hollowed shell of that woman.
I can’t dwell on those shortcomings now, though, nor can I give into my inward spiraling. I straighten my shoulders and smooth my hands over my hips. I fold my hair into a clip, and I holler for Indi to come tie the dress at my neck. When I try, it threatens to choke me, the awkward, flimsy bow drooping over my left shoulder and the strings too tight.
My door opens a moment later. “Oh, thank God. You’re here. I can’t—” I stop when the mirror reflects the man standing behind me. “You’re not Indi.”
His eyes don’t lift from my own reflection. “Last I checked, no. I don’t have a flair for red lipstick and bossing everyone around.”
I don’t turn. I stare right back at him in the mirror. Applesauce stains his t-shirt and he has a Hot Wheels car in his hand. “You’d probably be better suited to nude lipstick.”
“Probably so.”
“I, um…” I reach for my wave necklace habitually. “I need Indi to tie my dress. I don’t know if she didn’t hear me, or…”
He lifts his eyes to mine, and the corner of his mouth curves. “Oh, trust me, Fini. She heard you. She promptly invented something that Milo needed help with that she and only she could take care of, though.”
There it is again—my nickname on his lips. Now-familiar goosebumps freckle my skin.
I absently rub a hand up and down my arm. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” His eyes sweep over my body so reverently that it should be his hands on my hips, my face, my back. “Fini, you look…” He clears his throat. “You look beautiful.”
I try to hold it together. I really do. But the low timbre of his voice is my kryptonite. My lip trembles, and I blink at my reflection in the mirror, and just like that, I’m a shell again. Tears roll down my cheeks, and I start shaking my head.
“This was the dress I bought for our two-year wedding anniversary,” I say, my voice miserably thin. “I—I was going to tell Stephen that I was pregnant. That he was going to be a dad.” I nearly double over with grief. “That I was going to be a mom. But we didn’t make it to dinner because he forgot about it. I told him later, but it didn’t matter, because a few weeks later…”