To make me the most beautiful bride, my mother pulled strings a full year in advance and paid a hundred thousand to book the celebrity makeup artist favored by a hot young starlet.
But on the wedding day, the artist still hadn't shown, so my mother called to chase her down.
The artist sounded completely innocent.
"I got here early. The groom picked me up and took me to his little sister's place first. He said the bride had already agreed to let me do the sister's makeup first."
I called Guy, and he was breezy about the whole thing.
"Oh, that. Girls her age like to look pretty. You're the older one, just let her have this. The second she's done I'll have someone drive the artist straight over to you. One flick of the gas pedal, that's all."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"So at our wedding, behind my back, you took the makeup artist my mother spent a hundred thousand to book, and sent her to do your little sister's makeup first?"
His patience thinned.
"It's a happy day. Do you have to blow everything up into some big deal? There's plenty of time anyway!"
I checked my watch. Three hours until the bride pickup.
I swallowed the irritation and explained to him patiently.
"There isn't plenty of time! Bridal makeup is complicated and slow, and after that I still have to shoot the morning-robe photos. It's tight as it is, and my mother and my two best friends, my bridesmaids, all need their makeup done too."
"So what? You can all just make do and do it yourselves!"
"Baby, even without any makeup you're the most beautiful girl in the world to me."
Beep, beep, beep. He hung up.
I gripped the phone, my chest going tight,
and suddenly seven years of love felt like nothing at all. Was there even any point in going through with this wedding?
——
My two best friends, who had heard the whole call, exchanged looks.
Harper Matthews, the fiery one, dropped the ceremony script she'd spent all night rehearsing and blew up first.
"What is wrong with this Guy Harding? Doesn't he know the bride comes first on her wedding day?"
"Making the artist your aunt booked for a hundred thousand do her makeup first? Who does she think she is?"
"That doesn't sound like a little sister to me. Sounds more like a little something on the side!"
Chloe, the gentle one, tugged at her sleeve.
"Ease up. Right now what matters is fixing this."
My mother's smile, fixed in place all morning, faded, but she took my hand and spoke without hesitation.
"Don't worry, Nora Simmons. I'll call the artist myself and tell her to come right now."
"As long as she gets here in time to do your makeup, it's fine. We can figure out the rest."
I looked out at the pitch-black sky and gave a numb nod.
But inside I was thinking, no wonder Guy, who never lifted a finger for anything, had suddenly asked me for the artist's contact info yesterday, and whether a celebrity's go-to artist really was that much more skilled than an ordinary one.
I'd thought he was asking about every little detail because he cared, and I'd even bragged to him, pleased.
"Of course she's better! She's priceless, in demand everywhere. Without connections you couldn't book her no matter how much money you threw at it. Just wait, tomorrow I'll take everyone's breath away."
What a joke, that this was what he'd been planning all along, to snatch her away and get his little sister's makeup done first.
The phone rang for a long time before anyone picked up,
and then Ada Sullivan's mother's careless voice came through the receiver.
"The artist? She's doing my Ada's makeup right now. No time to take calls."
My mother pressed down her anger and kept her voice as steady as she could.
"That's the artist I paid to book especially for my daughter. If she doesn't come now it'll ruin the wedding! The kids don't know any better, but you adults should be reminding them, shouldn't you?"
"Oh, don't fret, we're practically family. Guy and my Ada have been close since they were little, there's nothing we can do about it, she absolutely insisted on getting done first. Says an artist this good is one most people never get the chance to hire."
My mother hung up, her face cold, and said,
"They have no intention of letting the artist come."
My aunt, there to see the bride off, stared wide and cursed.
