The Bride Wore Size 12 (Heather Wells 5)

“We’re having a cover band,” I say, “not a DJ. But we’re having the lead singer say, ‘Here’s Cooper and Heather for their first dance as a married couple.’ It’s more intimate that way.”

“Ha!” Jessica cries, her catlike eyes narrowing with delight. “She got you there, Nic. How come Heather isn’t opening the tasteful gift you got her?”

“Oh.” Nicole leaps up, her tears forgotten, and shoves the huge, ornately wrapped box at me. “Here, Heather. I know this can never make up for what I did, but I wanted you to know I’m not only sorry, I want to make amends. So I bought this with my own money, even though I’m unemployed, broke, and probably prediabetic. My parents didn’t help pay for it at all, and neither did Jessica.”

“I didn’t help pick it out either,” Jessica says. She’s been digging around for something in her purse, an enormous white designer tote with metallic-gold accents. “Nicole did this one all on her own.”

“Wow, Nicole,” I say, reaching up to detach the large silver bow. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.” Obviously, I don’t mean this.

“Actually I did,” Nicole says. “It was wrong of me to call your wedding planner and give her all those extra names and addresses that I stole from your Rolodex and address book. Although, to be fair, I did it because there seem to be so many more guests on the groom’s side than the bride’s, which I felt was unfair, even though Cooper explained to me that’s how you wanted it. And it was seriously unprofessional of your wedding planner to believe that it was okay with you, and not to call you and check to make sure it was okay before going ahead and sending the invitations out. If you think about it, there’s something wrong with Perry. I’d make a better wedding planner than her. At least I have your best interest at heart.”

“It’s hard to dispute that,” I admit, especially since the stupid woman still hasn’t returned any of our calls. I’ve torn the wrapping paper from Nicole’s gift and now I can see what it is she’s gone to so much trouble to lug all the way from the penthouse apartment in which she lives with her sister and parents. “Oh. My. How thoughtful of you, Nicole.”

“It’s a juicer,” Nicole says unnecessarily, since I can see perfectly well by the picture on the side of the box. “According to the personal shopper who picked it out, it’s the top of the line. So now you and Cooper can start juicing things, like kale and celery and carrots and spinach. It’s way healthier than the stuff you guys normally eat.”

“Oh,” I say, staring at the juicer. A juicer was not on the list of wedding gifts for which Cooper and I registered. I had not wanted to register for any wedding gifts at all, but Lisa, who’d been married in the spring, warned me that if we didn’t register, we’d receive gifts anyway, gifts we did not want. Such as juicers. “How lovely, Nicole. Thank you.”

Nicole beams happily. “I’m glad you like it. When you juice vegetables, as opposed to cooking them, more of the nutrients are absorbed into your system right away. In only a matter of weeks, you’re going to begin to see a difference. You’re going to lose weight, because you’ll be too filled up from drinking all the healthy vegetable juice you’ll be having to eat instead of all that nasty junk food you guys like, such as pizza and cookies, and your hair and skin are going to begin to glow.”

“Wow.” I can’t think of anything else to say. I thought my skin was already glowing thanks to my exfoliating brush, but apparently I was mistaken. “That’s so thoughtful of you, Nicole.”

I want to punch her in the face, but I figure this will be even worse for Cartwright family relations than refusing to speak to her anymore, my previous plan for exacting revenge on her.

“Oh, I’m so happy you love it!” Nicole rushes over to throw her arms around my neck. She’s crying again, but this time they’re tears of joy.

I hug her back. What else can I do?

“Yeah,” Jessica says in a sarcastic voice from behind us. “Just what you always wanted, huh, Heather?”

I hear the sound of ice being shaken in a glass. After Nicole lets go of me, I turn around to see that Jessica has pulled several bottles from her voluminous purse and poured their contents into the glasses she’s set along the kitchen counter. Now she’s shaking each individual glass with a salad plate over the top to keep the contents—which are very pink—from spilling out. A cocktail shaker would have been a more appropriate gift from Nicole—there is one on our registry—but apparently she did not consider that to be healthful enough.

“Jessica,” I say curiously. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you a present you’ll really appreciate,” she says. “Key West lemonade. Vodka with triple sec, lemonade, and a little cranberry juice. I figured everyone could use a drink.” She pauses her shaking to eye me. “Unless you’d like me to run down to the deli to buy some kale. We could juice that up really quick, if you’d prefer.”

“No. It’s okay. The lemonade sounds great.”

Trust Jessica to drop by with a portable bar in her purse.

“Jess,” Nicole says disapprovingly. “You know I don’t drink hard alcohol. Why did you make one for me?”

“It’s not for you, dummy,” Jessica says. “It’s for Rambo downstairs.”

Jessica lifts two of the drinks like she’s procuring one for herself and intending to take the other down to the basement for Hal.

I know this is a really bad idea, not only because it will freak out Hal, who has always seemed a bit uncomfortable—to say the least—around women, but also because of what I suspect she’s going to find in the basement. Not that I think Jessica will disapprove. On the contrary, I’m pretty sure she will like it . . . so much that she’ll probably snap photos and post them all over her many social media networking sites. Then Cooper will be hauled up in front of whatever private eye board reviews these kinds of things and stripped of his license, and also probably sent to prison.

“You know what,” I say, snatching both glasses from her hands. “Let me. You stay here and make one for Cooper. He should be here any minute.”

Nicole brightens. “Really? You’ve heard from him?”