Hot 4 (Multiple Love)

Carmella immediately looks panicked. "But what about Dad? He'll be heartbroken."

"So you'd rather it was you that was heartbroken instead? Dad is a grown man. He's a manipulative man. If we're not living our lives the way he wants, it's never good enough. It shouldn't be like that, sis."

"He just wants what's best for us," Carmella says, her eyes darting to the makeup woman, who's listening with interest. Is it right to air our dirty family laundry in public? Probably not, but I'm past caring. We've got a wedding to get to.

"Really? So crying because you're wearing a dress that you don't like is best for you. Getting yourself into debt so Dad can show off to his friends is what's best for you?"

She shakes her head. "I hate my job," she says. "And this house...it's just not me."

"And you've made all those choices so that Dad can be proud of you?"

A sigh leaves her lips, her hand mopping at a tear that's threatening to fall. "When Mom died, I just needed to be close to Dad. I didn't realize what it would take to keep him happy. Sometimes I think Mom had a heart attack because she was desperately trying to keep up with his expectations all the time."

It's something I've considered in the past too. "I know you want his approval, but if it comes at the expense of your happiness, is it worth it?"

Carmella hangs her head. "No, but the alternative is..."

"The alternative is that you take back the control that you've given him, and he has to get used to it. You can't live your life for him. You're about to make a life with Derek. You need to be living for both of you. There can't be a third wheel, or it's never going to work. Would Derek want you to be crying on the morning of your wedding?"

She shakes her head. "He'd be devastated if he could see me. He's been trying to tell me to buy the other dress for weeks."

"Because he has your best interests at heart, honey, and that's amazing."

"Am I really going to do it?" she asks. Her hand trembles as though the stress of rebellion is too much for her.

"Yes, you are. Leave Dad to me. And now you need to get your face done. There's no way I'm accompanying you to the church looking so blotchy."

Carmella swats my hand, smiling sadly. "I'm so sorry for how I've been over the past few years. I know it's been hard for you. I've heard the things he's said to you."

"I'm getting better at letting it wash over me," I say as she rises from the bed. The makeup artist jumps up, eager to get started on her bride.

"That's good. Maybe you need to give me some lessons."

Bridal makeup is a slower process than I was expecting, but by the end, Carmella looks stunning. The doorbell rings, and it's Sandy, clutching a huge black dress bag high over her head. "I've got it," she says, out of breath with exertion.

"She's so excited," I say, ushering her upstairs. "You give it to her. I'm going to call my dad."

Sandy's expression clouds immediately. "I'm sure it's not going to be an easy conversation."

"Probably not, but I'm at a point where I've stopped caring."

My heart speeds as my phone dials his number. When he answers the call, he clears his throat before saying hello.

"Dad," I say. "I'm with Carmella. I just wanted to let you know that she's not going to be wearing Mom's dress."

He doesn't even take a breath before replying, "What? Did you put her up to this?" Of course, it would be my fault.

"It isn't what she wants," I say firmly, squashing the instinct to apologize to him for what's happening.

"She was happy to wear that dress. This is you poisoning your sister. Your mom would be devastated."

"Mom would have wanted her to wear what she wanted. She always talked about putting money away for our dresses."

"What do you know about your mom?" he spits. Of course, he'd be looking to undermine my relationship with my only genuinely caring parent.

"More than you, it would seem. Now, I'm not going to discuss this with you anymore. Carmella is wearing the dress she loves. We'll see you at the church. If you make her upset about it, I will make sure the whole wedding party knows what you've been doing. This has gone far enough."

There is silence on the other end of the line, not because what I've said has chastened my father in any way. On the contrary. He's silent because he's apoplectic with rage. I can practically feel his fury spilling through the phone.

"Bye." I hang up, putting my hand against my heart and feeling its double-time beats. I did it. I really stood up to him. The more I do it, the easier it becomes.