Dolly All the Time(20)

“You’re going to…what?” he asks. It wasn’t the reaction I was going for.

“He has an image problem since he was dumped, and his parents think he has no life. I’m going to be his pretend girlfriend.”

“Doll, I hate every single thing about this.”

I hold the check up with two hands. “But not this. There’s no way you hate this. Dad, I’m going to laugh at his jokes all summer, and we’re going to have a new roof and a little savings.”

“I don’t think Stewart Whitfield makes a lot of jokes.”

“He’s a little jokier than I thought. And I promise it’s nothing creepy. We have a contract that actually says so. He’s having it all typed up.” I laugh and pick at a crusty muffin top. I’m so relieved about the house and the money. “And he knows I need to make my shifts at the fish house.”

“We can handle that. That’s not it.” He covers my hand in his. The same kind, warm hand that never wanted to take anything from me but needed to all the same. “I just wish you were using the money to do something you wanted to do. I don’t like taking from you, I’ve taken enough.” My childhood being what it was, my dad has always wanted to see me carefree. One thing about caretakers is they are never carefree. Without our cares, we’d just be takers like everyone else.

“Dad, a couple nights a week I’m going to put on mascara and eat fancy food. Maybe I’ll have a few glasses of champagne. What exactly are you taking from me? My chance to eat your signature baked potatoes?” I smile at him and squeeze his hand. This is an answered prayer, and I want him to embrace it.

“Are you going to tell Gus?”

I’ve always tried not to lie to Gus. Not about Santa Claus. Not even about his dad. I told him I thought he was better off without that particular dad, but that if he ever wanted more information, I would point him in the right direction. The burdens of motherhood and personhood are things I can carry. The weight of deception I cannot.

“Of course,” I say. “But Christopher cannot keep a secret, you know that.”

“He’d go straight to Page Six,” my dad says and laughs.





Chapter 8





On Monday morning Naomi sends a screaming all-caps text that she’ll be late for our shopping trip because Sully forgot he had a meeting and can’t open the store. I suspect she’s more disappointed than I am, because shopping’s her thing, but I can feel in my chest how much I wanted her here. I am about to step out of my super-grounded reality into a fantasy I’m ill equipped to navigate. Naomi is the steady hand that will help me cross. I don’t know how I’m going to keep my head on straight without her reassuring me that this is all doable. That I’m still doing a great job not eating my hair.

I’m standing outside Wendell’s like I’m waiting for a formal invitation to enter. I’m in my regular jeans (clean) and a slightly nicer shirt than usual. It’s white and has four pretty buttons down the front. It’s something I never put in the dryer. Stewart pulls up in an old forest-green Range Rover and stops long enough for Busy to pop out of the passenger seat. She does not exit or emerge—Busy is a person who pops. She approaches me in a maxi dress, all swirls of orange and pink under her long platinum-blond hair. I think of the ranunculus in the flower shop window and wish I had them to give her.

“Dolly, hi!” she says. She takes both of my hands. “Thank you for letting me do this. And for doing this for poor Stewart. Let’s get inside and find you every single beautiful thing!” She’s like a walking glass of champagne.

“That’s a different car,” I say, as Stewart drives away. I am overwhelmed by the prospect of a new wardrobe and my mind has just short-circuited on the idea that Stewart might have a different Range Rover for every day of the week. “He was in a black one before. New.”

Busy laughs a bubbly laugh. “He calls the black one The Abomination. Audrey bought it for him.”

“She bought him a Range Rover,” I say. Just to be clear.

“Because she hates his car. That green one. It’s from 1994 or something, and he can talk to you about how it’s a superior model to the ones they make now until you want to jam a fork right into your eye. Audrey wanted him to get with the times. And that is so not Stewart.” She raises a hand as if she’s solemnly swearing. “A bad match. Obviously. So are you ready?”

“Yes, I’m excited,” I say. Without Naomi here to back me up, this lie falls flat.

Busy smiles at me with the full brightness of the sun. “I know this is weird, but I swear it’ll be fun.”

We walk into Wendell’s and it’s bigger than I imagined from the street. Small compared to Old Navy, but still bigger than I thought. The clothing is displayed on small racks around the store, with blue velvet sofas scattered so that you could sit for a while and admire a dress before you tried it on.

A woman named Octavia with a black pixie cut comes out to greet Busy. They kiss hello and she shakes my hand.

“So, Dolly has some big events coming up, and she’s looking for a summer wardrobe refresh,” Busy says. A bit of an understatement.

“Would you ladies like…” Octavia starts.

“Yes, all of it, please,” Busy says. Octavia raises her hand and makes a circular motion that I read as bring it all, and soon we are seated on a blue velvet sofa with glasses of champagne, warm cheese puffs, and shrimp.