“More beautiful than Princess Diana,” her mother told Mol y that morning as she helped her get dressed.
“I need more bobby pins,” her sister replied.
Isabel a sat on the bed with her hair in a tight French braid. Early that morning, the hairdresser had teased and twisted her hair back, stuck baby’s breath in it, and sprayed it with an entire can of hairspray. From the side, it looked like a plant was growing out of her head. She kept touching it lightly to make sure the braid was stil there, and every time she did, she was surprised at the crispiness of her hair.
“Isabel a,” Mol y said. “If you keep touching your hair, you’re going to ruin it.” Isabel a put her hand in her lap and watched Mol y fluff her own crispy hair. Mol y stared at herself in the mirror until her face got white. “I feel funny,” she said. “A little sick.”
Isabel a walked downstairs, where she saw her mom running around like a crazy person and her dad walking briskly and trying to look busy so he wouldn’t get yel ed at. “Mol y thinks she’s going to throw up,” she announced. Her mom took the stairs two at a time to get to Mol y. Her dad gave her a little smile with no teeth, and continued his pacing.
The Mack family had been getting ready for this wedding for over a year. It was al they talked about, al they thought about. It was getting tiresome. Isabel a’s parents wanted everything to be perfect. They’d had the trim on the house repainted and the garden redone. “What’s the point?” Isabel a asked. “No one’s going to see the house.” Her parents just shook their heads at her and Mol y rol ed her eyes.
Isabel a’s mother and father went on a diet. They walked every morning and ate fish for dinner. When Isabel a’s dad ordered a steak or put butter on his bread, her mom would shake her head and say, “Oh, Frank.”
“What’s the difference?” Isabel a asked. “No one’s going to be looking at you guys.” As soon as she said it, Isabel a felt bad. She hadn’t realized how mean the words sounded until they were out of her mouth, which had been happening a lot recently. It surprised Isabel a, how nasty she could be without even trying.
Isabel a’s mother hung the wedding picture in the front hal . It was the first thing people saw when they walked into the Mack house. If you looked at it quickly, it was just a blur of blue dresses and big hair. As the years went by, it began to look like something you would see in a magazine, in an article titled “Fashion Mistakes of the Early ’90s.” Even the faces in the picture seemed to change. The bridesmaids began to look embarrassed to be caught in such blue dresses. But there was nothing they could do about it. They were trapped there, framed for the whole world to see.
“Whoa,” Isabel a’s friends would say when they saw it.
“I know,” Isabel a would say. “It’s horrendous.”
Before Isabel a moved to New York, her mom made her clean out her closet. “There are things in there that you haven’t worn in years,” she said.
“Let’s get it al cleaned out and I’l give it to the Salvation Army.” She said it in an upbeat voice like it would be a fun thing to do. “You’l feel so much better when it’s done,” her mother added.
“I real y doubt that,” Isabel a said.
Isabel a sorted through old notebooks and shoes. She threw out T-shirts from high school sports teams and col ages she’d made in junior high. In the back of her closet she found the blue floral beast. It was even worse in person. Isabel a thought the color would have faded over the years, but it was just as vivid as ever. She held it up for a moment and then brought it to the dress-up chest in the playroom. Maybe her nieces would like to play with it. She shoved it in with the pirate costumes and princess dresses and forgot about it.
New York in September was busy, like everyone was in a hurry to get back to real life after the lazy summer. Isabel a liked the feeling of it, the rushing around, and she let herself get swept along the sidewalks. She walked quickly, trotting beside the crowds of people, like she had somewhere important to be, too, like she was part of the productivity of the city, when real y she was just going to Bed Bath & Beyond to get a shower curtain.
Isabel a had decided to move to New York because she didn’t have a plan, and New York seemed like a good one. Her friend Mary was moving there to go to Columbia Law. When Mary announced this, Isabel a was floored. “You got into Columbia?” she asked. “How?”
“Thanks a lot,” Mary said. But Isabel a knew she didn’t real y care. It wasn’t that she thought Mary was dumb. She just didn’t know when Mary had
found the time to make a life plan, study for the LSATs, and apply to schools. Isabel a had barely finished her final photography project senior year.
“That’s not what I meant,” Isabel a told her. She thought for a moment, and then she said, “Maybe I’l move to New York too.” Isabel a hadn’t considered this before, but as soon as she said it, she knew it was a good idea. She had a roommate and a city al picked out, and that was something.
Isabel a told her parents that she was moving to New York. She expected them to ask more questions, to want to know the details of what she planned to do there. But Isabel a was the youngest of six, and her parents were not nostalgic about their children moving out of the house. Each time one of their children left, another one returned, and they had started to think they would never be alone again. “New York sounds great,” they told her. “We’l help
