Spin Cycle

SIX

• VI - SPLIT DECISIONS • 

ADDISON FLOPS BACK ONTO AN UPHOLSTERED CHANGING ROOM CHAIR and waits for Heather to try on the dozenth wedding dress of the afternoon. It wasn't Addison's choice, being dragged to the bridal boutique and plied with cheap champagne, but she's the maid of honor and that's what good maids of honour do; desiccate in stiff white armchairs while their brides dither and rant about dress fabrics.

It's an uncharacteristically warm fall day in Grinrod, and Addison watches the leaves float down outside, settling on the pavement, only to be unceremoniously run over by one too many trucks. She loves fall, the auburn and crimson hues, the musty smell of the trees changing. The prickling wind against her desert wasteland cheeks.

The beginning of starting anew again.

Addison hears Heather grunting in the change room, struggling to fit some overcomplicated dress around her hips without the whole thing ripping. They're midway through a tooth-pulling conversation about Kira – much to Addison's dismay – when Heather blurts out, loudly, "so you didn't just fuck her?"

Addison eyes the store, mostly empty save for a few older women perusing a collection of veils.

"No. I didn't just – I slept on her couch."

"Have you lost your mind?"

Addison knocks on her head with her knuckle. "No, still there."

"You'll fuck any human male with a pulse but not this chick?"

"Do you have to say fuck? It sounds so crass when you say it."

"I thought saying 'make love' might give you an aneurism."

"Fair play."

"You said she's single right?"

Addison sighs, lips tucked against a complimentary glass of champagne. "I haven't explicitly asked."

"But she gave you 'fuck me' eyes?"

"Jesus, stop saying fuck."

"Fuck fuck fuck." Heather yells from the changeroom, followed by echoing giggles that turn the heads of the old ladies in the veil aisle. Addison silently mouths I'm sorry to them. They scurry off into another section like a hoard of scraggly little mice.

"It was nothing. Is nothing. I'm making friends. We're friends."

"That's impossible," Heather retorts, "You're never friends with hot girls."

"I'm friends with you."

"I'm flattered, LaPointe. But I meant hot available ones."

"Well, there's a first time for everything."

"So you're admitting she's hot?"

Addison laughs and rolls her eyes. "This is me waving my metaphorical white flag."

"And this is me calling you an idiot," Heather retorts, poking her head out from the changeroom. "I don't get you, Addie. After all this time, I still don't get you."

Addie cocks an eyebrow, "but isn't that part of my allure?"

Heather steps out cloaked in a flowery dress brimming with lace accents that in Addison's opinion feel overwrought. But she knows she's a sucker for simplicity. Heather tugs at the sides and the stomach and scrunches her eyebrows together, critically examining herself head-to-toe.

"This makes me look like a prude, doesn't it?"

"I think it's classy."

Addison lets her eyes wander, across the tight bodice and high neckline. Heather's got the type of body that could make anything look good, but it's an admittedly conservative look, nonetheless. All buttoned up and preened. The sort of thing her mother would've fawned over. The thought of Addison's mother sends a cold chill down her spine.