Hate Notes by Vi Keeland EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Author: Vi Keeland
- Genre: Contemporary Women Fiction, Women’s Romance Fiction
- Publish Date: 6 November 2018
- Size: 2 MB
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Status: Avail for Download
- Price: Free
CHARLOTTE
I wouldn’t have been caught dead in here a year ago. Don’t
take that the wrong way—I’m not a snob. Growing up, my
mom and I spent hours combing the racks at the secondhand
store.
And that was back when secondhand was called
Goodwill, and the stores were predominantly in blue-collar
neighborhoods. These days, used is called vintage and sold on
the Upper East Side for a small fortune.
I sported “gently worn” before the gentrification of
Brooklyn.
Secondhand was not my issue. My problem with used
wedding dresses was the stories I imagined they carried with
them.
Why are they here?
I pulled a Vera Wang sweetheart ball gown with a
crisscross bodice and cascading tulle skirt from the rack.
Fairy-tale expectations. Divorced after six months, I decided.
A delicate lace Monique Lhuillier mermaid dress—the groom
died in a horrific car accident. The devastated bride-to-neverbe donated it to the church for its annual tag sale.
A savvy
shopper picked it up for a steal and tripled the return on her
investment by reselling it.
Every used dress had a story, and mine belonged on the
He turned out to be a cheating son of a bitch rack. I sighed and
returned to the two women bickering at the front desk in
Russian.
“It’s from next year’s collection, yes?” the taller woman
with bizarre, unevenly drawn eyebrows asked.
I tried not to stare at them, but failed. “Yes. It’s from the
Marchesa spring collection.”
The women had been flipping through catalogs, even
though I’d told them twenty minutes ago when I walked in that
the dress was from an unpublished future collection. I assumed
they wanted to get an idea of the designer’s original prices.
“I don’t think you’ll find it in there yet. My future motherin-law—” I corrected myself. “My ex–future mother-in-law is
related to one of the designers or something.”
The women stared at me for a moment and then resumed
bickering.
Okay, then. “I guess you need more time,” I mumbled.
Toward the back of the store, I found a rack labeled
CUSTUM MADE. I smiled. Todd’s mother would’ve had a heart
attack if I’d taken her to a place where the signs were
misspelled. She’d been appalled when I went to look at a dress
in a shop that didn’t serve her champagne while I was in the
fitting room. God, I’d really been drunk on the Roth Kool-Aid
and had nearly turned into one of those snooty bitches.
Running my fingertips along the custom-made gowns, I
sighed. These dresses probably had even more interesting
stories behind them. Eclectic brides too free-spirited for their
boring boyfriends or husbands. These were strong-minded
women who went against the grain, women who marched at
political rallies, women who knew what they wanted.
I stopped at an A-line white dress embellished with
bloodred roses. The corset bodice had red piping running
along the bones. Left her banker boyfriend for the French
artist next door, and this was the dress she wore when she
married Pierre.
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