a circus ain't a love story
and now we're both s o r r y . . .

〰️〰️〰️

Cyclone Sutton blew through my bedroom at approximately two minutes past nine o'clock on Friday morning. It was a nickname my family had given her when we realized how much power she held.

She was carefree and assertive, and that was a deadly combination. It meant she was eloquent, headstrong, and able to demolish anything in her path. Not literally, although she could if she wanted to.

I had survived and been washed up in the remains of Cyclone Sutton before. It was never pleasant. While she'd get her way with whatever it was she wanted, the rest of us as casualties were left to salvage ourselves.

This time, I wasn't prepared for it.

She barged through the door and her mouth was already moving at the speed of light as she circled my room like a personified twister. I sprung up at the turbulent wake-up call, gasping for air and sweating bullets, staring wide-eyed at her in both shock and animosity.

"Oh, you're awake," she commented as she stopped pacing. "We're leaving in an hour for brunch."

"What?" I croaked, my body having not adjusted to being awake quite yet.

She stood in the middle of my room, a pink blur from what I could see through the sleepy film clouding my vision. Salmon-colored paper bag pants with a silky white blouse tucked into the waistband and porcelain pumps on her feet. Dewy skin, fluttery lashes, and a low loose bun with tendrils of golden hair framing her face came into view once my eyes registered her figure.

She looked more put together than I could ever dream of being in the morning. Perhaps more than I could ever dream of within the last month.

Sutton rolled her eyes and rested her freshly spray-tanned hands on her hips. "Brunch, remember?" She irritatingly articulated the first word. "We have the final dress fitting at noon but we're all going out to eat first. Don't tell me you forgot."

"I didn't forget," I said, then cleared my throat when I heard how gruff my voice was.

False. I forced myself to forget about it. The idea of spending the entire day with Sutton, my mother, and the bridal brigade made me want to tear my hair out.

It was just another thing on the pre-wedding checklist; nothing fancy in the slightest. It was the final dress fitting to make sure no one in the bridal party had severely gained or lost weight since the last time we'd tried our dresses on a few months prior. There was no reason for it to be turned into this elaborate function that my sister was making it out to be, but because it was all for her, I had no other choice but to get swept up in the storm.

"Alright, well, like..." Sutton trailed off, frantically waving her hands around like that was going to do anything. "Get ready."

"With what? Sutton, I've literally been wearing the same black jeans for the last two weeks straight," I spat, and she flinched. "I have leggings, this t-shirt I sleep in, the outfit I wore on Christmas, my leather jacket, and whatever clothes I left here when I moved out that definitely don't fit me anymore."

Pathetic, but true. Since I avoided going back to the apartment to get the rest of my belongings as much as I avoided questions about my breakup, what I listed was the extent of my closet. If being newly single didn't wreak enough havoc on my life, having no clothes certainly did that.

"That's why I came prepared," she told me as if I should have already known that, followed by another eye-roll. "I will help you. I have my curling iron, my makeup, and some spare clothes. I know we don't have the same style, but please let me do this for you. You need it."

I flattened my lips in thought.

We were sisters, but we were nothing alike. While I lived in my leather jacket and black booties, Sutton leaned more towards the preppy side of fashion with a hint of bohemian flair. I was disordered city chic and she was perfectly pressed shirts and classic high heels, effortless dresses, a closet of dainty lace, floral prints, and lush pastels. It encompassed both her desire to be like Jackie O while still having a free spirit. The image she created for herself made it seem like she had everything figured out, even if she didn't.

I took into account that I hadn't worn any other makeup since my work Christmas party besides my crusty mascara I had yet to replace and lip balm, or that I hadn't properly dressed up since then either. As much as I loved wallowing in my self-pity by wearing bedraggled clothes, skipping hair-wash night, and forgoing my daily face paint, I couldn't deny it'd feel nice to get back to my old self for a minute.

For once, Sutton was giving me an offer I could actually consider accepting. A free makeover that I didn't have to do a thing for, other than endure the next few hours which I could partially numb with free champagne from the dress boutique.

I could handle that.

With a sigh, I pushed my comforter aside and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. Sutton watched me and I swore she didn't blink, not even once. I stood up and stepped around a sleeping Ziggy on the floor, stopping in front of my sister to meet her watchful gaze.

"Okay. Let's do it," I said.

An enormous grin split across her face and before I had the chance to say or do anything, she bolted out of my room.

She returned seconds later with her vibrantly printed Vera Bradley duffel bag dangling from her hands. My body was thrown onto the stool at my bureau where I used to do my makeup in the mornings before high school, the shaggy white fur under my thighs matted and tangled. Not knowing what to do with myself, I sat still with my hands folded and watched Sutton pull fistfuls of high-end cosmetics and hair care out from her bag.

"I am so happy right now. We never get to spend time together like this!" She squealed.

"Damn, you really were prepared," I mused, raking my eyes over the clutter that covered my previously blank desk.

She grabbed a red plastic bottle and spritzed it all over my hair, pausing to say, "Of course I am. The second I saw you on Tuesday, I knew you weren't yourself. All the more reason why I had to bring a back-up plan with me for today."

I nodded, my head dropping a bit so I was staring at my lap. I guess me being a wreck was a lot more obvious than I thought.

"You know I'm not talking about this with you, right?" I asked vaguely, hoping she got the hint that I meant my split with Gus.

"That's totally fine," she said, "but I'm here if you ever want to and I promise, I won't make it all about me again."

I rolled my lips into my mouth as a smile pushed its way through. I took that as her way of apologizing for practically disowning me as her sister when I first told her the news.

There were a lot of ways to describe Sutton Barclay. High maintenance, dramatic, overbearing, self-absorbed. A whirlwind of a girl, uncontrollable in every aspect, and God help you if you were in her way.

But most of all, she was thoughtful – even if it was for her own benefit sometimes.

"I do have mascara–" I piped up.

"Chuck it, it's clumpy. I have a brand new one for you."

A silver tube of designer mascara plopped down in front of me out of thin air, rolling across the surface of my bureau until it stopped once it ran into the curling wand. At that, I shut my mouth and let my sister take control of my life for the next forty-five minutes.

〰️〰️〰️

As much as I didn't want to admit it, I showed up to brunch looking the best I had in weeks. I had to give Sutton credit because she worked some kind of magic on me. I felt like myself again.

I felt revived; brought back to life in a way. I hadn't felt like that in a long time. I wasn't totally healed, but if all it took was a makeover from my sister to help get me back on track, then so be it.

She'd curled all of my hair that I had actually washed the night before, let me do my own makeup for the most part, and dressed me up like a paper doll. She put me in a strappy, gray knitted (and not to mention fitted) maxi dress because it was the most "me" thing she had, then gave me permission to wear my leather jacket and white slip-on sneakers. I told her there was no way in hell I was wearing heels and since my feet were bigger than hers, she couldn't force me to wear another shoe. My leather jacket was a subtle way of showing that I may have been the product of a Sutton-driven transformation, but deep down I was still myself.

At the bride's request, Sutton ordered everyone a mimosa as soon as we got to the restaurant. With my incapability of ever denying the classic hangover drink, I inhaled it. Then I ordered another one.

I wasn't planning on drinking at brunch. I figured I could suck down as much free champagne as I wanted once we got to the boutique, because that was going to be the only thing getting me through hours of sitting on an overstuffed couch, having to ooh and aah at all the girls in the bridal party like we were in some deranged fashion show. That shit was not meant to be done sober.

After two mimosa's, a coffee the size of my head, and a tower of French toast, I was content. Just drunk enough to loosen up but stay coherent at the same time. Most importantly, I wasn't embarrassing. Yet.

Reclined in the backseat of Sutton's car with my mom behind the wheel and my sister in shotgun, we were finally on our way to the boutique for the infamous fitting. The two of them were chattering on about something wedding-related, but I had zero energy to participate. It made the seven minute drive feel endless.

The boutique was located about an hour from my parents' house in the cutest little town that had a minuscule population and largely attracted tourists. The main strip was peppered with quaint shops, eclectic pubs, underground theaters, and anything else that an out-of-towner deemed interesting. Upon extensive research, Sutton came across this particular bridal store that she swore had some of the most beautiful dresses she'd seen during her browsing. Taking into account I'd been there when she first typed "bridal shop" into the search bar on her laptop almost two years ago, I knew just how many goddamn websites we looked at. I had to trust her instincts whether I wanted to or not.

Thankfully, Sutton wasn't the type of bride to put the rest of us in some tacky garb just to make herself look better. She wanted us to be just as presentable on her wedding day, and in a way I respected that. All six bridesmaids had the exact same dress – a flattering blush-toned maxi with one slit up the right leg, a low but tasteful v-neck in both the front and back, and teeny spaghetti straps. It wasn't over-the-top by any means, but it suited Sutton and her vision. I think what I was most excited for was the fact that the wedding was on the beach, which meant no shoes.

My gazing out the window came to a halt when my mom wheeled into the tiny parking lot behind the store, with Valerie's car in tow that transported the rest of the bridal party.

"This'll be so much fun. We have the whole shop to ourselves," Sutton gushed like that was the most exciting news she had ever heard.

"I'm so glad you found this place," my mom said. "The girls here are so sweet."

I just rolled my eyes and silently out of the car, trailing behind our group of eight as we flocked to the glass entry doors of Elegance Boutique.

It wasn't a surprise my mom thought that. All of the women that worked in the boutique were the retail associate version of both her and Sutton. Passionate and perky with more enthusiasm in one finger than I had in my entire body. Every word bubbled out of their mouths, their eyes glistened like a caricaturist drew them. I couldn't judge how they acted once they were off-the-clock, but I'd bet anything that they were completely different.

As soon as we walked in, our coats came off and our handbags were replaced with glasses of champagne. I plucked mine from the hands of the girl who'd given it to me and by the time I'd made myself comfortable on the couch across the room, half of it was gone.

I was facing the circular platform that served as the place to stand during a fitting. It was surrounded by three angled mirrors because clearly one wasn't enough, and spotlights glaring down from the ceiling. It was empty for now, but my mother had disappeared into a back room with one of the associates, so she'd be up there soon enough.

My sister and all the other bridesmaids slowly joined me on the white sofa, plopping down one by one until there wasn't anymore room. Valerie was beside me, who nudged my arm with her pointy elbow.

I turned to see a smirk on her face.

"How you feeling?" She asked, likely noting how much I had been drinking.

"Wonderful," I retorted, holding eye contact with her as I knocked back the rest of my champagne and smacked my lips with a grin.

Sutton gasping forced whatever words were about to come out of Valerie's mouth to be forgotten. All of our focus was on my mother, sauntering onto the platform and glowing as if it were her wedding day.

The next few hours went just as I thought they would.

I was three glasses of champagne ahead of everyone else. I was the least enthusiastic. I was the most drunk.

Everyone's dresses fit except for mine, which had developed a small gap in the back just above where the zipper sat. We had them tailored to our measurements when Sutton first placed the order, and the previous two times I tried it on, it was fine. Sutton didn't think much of it and simply told me to eat a little more, but don't go overboard.

After I'd gotten out of my dress and survived my sister's criticisms on my body, I had my fifth glass of champagne. I was at six and a half by the time the last bridesmaid tried on her dress.

My relief when I realized we were done was comparable to the feeling of leaving work for the weekend. I couldn't remember the last time I forced out so many smiles or wove so much sarcasm into my words. Probably at some other pre-wedding function for my sister, or during one of my attempts at salvaging my relationship.

Intruding on my thoughts that were a muddled replay of the last seven years of my life, Sutton took the podium with folded hands and a satisfied smile. We were all seated before her, like a teacher about to preach to her students.

"Well girls, we did it!" She chirped, to which everyone clapped and I only unimpressively tapped my nails against my glass. "The countdown really begins now. Less than one month!"

"I can't believe it, honey," my mom sighed as she stepped onto the platform to stand next to my sister. She wrapped an arm around her and cooed, "You're going to be a wife."

"Sutton's getting married, this is insane!" Diana, another bridesmaid, shrieked in disbelief.

"Everything is falling into place. Everything is perfect," Sutton said.

A pattern with this group of girls I noticed after spending a majority of the last year with them is that they were very fond of enunciation. They had this way of speech that made it seem like anything said was of utter importance. In my liquored up state, where my body was present but my brain was nowhere to be found, I decided to join in and pretend to be one of them.

I should have kept my mouth shut, but a wasted Bayla had no boundaries or morals.

Placing my empty glass on the carpeted floor by my feet, I glanced up at my sister and with open arms, I exhaled, "That's great."

Sutton blanched and sent me a blink-and-you'll-miss-it perturbed look. She ignored my comment that made no sense and continued on with her speech like I never spoke up.

"Seriously though, this was the last big thing we had to do. It's a relief all of your dresses still fit. Other than yours, Bayla, but it's nothing that can't be fixed in a couple of weeks with some trips to McDonald's."

"I'll be sure to pack on the pounds," I said as I mock-saluted her. She chose to brush me off again.

Valerie sat up straight now, scooting to the edge of the couch cushion. Her dark chocolate hair fell down her back, lustrous from the powerful incandescent lighting above us. It was all I could stare at since she chose to place herself in front of me.

"I feel like we just started planning this. How is it here already?" She questioned with a laugh.

"I can't wait," I mimicked her tone, adding on under my breath, "Can't wait for this shit to be over."

At least, in my head, I said it a lot quieter than it came out. I could thank all the champagne for my lapse of judgement.

"You know what, Bayla? Just because your life is falling apart doesn't mean you need to take it out on the rest of us," Sutton lashed out. Her voice was a shrill as the night of her Bon Voyage party, when I nearly ruined the night by walking in during the middle of my dad's speech. My eye twitched at the memory.

Between her, my mother, and all seven bridesmaids, it had never been so quiet.

I wasn't sure if it would have been better if I was sober. Maybe I wouldn't have said anything at all, or maybe I would've been more offended. Either way, that wasn't the case at the moment. I was heated, and I couldn't hold back.

I stood up, a little wobbly on my feet as I took a few heavy steps towards her. She peered down at me through her lashes with my mother next to her like a statue; her own personal guardian angel. She was speechless for the moment, but I knew it was only a matter of time before she'd put an end to our sisterly brawl with a couple of words and fatal stare.

"Thanks for reminding me that my life is a piece of shit right now," I snarled up at Sutton.

"And whose fault is that?" She cocked an eyebrow, defiantly crossing her arms.

"Cool, cool," I said, nodding feverishly. "I'm just supposed to suck it up because you're getting married. I can't have a bad day because you're getting married. The whole fucking world has to stop because you're getting married."

She hopped off the platform so she was face-to-face with me, mere inches separating us. "We are one month away, then you can have your freedom back and you won't have to deal with me again," she lowered her voice.

"Can't fucking wait."

"Bayla," my mom barked. I flinched at her harsh tone, but didn't tear my narrowed gaze away from Sutton's. "Go wait in the car."

I felt a bitter smile try pushing its way onto my face. Sutton was unusually restrained.

Her jaw ticked and I could practically hear her teeth grinding together. It surprised me that she had nothing else to say. It wasn't like her not to put up a fight for her wedding. I had no idea what changed, but my mind that was doused in champagne took that as a hint to keep pushing her buttons.

Nodding once in response to my mother, I rasped, "There's still time to kick me out of your wedding party. Just let me know ahead of time so I can rearrange my schedule."

All I got out of her was the blinking of her eyes.

With a chuckle, I spun on my heel and dawdled over to where our coats and bags were hung. I grabbed my satchel and tossed my leather jacket over my shoulders, then shoved the doors open and stepped back out into the frigid, December air.

It didn't hit me as hard as I thought it would, and I wasn't sure if it was because I was drunk or