Chapter 10

Bailey

Dress Transformation

As my usual bad luck would have it, there’s no replacement dress in the mint green color that we can get in time for the wedding. I arrive at my cousin’s house late the next afternoon dreading the thought of trying on the altered dress. It took Aunt Margaret all morning and most of the afternoon to make all the modifications. What if the dress still looks terrible on me?

“Mom’s still putting in the last stitches, but I can’t wait to see you in the dress!” Sydney says when she greets me at the door.

Plastering on a fake smile, I say, “Me, too!”

“Do you want anything to eat or drink? I just brewed a pot of coffee,” she says as we pass the kitchen. More coffee? My cousin must be living on caffeine.

“No, thanks,” I say, anxious to get this second fitting over with. There’s no telling how many other alterations it’s going to take to get the dress to fit me properly.

The sewing room looks neat and tidy considering my aunt has been here all day. “I just got the last change done,” she says when we stroll into the room. “Look!”

My breath catches as she points to the dress draped over a mannequin. It looks gorgeous on the mannequin, but how will it look on me?

“I’m impressed, Aunt Margaret. I didn’t know you were so talented with needle and thread,” I say. My aunt nods at the compliment.

“Quick. Try it on!” Sydney squeals.

Aunt Margaret proudly removes the dress from the mannequin and hands it to me. The fabric feels luxurious under my fingertips, something I failed to notice yesterday when I first tried it on. I disappear to the bathroom down the hall.

Taking a big breath, I cross my fingers and offer up this mantra, “Please fit. Please fit. Please fit.” I repeat it over and over, as if my words can influence the dress gods to bestow their compassion on me.

Closing my eyes, I slip the dress over my head, then turn towards the mirror. Slowly popping one eye open, I stare at myself. My other eye pops open and my jaw drops at the transformation.

Holding up the skirt so as not to trip on the dress, I run back to the sewing room. “Oh my gosh! It looks good on me!” I shout.

Sydney zips the back and the three of us stare in the full-length mirror at my body perfectly fitted in the altered dress.

“Aunt Margaret, you’re a miracle worker,” I say, awe lacing my voice.

“Mom, it fits like a glove,” Sydney breathes.

My aunt swivels me left and right, looking at all angles of the dress. The sweetheart neckline fits my smaller bustline perfectly and is modest yet reveals a little cleavage. The plunging back no longer plunges too far. The dress softly drapes around my figure like it was made for me.

“You look so beautiful, Bailey,” my aunt says, blinking back tears. She’s been a fill-in mom for me ever since my parents retired to Florida to escape the harsh New England winters.

“I’d hug you, but we don’t want to wrinkle the dress,” she adds as she and I trade beaming smiles for a moment. Suddenly I’m looking forward to wearing this dress to the wedding.

“Do you have a push-up bra?” my aunt asks. “That will give you a little more lift,” she says with a giggle.

“I don’t have one.”

“I’m sure we can get you one at the bridal boutique,” Sydney adds.

Aunt Margaret grabs her pincushion and starts quickly pinning up the hemline, which is still way too long. “It’ll take me less than thirty minutes to hem this. How about you two run to the bridal store and get that bra?”

I’m all in for wearing this dress. I turn to Sydney and say, “Let’s go. We’ll pick up chicken sandwiches on the way back. My treat.”

“Great idea! Get me two original sandwiches, with extra pickles,” my aunt replies.

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