Chapter 3
“Mummy chic?” I smile, causing Kat to twist around in her veil when she hears me.
“You made it!” she cries, wobbling over to me, an expensive veil wrapped around her like Saran Wrap.
The woman in the corner of the boutique, wearing a tailored Chanel suit with her hair in a no-fucking-around low bun worn by wealthy mother-in-laws and librarians across the nation, watches with a sour expression on her face.
We embrace, and I stack my chin on Kat’s shoulder, whispering, “I think the shop lady absolutely hates that you’re doing that with the veil.”
Kat steps out of the hug and whips back, looking at the well-dressed older woman. “Sorry, sorry, I’ll take it off,” she promises, and the woman, who I see now is wearing a name badge that reads CHERYL, gives the smallest and quickest of smiles.
“You have an appointment so that I may pull styles for you to try,” she says, clearly struggling to keep her tone even. “My clients don’t typically traipse around the boutique, pulling things off the rack. This isn’t Macy’s.”
“We understand,” I say, bracing an apologetic smile on my lips as Kat detangles from the veil that–Jesus Christ. “Careful,” I hiss at Kat, having spotted the price tag dragging against the floor.
“That’s twelve hundred dollars. If you rip it, you will have to use that as linen and bedding for that price. ”
Kat snickers. “I’m not a veil girl anyway, I just want one for a single photo. That’s just what Elle suggested. But not this one,” she grins, “because I definitely do not want a bedspread or table cloth made from doily lace.”
Elle. The mention of the woman who is so close to Ford that I hate her by proximity. Secretly and irrationally hate her, but of course. I mean, Elle has always been sweet to me. I’ve never actually seen her be anything but sweet to anyone.
But she’s beautiful, with her sleek bob and her perfect skin, and she wears all the most expensive clothes and shoes, and she’s so seamlessly close to Ford.
They’re always together. Kat’s never made mention that there’s more between her father and his friend, but as an adult, I can’t imagine hanging out with another adult of the opposite sex that much and not having other reasons.
“What’s the matter? Your face went all,” Kat starts, tipping her head to the side, making her face resemble something that has died then come back to life. “Zombie.”
I press my hand to my stomach, not lying when I say, “A moment of sickness, but it passed. Probably didn’t eat enough lunch.”
Kat smiles, and her eyes catch on something behind me for a moment before snapping back with urgency. She leaps to her feet, clapping her hands together and I turn to see the devil in the flesh.
“Elle,” Kat beams, “you made it!”
Elle’s hair is down around her face today, the white looking stylish gray under the dull boutique lights.
The lighting in here is awful, but Elle looks like a new version of herself.
And when I catch my reflection in the fitting room mirror, I feel like I’ve somehow gained three inches around, and a new chin. But of course, Elle looks amazing.
I smile. “Hi Elle. It’s great to see you.” It should be. But it’s not. Because I irrationally hate her.
She kisses Kat on the cheek after a deep hug, and pulls me into a hug next. “Hello Juliette,” she greets, looking between us, steepling her hands beneath her chin. “This is going to be so exciting. Let me talk to the shop owner for a moment, and then we’ll get started.”
Kat nods her head, and Elle wanders off, and I’m left to calibrate–today isn’t just dress shopping with my best friend, it’s dress shopping with my best friend and my secret arch enemy.
I roll out my neck and huff out a breath, determined to have a wonderful time for my friend.
Kat wanders down an aisle of dresses, and I follow suit, picking the row next to her.
I drag my fingers down a row of silk and satin gowns, amazed by the selection; how one gown is simple and beautiful, and the next is ornately beaded but equally as breathtaking.
“How the hell are you ever going to decide? They’re all…
. Perfect,” I breathe, in awe of the gowns, of what she’s doing–of what comes after the gown.
I come to the end of the aisle, and Kat is at hers.
Suddenly hit by a wave of emotion, I turn to Kat who is preoccupied with a text message, and take her by the shoulders.
“You’re going to spend the rest of your life with Zennie. It’s just now hitting me.”
Kat places her hands over mine having abandoned her phone on the nearby sofa. “I know.”
A tearful young Kat dances behind my eyes, legs covered in torn jeans, knees pulled to her chest while tears swam down her cheeks.
“I just want to have someone who likes me for me,” she’d cried, upon being dumped by her first girlfriend, who ultimately dumped her because of her goth style.
I swipe at a tear that breaks through my lashes, and Kat’s lips form an exaggerated pout when she sees.
“Ahh,” she coos, pushing my hair off of my shoulders to cup my face. “Jules, you’re crying.”
I snuffle. “You used to think you wouldn’t find someone and I’m just so glad you did.
And that you didn’t have to change for her.
” Another sniffle, but the back of my nose burns and my eyes sting.
And suddenly, there’s a familiar, inconvenient knot in my throat.
“She loves you for you! She doesn’t tell you you should change. That’s just… so amazing.”
Kat nods her head, turning back to Cheryl to let her know we need a minute.
Elle is engrossed in a phone call in the corner of the boutique, talking quietly as she runs her hand over a beaded veil.
“Hey, Jules,” my best friend says, smoothing her thumbs over my cheeks, the softness of her voice and touch only adding to the weight in my chest. “Are you… okay?”
I nod my head, more tears breaking free, forcing a smile that contradicts everything about me at this moment.
“I’m so good,” I bawl, causing Kat to pull me into her, her knowing hands smoothing up and down my back.
Those gentle strokes only add fuel to the fire, and I find myself sobbing in her arms while Cheryl clears her throat, holding a floor length ball gown with a sweetheart neckline, the fabric a stiff taffeta.
“That’s all wrong for her, Cheryl!” I bawl, causing her to scurry off, tucking the dress back into a rack full of gowns.
“Shh,” Kat soothes, guiding me to the tufted bench near the fitting room. On it sits a tray with champagne and flutes, chocolates, and adorable handmade rating cards. This fitting was going to be an experience for Kat, and I’m ruining it by making it about me.
“What’s going on, hon?” she asks as we settle onto the bench.
She hands me a tissue, one that was likely meant for happy tears from a gorgeous bride finding the gown of her dreams. Not Dick and Balls tears, but here we are.
“Cheryl’s catching strays but I can’t imagine this is about Cheryl. And her love of taffeta.”
“I’m so sorry,” I sniffle, using my hand to swipe at my tears without ruining my makeup, which is next to impossible.
“This is your day,” I say, picking up the bottle of champagne from the tray.
“You were supposed to drink champagne and find your wedding dress,” I sob, getting to work on the foil top of the bottle through a flurry of tears.
Kat takes the bottle and sets it down, her voice calm and steady.
“We don’t need you to be both upset and drunk, Jules.
” She smiles. “My day is the wedding. Today is just a normal day of trying on expensive dresses,” she says.
Cheryl appears with a different gown, and hangs it on the mirrors in front of us.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you Cheryl,” I say, feeling bad for taking out my misery on her, and for ruining Kat’s wedding dress try-on day.
Cheryl doesn’t smile, but says, “You were both right. That dress was all wrong for her.” She drags a steamer down the dress in front of us, and I look up, swiping away tears to really look at it.
Boat neck column dress made of what looks to be– “crepe. It’s breathable.
You seem like a bride that will make use of your dance floor. ”
“Both?” I sniffle.
Elle appears, setting her large leather bag onto the couch, dropping her phone inside with a plunk.
“Ah, much better than that taffeta,” she sighs, tugging the cream-colored scarf from her neck, revealing a gold necklace lined with diamonds.
She flips the ends of her short hair, and sinks into the open space between Kat and myself.
“I like this one much better, Cheryl.” She looks between us.
“Sorry about that. The last phone call I’ll take.
Just… promising a few photos,” she says, and I realize that was Ford on the phone.
Ford, the man she easily talks to daily. The man that is under my nose all of the time but completely out of reach. Jealousy climbs my spine, but I’m used to this, so I do what I always do.
I smile. So does Kat, but she refocuses on me, and Cheryl gets to work on a stack of shoe boxes that would intimidate the Eiffel tower.
“What’s going on?” Kat asks softly. She glances at Elle, but likely thinks nothing of her presence because again, I have no real reason to not want Elle here, or to not want her to hear about my woes.
A huge sigh hollows my chest and leaves me with a fresh round of frustrated tears, tears that I swipe away instantly.
I do not want to cry over Harry, Dick and Balls. And I don’t want to cry in front of Elle.