Chapter 45
Twelve Years Earlier
I stood in the white stall, dressed like a bride, and all I could think of was how much it looked like a costume. Like pretend.
I wasn’t actually doing this, was I? The white lace dress draped over my curves like it was part of me, my golden curls filling
the open back like they’d planned it. Magnolia sat in the other room, comfortable in the viewing area, alongside my best friend,
Kendra, and of course, Magnolia’s best friend, Delta Suffolk. The three of them were patched together on the blush sofa like
the three parts of Neapolitan ice cream.
Today was my sixth official wedding dress shopping trip—not accounting for the surreptitious window-shopping and boutique
drop-ins I’d done on my own. After a stretch of striking out, I’d wondered if maybe I was just destined to find it alone.
I hadn’t. And by then, even Magnolia was to the point of lying about how much she liked the dresses I tried on in order to
speed up the process.
I could tell by the imperceptible twitches of her face what her true feelings were.
The boutique associate slipped the lace dress back onto a hanger and stepped out to replace it on the rack. I stood in front of the mirror in my undergarments, alone. I looked at myself, a bride-to-be. Also, a stranger. But before I could think on that more, the associate was back with the next pick.
“Ok.” She shuffled in behind the wide cupcake dress. “This one is a beauty, but I’ll need to help slip you into it.”
I stepped into place, an obedient mannequin, and stood while I was zipped up and clipped in.
The associate stood back and clasped her hands. “Ready for the big mirrors?”
I knew the dance by now, the parading, the oohs and aahs. I hit every step, and this time there were tears.
“Oh, honey!” Delta was already on her feet. “It’s beautiful. This is what you’ll wear to become my daughter.”
“In-law,” Magnolia added. Delta always wanted a daughter but had gotten a boy instead. “Yes, it’s very nice, indeed.”
Kendra lit up. “Gorgeous, Mack.”
I smiled, the same way I had in a handful of other dresses. It was beautiful, but just like the others, its magnificence didn’t
push it anywhere close to feeling like the one . I ran my fingers over the elaborate beaded bodice. “You think?”
My audience beamed back, nods and excited claps abounding.
“I guess maybe it’s the one?” I myself was sick and tired of the searching and the fitting rooms and the parading around like
a show pony. I waved Kendra in to join me in the fitting room, and my friend squeezed in beside me, the tulle underlay popping
out and tickling our ankles.
“Is this it?” Kendra asked.
I cocked my head to the side, and my face crumpled into a mess. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just over all of this, ready to have
it done.”
“Well, don’t rush it,” Kendra said. “You only get married once.”
Her words sent a shiver through me. I hoped it was excitement, but a part of me wondered if it was dread.
I pulled Kendra closer and whispered frantically, “ What if this is a sign? All of this dress shopping and nothing to show for it. What if it’s a bigger sign?”
Kendra whisper-yelled back, “Girl, you can’t overthink this! Do you know how long it takes some brides to find a dress?”
“I don’t feel bridal in any of them. A lot are super nice, but it’s like they don’t match me. They don’t want me. They won’t
accept me because they know good and well I shouldn’t be getting married.”
To him —the words I left unspoken.
Kendra glanced down and then up again. “Look. You probably need a break from all this wedding stuff.”
A break or an escape—either would be tempting.
“I won’t argue that, but I don’t think that’s what’s going on here.”
“What do you want to do?” Kendra’s words hung between us. “Whatever you choose, you need to have your wits about you when
you do.”
She was right. I didn’t want to impulsively call off this wedding and send Mama and Delta into a fit that would have them
packed into the back of an ambulance and off to a conjoined hospital room. Not unless I had no other choice.
Kendra helped me out of the dress in silence, and we sat side by side on the small plastic bench beside the mirrored wall.
Kendra had pulled her phone from her back pocket and showed me the screen. Grady had posted a countdown to the wedding on
his Facebook, tagging me in one of our engagement photos.
“That change anything for you?” Kendra asked.
I pasted on a smile. “It’s reassurance.”
Hand-on-the-Good-Book-honest, I was lying to my friend and to myself. My worries hadn’t ever been about Grady’s commitment to the wedding; he’d shown full well he was all in. I believed Grady loved me—in some way of his—though the social circles that supported our union were also a means for him to have the life he wanted.
Those were things I knew and things I understood. And though I’d promised myself I would never speak his name again, not since
he walked out on me almost three years ago without a backward glance, I couldn’t shake the feeling that even if Lincoln was
just about as scummy as he’d acted, our love had been real.
And something about the love between Grady and me seemed lesser in comparison. Maybe it was just less excitement—less chaos,
most likely. But it shouldn’t be too much to ask for a girl to feel butterflies in her wedding dress.
Or when she thought about her husband-to-be.
“Let’s call this one a strong maybe,” I said to Kendra and the dress. I lifted the hanger and pulled the mass of fabric from
the room, landing it delicately in the hands of the sales associate.