Chapter 22 Ellie
Ellie
“Alright I don’t know if I’m sold on the trumpet dress,” Rachel pouts as she stares at the three-way mirror.
It’s Saturday, which means I don’t have to work, which is glorious considering the week I’ve had, and my weekend is going to be consumed by all things wedding.
Honestly, I don’t mind the latter part. I feel pretty bad that my job has kept me so busy that I haven’t been more active in my only sister’s wedding planning, especially since I am the maid of honor.
“I feel like it doesn’t show off your figure well enough,” I tell her. One thing I have learned about having a sister like Rachel is that wording is everything.
“It makes you look like one of those ruffled tube socks that little girls wear,” Ashley, another bridesmaid, says flatly, and my sister deflates.
“Well, this was my first pick,” she says. “Now what am I going to do?”
When no one, including the shop girl, says anything, I stand up. “This is not a problem,” I tell her, taking her by the arm and guiding her off the platform. “You go back to the fitting room, and I will find you a couple more dresses.”
“One that makes me look less like a sock?” she mutters while shooting Ashley a look.
I smile and walk over to the racks, finding a couple that I know will look better than the trumpet. It really was a ridiculous dress. I know my sister well enough to fix the problem at hand, which makes me feel pretty good considering I’ve hardly done anything at all so far.
“This is a disaster,” she says as I step inside the curtain.
“No, it’s not,” I reassure her. “Look at these two dresses! I know one of them will be perfect for you.”
My sister is still frowning as I help her out of the dress and into the next one. It’s satin with an empire waistline and puffy sleeves. After I zip it up, I look at her from behind, smiling at her in the mirror.
“What do you think?” I ask.
Rachel is quiet as she stares at herself, but something is off.
It’s almost as if her mind is elsewhere.
She brings her hands up to her stomach and touches it softly.
“I took a test this morning,” she says, and while she takes a pause, I know by her tone that whatever she is going to say next isn’t good. “It was negative.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say with empathy. What else can I say at this point?
“I know it’s silly,” she whispers with tears in her eyes. “I’m getting married. I shouldn’t be worrying about negative pregnancy tests. I should be happy that I still fit in a size four and can pick any wedding dress style I want.”
“Except for the trumpet,” I mumble in an attempt to make her laugh. It does pull a small smile out of her, but it is fleeting.
“It’s just that we have been trying for so long. I’m starting to think it’ll never happen.” Rachel begins to cry. I grab a few tissues. They’re meant for yes-to-the-dress tears, not negative pregnancy test tears, but they’ll do. “Also, I hate the dress.”
I have to agree with her on this one, and I unzip it. “Listen,” I tell her. “You can’t give up hope.”
“It’s kind of hard not to after years of single-line pee sticks,” she sniffs.
“I get that,” I tell her. “But I also feel like there are other options.”
I grab the last dress off the rack. It’s simple and princess cut with a big bow in the back and wing tips on the chest. It’s understated without being plain, just like my sister.
“Those options are very expensive, El,” she reminds me as she slips into the gown. “And considering we just about had to take out a second mortgage to pay for this wedding, I don’t think we can even consider that an option anymore. I mean, the dress alone is going to be three grand.”
“Yeah, well, maybe there’s a way around that,” I say as I zip her up. Then I smile. It’s beautiful.
“I don’t really see how,” she says. “And when did you become the ray of eternal sunshine anyway?”
I bite my lip in hesitation. How exactly does one tell their sister that they may or may not have gotten over 20k as a sign-on bonus for also signing away their life at their new job?
“I guess since starting my job,” I tell her.
“I take it your boss isn’t taking advantage of you anymore?” she asks as she turns in the mirror.
“He’s lightened up,” I say.
“Enough to make your life less of a living hell?”
“Enough that I got a bonus,” I tell her.
“Already?” she asks, turning the other way. I can tell she loves the dress as much as I do. “That was unexpected. How much is it?”
I swallow before answering. “Enough to pay for IVF,” I tell her, and she stops. Her eyes slice up to mine in the mirror, and then she turns to actually face me.
“What do you mean?” she asks, and my eyes fill with tears.
“I mean, my boss gave me a sign-on bonus that is enough to help you guys. It’s part of why I took the job.”
Tears run down my sister’s cheeks, and her chin begins to quiver. “How…I mean…I don’t understand. You’d do that for me?”
“I did do that for you,” I smile, taking her hands in mine. “I wanted to wait until after the wedding to tell you, but I hate watching you hurt.”
“I don’t know what to say,” she cries.
“Say yes. Say you’ll stop fretting about it so much and just know that the option is now on the table. For now, you and Chance can focus on the wedding…and this dress,” I tell her, and Rachel turns and looks at herself in the mirror.
“It really is lovely, isn’t it?” she asks.
“It’s perfect,” I tell her. “It’s THE dress.”
“It is,” she agrees, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. Then she looks over at me again. “You didn’t really take the job for me, did you?”
“No,” I tell her. Even though the sign-on bonus really was a swaying factor.
“So you don’t hate it? Your boss isn’t an asshole?” she asks.
“Oh, he’s an asshole,” I tell her while pinning the veil into her hair, and she laughs. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“Well, you look cute as hell,” she says, while her eyes run down the pink dress I am wearing. It’s from my work wardrobe, and I’m surprised he picked it. If Damien isn’t a fan of red, I really can’t picture him liking pink. But I like it, and right now, that’s all that matters to me.
“Thanks. See? My job has its perks.”
“Then why is there hesitation in your voice?” she asks.
I think about it for a moment. I wish so badly that I could tell her everything.
That I could confide in her about why I really took the job (my electricity was shut off, and I had no choice) and tell her all about the overtime.
I also wish I could tell her about my ever-contradictory feelings about Damien.
How one minute he makes me furious and the next, I find myself drawn to him.
But I can’t.
So I lie.
“I guess it’s because I miss my old job. I miss working in event planning and having a say in decor and advertising. Being a personal assistant at the level I am at is great, and the pay is phenomenal. But it’s not the same. I’d like more actual responsibility, you know?” I ask.
Rachel smiles at me, the way she always has. “I do. And you know what? You’ll get there. You’re amazing at what you do, and your boss is going to see that. You have too much potential for him to ignore, no matter how much of a dick he is.”
Her words make me laugh, and she does too. Then we hug, and we both hang on for a moment. My eyes tear up again, and it’s because I’ve missed this. I miss her.
“Alright,” she says, pulling away. “No more crying. My mascara can only handle so much.”
“Right,” I nod. “Are you ready to say yes to the dress?”
“I’m ready to say yes to everything,” she says.
I follow my sister out of the fitting room, carrying her train behind her. And while I am completely elated for her, I can’t help but be a little jealous of her and all that her future holds.