Chapter 34
A nita answered Sunday’s call on the first ring.
“It came!” Sunday cried.
“Hallelujah,” Anita replied. “You must be relieved. Is it a great big box?”
“Surprisingly, no,” Sunday said. “They must’ve really jammed it in there.”
“Have you opened it?”
“Not yet,” Sunday said. “It just arrived. I take my lunch in twenty minutes. Can I bring it to your shop then, and we’ll open it together?”
“I was going to suggest that,” Anita said. “We want to make sure we don’t cut the fabric when we open it. I have the perfect tool.”
“I’ll be over in half an hour,” Sunday said. “I can’t wait to see my dress.”
Anita prepared the larger of their two dressing rooms for Sunday.
In the corner, she placed three-inch heeled pumps in various sizes.
They kept them on hand for brides who forgot to bring their own heels.
She didn’t know if Sunday had purchased a veil, but their shop made them, so she hung several samples on a hook just in case.
She checked her watch. Sunday would be here any minute. Anita closed her eyes and inhaled. She never got over the thrill of watching a woman don the dress she’d said yes to. A wedding gown lit up a woman like no other garment she’d ever own.
The bell over the door tinkled.
Sunday entered the shop, hugging a cardboard box to her chest.
Anita intercepted her in the showroom, casting a wary glance at the box.
It was too small for the dress in the photo that Sunday had shown her.
The seller must have vacuum-packed it in place.
It would take hours of steaming to remove the wrinkles.
If it was too squished, Sunday would need to come back after work so Anita could spend the afternoon reviving the dress.
“I’m so excited I can hardly breathe,” Sunday said, handing the box to Anita.
“Let’s go into the workroom to open this,” Anita said, leading her into the adjacent room. Her seamstresses were on their lunch break, and they had the space to themselves.
Anita opened the box, keeping the blade of her special knife angled outward. She expected the compressed dress to spring out the moment she cut the tape. But the flaps stayed put.
Sunday hovered over Anita’s shoulder.
Anita opened the flaps and withdrew a slim package wrapped in iridescent tissue, sealed with a silver sticker. She felt Sunday’s sharp intake of breath.
“No,” Sunday cried. “That can’t be my dress. It’s way too small.”
Anita broke the sticker’s seal and lifted a narrow column of satin from the tissue. She held it up by its thin crystal straps, which connected to a plunging V-neckline and crisscrossed over a daringly low back.
Sunday burst into tears.
Anita draped the dress across the worktable and took Sunday into her arms.
“It’s the wrong dress,” Sunday sobbed. “It’s completely wrong.”
Anita nodded. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen this happen.” She glanced over Sunday’s shoulder at the dress. “It is beautiful and would look lovely on you?—”
“But it’s not me,” Sunday said. “I hate that dress. I’d feel so out of place in it.”
“We can’t have that,” Anita said firmly.
Sunday stepped back, wiping her face.
Anita’s head seamstress, who had heard the commotion from the break room, rushed forward with a box of tissues and handed it to Sunday.
Sunday took a tissue and blew her nose. “I’m sorry about this,” she said. “I’m acting like a petulant child.”
“You’re doing no such thing,” the seamstress said. “Anyone would react the way you did. This is awful.”
“I agree completely,” Anita said. “What will you do?”
“I’m going right back to my office to contact the seller.”
“Do they have a phone number?” Anita asked.
Sunday shook her head. “Just email.” She pressed her eyes shut and groaned. “Based on how unresponsive the seller was when the dress was lost in transit, I don’t know if I’lleverget the one I ordered.”
“Did you pay with a credit card?” Anita asked.
Sunday nodded.
“At least you won’t get stuck paying for something you don’t want,” Anita said.
“But what am I going to do for a dress? I’m getting married in six weeks.”
“We have a few sample gowns we can sell,” Anita offered. “But we don’t have anything like the photo you showed me. Do you want to try onthisdress? Just to see how it looks on you?”
“That’s a good idea,” the seamstress said. “People come in with an idea of what they want and end up saying yes to the exact opposite.”
Sunday sighed. “I guess I should.”
Anita showed her to the fitting room. Sunday stepped onto the raised platform, and the seamstress helped her into the slim satin dress. Sunday studied herself from every angle.
Anita watched Sunday’s face in the mirror. The dress looked stunning on her—anyone could see that. And Sunday knew it too. But there was no sparkle in her eyes. She looked like a cashier relieved her register had balanced—satisfied but not overjoyed.
“Did you see it from behind?” Anita asked, adjusting the three-way mirror.
“It’s not as low in the back as I first thought.
We can shorten the straps to bring it up even higher.
Other than that, it fits you perfectly.” Anita stepped onto the platform behind Sunday and lifted the dress by the straps so she could visualize the suggested alteration.
Sunday wiped the tears from under her eyes. “It’s not as bad as I thought. Istillwant my dress, though. I’m going to go back to my office, find a phone number for the seller, and raise hell.” She looked at Anita. “If they send me the correct dress now, will you have time to do the alterations?”
Anita glanced at her head seamstress.
“We’ll get your dress ready,” the woman said. “Even if we have to work the entire night before your wedding.”
Sunday stifled a sob. “That’s very nice of you,” she whispered. She glanced at herself in the mirror again. “Really, this dress is fine. I mean—I’m marrying the man of my dreams. I’m being silly. It doesn’t matter what I wear.”
“Honey,” Anita said gently, “if what a woman wore to her wedding didn’t matter, we wouldn’t be in business. Of course it matters. Let’s get you out of this dress. Leave it with me for now. Go back to your office and see what you can do to get yourrealdress.”
“Okay,” Sunday said in a small voice.
The seamstress helped her step out of the dress and carried it to the workroom.
“I’ll let you get dressed,” Anita said, pulling the curtain closed behind her.
“Do you have a picture of the dress she wants?” the seamstress whispered when Anita caught up to her.
“I’ve seen one,” Anita said. “It’s a Cinderella ball gown style.”
“Lots of lace appliqué or beading?”
“Not that I remember.”
“We could make that dress for her,” the seamstress said. “She’s a perfect size six if I’ve ever seen one.”
Anita looked at her, and the two women exchanged a conspiratorial smile.
“We already have yards of fabric on hand that we could use,” the seamstress said. “Can you get your hands on a picture of that dress?”
“I’ll ask her to send it to me,” Anita said, snapping her fingers. “I’ll tell her I’m going to make inquiries in bridal shops around the state.”
“Ooh, I like that,” the seamstress said.
“I’m afraid she’s going to find out pretty quickly that this online seller doesn’t have her dress,” Anita said. “I’ll get Sunday to send me the photo before she leaves.”
“Andwe’ll spend the afternoon figuring out how to make that sweet woman her dream dress.”