by Sarah Kuhn
“Are you about to have an orgasm?” Evie teased, nudging me in the ribs, as we wended our way through the racks.
“This is an exciting situation for me,” I said, my eyes darting around the feast of clothes on display. “And it will be for you, too, once we get down to the very serious business of wedding dress shopping.”
“I told you, I don’t want that to be serious business,” Evie said, nudging me a little harder. “Let’s just find something nice, simple, and not too binding.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. This was her wedding dress we were talking about. It required more thought than, say, a run-of-the-mill pajamas purchase. Though Evie probably would get married in her pajamas if she could. Which would happen over my dead body.
“Speaking of business that is serious, though,” I said. “Another important part of getting married is resolving any outstanding emotional business you have with family. And in that vein, don’t you think you should talk to Bea about her power—”
“Since when is divesting of family baggage an actual wedding tradition?” Evie said. She kept her tone light, but I could tell I’d hit a nerve. “Especially among Asians. Aren’t we supposed to stuff all those pesky feelings down and never speak of them again?”
“Not these Asians,” I said, gesturing to us. “I believe you’ve actually benefitted from finally letting all those damn emotions out—I think Nate would agree with me. And don’t use unfortunate stereotypes to justify your unwillingness to deal with this.”
She laughed a little, her shoulders relaxing. “I know, I know. You’re right. But the whole telling-Bea thing still has to be on my timeframe.”
I stuck my tongue out at her, trying to give my words a playful cast. “Honestly. So many of your problems come from various flavors of avoidance and denial.”
“And so many of yours come from barreling headfirst into things without listening or thinking about the consequences,” she said, giving me an affectionate smile.
“And that’s why we make a great team.”
“We do,” she agreed. “All right, all right—I’ll think more seriously about telling Bea. I just . . . for so long, my power seemed like such a burden, and she’s still so young and let’s face it, not great with the impulse control, and I want to make sure I bring it up in the exact right way, and I can’t seem to figure out what that is. It’s a parenting discussion I’m one hundred percent not prepared for. I don’t even know where to begin. Talking to her about sex was way easier, and I’m sure you can imagine how awkward that was.”
I squeezed her shoulder. Evie’s mom had died of cancer when Bea was only twelve and their dad had abandoned them for an ill-defined “vision quest” not long after. She’d been doing her best to raise her sister ever since. And in my opinion, she’d kicked major ass at a task that shouldn’t have been hers in the first place.
“I know you’ll figure it out. In the meantime, let’s go wedding dress shopping!” I said, trying to sound extra cheerful.
“Ughhhhhhhh.” Evie made her body slump over in an exaggerated way, like a cat who didn’t want to be picked up.
“It’s exciting! Be excited!” I said, jabbing her in the arm with my index finger.
“I am excited!” She straightened up and gave me an earnest grin. “But seriously. I am excited to get married. And to have you and our whole weird little found family involved in such an important event in my life.”
We came to a stop in front of Shruti’s booth, which featured a few racks of dresses and a table covered in festive brocade scarves and glittering brooches. Shruti was positioned between a dealer who seemed to specialize in gigantic hats and a vendor who only carried old school Gunne Sax. This abundance of prairie chic reminded me of Lucy, who, sensing the opportunity for more flirty Rose time, had decided to accompany Rose and Bea back to HQ.
When I’d first hired Lucy, I’d assumed she and I would bond over our obvious shared love of fashion. But our tastes didn’t quite match up—she preferred way more lace and ruffles than I did—and she’d gravitated toward Evie instead. I’d pretended not to mind—but of course I had. Here I was, giving it my all to be awesome and charming, and Evie attracted the first cool girl with friend potential to enter our orbit in ages. And she accomplished that by doing absolutely nothing.
I supposed that, upon reflection, I could understand. Evie was approachable and friendly. I . . . had many good qualities, but those were not among them. Well, no matter. Now I was hard at work on Aveda Jupiter 2.0: Excellent Friend Edition.
We filled Shruti in on what had transpired at Pussy Queen as she sold a hair-clip festooned with tiny rhinestone flowers to a tall redhead outfitted in a simple t-shirt dress accented with a fluffy pink petticoat underneath. I took a moment to admire her intriguing contrast of modern and vintage.
“So you don’t know where this puppy demon ended up?” Shruti asked. “Or where it came from, even?” She was outfitted in another choice piece from her stock, a violet fit-and-flair number from the fifties, and her hair was long today, styled in an elaborate braided formation that wrapped around her head like sculpture.
The redhead fastened the clip in her hair and hurried off, giving Shruti a little wave.
“Thank you,” the redhead called out, beaming. “I’ll be in next week to check out your new stock!”
“Of course, always a pleasure!” Shruti said, waving back. “I should have a whole slew of lovely frock babies coming in.” She turned back to us. “Sorry. About the puppy . . . ?”
“I’m guessing it came from the portal,” I said. “But it’s odd that we’re finding a trace of only one puppy demon. Usually, they come through in hordes.”
“Hopefully the tests Nate and Bea are running will tell us more,” Evie said. “We’re heading back to HQ in a bit, but in the meantime, Annie thought we should come . . . here.” She self-consciously rubbed her thumb over her engagement ring.
“It’s for your own good,” I said. I turned to Shruti, going into all-business maid-of-honor mode. “Where’s the wedding wear at this thing? My adorable bride bestie here wants to get married in a month, so it’s crucial that we find her dress ASAP.”
“Ah!” Shruti’s eyes lit up. “You need the bridal tent. All brides need the bridal tent,” she said, as one might say, “All humans need oxygen.”
Shruti pointed to something behind us and we both swiveled to look. The bridal tent was easy to miss at first. A swath of white tenting perched on the far right side of the park, it wasn’t as flashy as some of the more colorful displays. There was something pristine about that pure blanket of white—almost peaceful. But closer inspection revealed the long line of women snaking around the entirety of the tent. Clearly the stuff inside was a hot commodity.
“It houses the most unique collection of wedding gowns you’ll find in the city,” Shruti said. Her voice had taken on a hushed, reverent quality. “Nothing mass produced and no super high-end designers. It’s all vintage and local indies and everything’s one-of-a-kind.”
“That sounds perfect,” I said. “Let’s go.”
“Um, I’m not sure—” Evie began.
“One does not simply walk into the bridal tent!” Shruti interrupted. “There are rules.”
I cocked a skeptical eyebrow. “Like?”
“Like you need to get in line to sign up for a spot right when the Market opens,” Shruti said.
“So we’ll get in that line,” I said, nodding toward the tent.
“That’s the line for everyone who already signed up for a spot—and it’s capped,” Shruti said, shaking her head at my ignorance. “It’s too late. All those spots were snatched up when the Market opened this morning. My last customer was just telling me she got the final spot, and she basically camped out the night before.” Shruti nodded in the direction of the line. The redhead who’d just purchased the sparkly hair clip was scurryi
ng over to plant herself at the very end. “You also have to prove you’re engaged, no vendors or eBayers allowed,” Shruti continued. “Which counts me out.”
“And I bet you’d love to get inside,” I said. “To score choice pieces for your stock.”
“Well, yeah,” she said. “I wouldn’t even mark them way up or anything; I’d sell them only for a small profit. I only care about matching beautiful pieces of clothing with their rightful owners. I explained that to the Market powers that be, but still—nothing. I even tried to fake an engagement once. There’s no way in. It’s hopeless.”
I studied the bridal tent, my eyes narrowing. I didn’t believe in hopeless. And I was unaccustomed to taking “no” for an answer. In fact, that kind of obstacle only stoked my desire to attain whatever I was after.
The harder the challenge, the sweeter the reward.
I suppose this was yet another example of, as Evie had put it, me barreling headfirst into things. My parents used to refer to me as “xiao ju feng”—little hurricane. Hurricane Annie. But this was an important step in my maid-of-honor mission.
“We’re getting in,” I said firmly, flipping my power ponytail over my shoulder. I narrowed my eyes at the bridal tent and the huge line, a battle plan clicking together in my head: get in, find the perfect dress, be the perfect maid of honor. No matter what.
“Shruti, you’re coming with us,” I said. “We’ll need your eye for style in there. Both of you empty your pockets and leave your bags behind so we’re not weighed down by anything unnecessary. Bring all your cash with you, ’cause I’m assuming they don’t accept credit cards.”
“Annie,” Evie said, “we don’t have to get all crazy over—”
“We’re not being crazy,” I said. “We’re being determined. Now. Follow me. I have a plan.”
As soon as we reached the long, meandering line, I strode to the front and planted myself there, hands on my hips, and raised my voice.
“Citizens!” I bellowed. “Do you not recognize the glamorous celebrity bride in your midst? It’s Evie freaking Tanaka!”
“Annie!” Evie shrieked in protest.
But she was drowned out by the “oohs” and “aahs” of the line. She tried to cower behind me, but I stepped to the side and put my arm around her shoulders, holding her in place. Finally, we were going to get something worthwhile out of that viral proposal video.
“We weren’t able to sign up for one of those tickets to stand in line,” I said, gesturing to the brightly colored slips of paper all the women in line were clutching as if they were made of gold. “But I’m sure none of you will block Evie and her entourage—” I gestured to myself and Shruti. Shruti, getting into my plan, waved enthusiastically to the line. “—from entering. After all, we want this darling daughter of San Francisco to have the perfect special day, do we not? And that starts with the perfect special dress.”
The line cheered in agreement. Evie gave them a weak smile.
“We also have to get by the guard,” Shruti hissed in my ear.
I turned to see a stern-looking woman wearing a blue security guard’s uniform and about a million different lanyards bearing official Indie Fashion Market documentation.
“And you won’t try to block us either, will you?” I said, giving her my best authoritative look. “Because I bet that would get caught on video.” I inclined my head meaningfully toward the line. Many of the women already had their phones in hand, documenting the moment. “And we know how videos featuring Evie tend to go viral. I’m thinking your bosses really wouldn’t appreciate it if they knew you tried to keep Evie Tanaka from her dream dress.”
“I won’t, I won’t,” the guard sputtered. “Really.” Her stern face cracked into a smile and she nodded at Evie. “I’m a big fan.”
“Good,” I said. I drew myself up tall and stood at the front of the line with as much authority as possible. I turned to Evie to flash her a triumphant grin, but she was staring into space, like she wished she could disappear on the spot. She looked mortified.
Well. I was sure once we had her dream dress in hand, she’d thank me.
“It’s noon,” someone whined. “Let us in!”
“Yeah,” the woman right next to us chimed in. “Our tickets say we will be allowed to shop from exactly noon until exactly two, and every second of that time is precious.”
More voices joined in, a cacophony that morphed into a chant: “Let us in! Let us in!”
A weird thread of desperation laced itself through the air, and I felt myself picking up on it, my heart beating faster, sweat prickling the back of my neck. The tension of the line was rising by the second. I could practically feel Evie shrinking into my side. I laid a comforting hand on her arm and tried to make my smile reassuring: We got this.
The guard made a big show of checking her watch, then finally nodded and drew back the curtain to the tent. I expected the line to give us—the celebrity bride and her entourage—a respectful moment to enter.
That’s the opposite of what happened.
Instead I felt a sharp poke in my back—an elbow? A finger? A fist?—followed by a voice hissing “go” and that was it. We were caught up in a stampede, a heaving mass of stomping sneakers, swinging purses, and sweat.
“Whoa!” I yelped, throwing a protective arm in front of Evie and Shruti. “I know this is an important purchase, but what the hell?”
“Like I said, everything’s one-of-a-kind,” Shruti said, ducking to avoid being hit by a woman who was flailing her arms out in all directions, as if trying to swim through the crowd. “There’s only one dress in each size. So you’ve got to claim what you want fast.”
I surveyed the scene. Racks and racks of white, cream, and ivory in every possible fabric formation were jammed together with what appeared to be no rhyme or reason. After the initial stampede, the brides had settled a bit, and were furiously pawing through the racks. Some had giant binders or meticulous spreadsheets they kept consulting.
“What’s with the documentation?” I asked Shruti. I grabbed Evie’s arm and yanked her out of the path of a woman who was charging forward with her eyes glued to her spreadsheet, not watching where she was going.
“One of the big bridal websites leaked what they claim is the layout of this place—a map of where each gown is,” Shruti said. “So if you’re looking for a specific dress, you can track it down before anyone else lays eyes on it.”
I shook my head in wonder. There was obviously a lot of bridal bullshit I needed to catch up on. But I was more than up to the task. These other brides might have months of planning and strategizing and spreadsheets on their side, but Evie had something better. Evie had me.
“Out of my way!” a petite blonde shrieked, barreling past us. She had pulled a strapless, feathered creation over her clothes and was charging through the racks like a mini-Godzilla.
Or, I guess—a literal Bridezilla.
“I found mine!” she bellowed. “I found it.”
The other brides were too caught up in their own scavenger hunts to pay her any attention.
“Let’s split up,” I said, my eyes darting around the room. I could practically feel the tension in the air, coating the claustrophobic interior of the tent with a palpable cloud of bridal angst. “Shruti, you start on the left side, we’ll take the right. We’re looking for something sweet, pretty, and above all, unique. A cut that will accentuate her curves. Possibly mermaid. No gigantic ballgowns and nothing that looks too much like a tutu. And not too much bling—that’s more my speed.” I gave Evie a smile I hoped was reassuring. She smiled back uncertainly, but her eyes looked terrified.
“Got it,” Shruti said. “May the Force be with you! Or some other rallying cry that’s way more appropriate for this situation.” She plunged into the mass of gowns and brides, a blotch of violet darting through the sea of white.
I grabbed E
vie’s hand and pulled her along behind me, guiding her over to the last rack on the right side of the tent, making my movements sure and confident. Daring anyone to push or elbow or Bridezilla me.
“Dammit,” a woman next to us hissed as she savagely pawed through the same series of five dresses over and over again. I glanced her way and realized it was Shruti’s redhead customer, her hair clip glittering as she shook her head furiously at the dress selection. “I knew that asshole Caitlin would take the last size four Minji Chen empire cut with double-faced sateen train!”
Okay. I do love clothes, but I had no idea what she was talking about.
“Maybe you can find something else you like just as much,” Evie suggested, helpful as always. “What about this one?” She pulled out a lace gown with delicate cap sleeves. “It’s totally cute—”
“Hands off!” the woman growled. “I was already looking at that.”
To prove her point, she snatched the gown out of Evie’s hands and stomped off.
“Jeez,” Evie muttered. “Who knew wedding dress shopping was akin to global warfare?”
“And she seemed so pleasant and cheery at Shruti’s booth,” I muttered. “I guess brides snap into battle mode in an instant.”
Evie ducked as a blob of white organza flew over her head—a dress lobbed by someone apparently trying to keep a would-be bride from yet another coveted dress.
“Get away from that rack!” the dress thrower shrieked behind us. “If you so much as look at the Ambra Originals duchess gown, I will cut you!”
“Annie.” Evie’s hand clamped on my shoulder like a claw. “This is actually scary now, can we please—”
