“We offer time slots by appointment only.”
“Oh. Um. When’s your next available appointment?”
“We just had a cancellation for tomorrow. Otherwise the next available is a week from Thursday.” I snagged the eleven o’clock appointment for the next day, only then realizing that if the dress wasn’t good on her, my secret machinations would probably hurt more than they would help. But, I rationalized, if the dress was good, I had just freed up the next two weekends and made dress shopping less complicated.
At 10:40 the following morning, I marched into Caryn’s office and told her we were going to lunch. She looked up at me, then glanced down at her diamond-encrusted watch, an engagement gift from her fiancé’s parents. “It’s too early for lunch.”
I rolled my eyes. “You don’t eat anyway. What do you care?” I came behind her desk and opened her drawer, then pulled out her purse. “Just come on. I have a surprise for you.”
She looked at me warily, but stood and took her purse. “What’s actually going on?”
“You’ll see when we get there.” I pushed her shoulders toward the door. “Come on. I have an Uber coming in three minutes.”
Caryn peppered me with questions as we made our way to the Uber, but I didn’t tell her what we were doing until we arrived at the salon. “I have an appointment here next weekend,” she said, confused.
“Let’s just try something.”
“Lily, I don’t want to try on more dresses today.”
“Just one. For me?”
She looked upset and I wondered again if I had made a mistake doing this, but she stepped out of the car anyway. I checked us in at the front desk and a mousy-looking woman named Rita came forward and greeted Caryn. “I have your dress waiting for you,” she said. “But I’m happy to pull more as well.”
Caryn turned to me. “What dress? What’s going on?”
“I looked at your Pinterest,” I said. “You pinned the same one three times. They have it here. Let’s just try that one. If it’s no good, we’ll go back to the office and we can do the rest of the appointments. But this one is with just me, and I’ll be honest if it’s not the right dress. Okay?”
She looked doubtful. “I don’t even know which dress you mean.”
“It’s right in here,” Rita said, gesturing toward a fitting room. “Can I get either of you some champagne?”
We both refused, and I sat down on the sofa outside the dressing room to wait for Caryn. She sighed, but handed me her purse and complied. Rita went in with her. That didn’t seem like an enjoyable part of the experience from the previous weekend, but I had never been a big fan of stripping in front of strangers, despite my behavior at Megan’s engagement party.
I scrolled through my social media feed while I waited and a text message from Megan came in. WE GOT THE HOUSE!!!!
WOOHOO! I replied. CONGRATULATIONS! She had texted me a Redfin listing a few days earlier, and I scrolled up in the conversation to see the pictures again. The house was small, but cute. The wallpaper in the dining room was a disaster, and the people who were selling it had atrocious taste—based on the sheer volume of commemorative plates, it was possible they were old enough to have died in there, necessitating the sale. But with some paint and new furniture, it had potential.
When do you move in?
We close in three weeks and will move after that!
I replied with celebratory emojis, then went back to the listing to look at the price. Whoa. I can barely afford my rent.
“Lily.” I looked up to see Caryn mounting the block in front of the three mirrors, the dress’s train in her right hand and butterfly clips holding it shut at the back.
I studied her reflection as she turned to examine the dress. “Wow,” I said quietly.
“You think?”
I nodded, my eyes actually welling up. “It’s perfect.” It wasn’t what I would have chosen for myself, but Caryn looked better than the models in the Pinterest pictures had.
She turned sideways. “It doesn’t make my butt look big?”
I shook my head. “Caryn, this was made for you.”
She smiled slowly. “I think—I think this is it.” She turned to Rita. “Is it available in ivory?”
I looked up sharply. “What’s wrong with white?” If she had heard Caroline’s comment, or if Caroline had said it to her face after I left, future sister-in-law or not, I was going to murder her.
“I’m too pale,” she explained. “I’ll look washed out in my pictures in white.”
Rita checked her tablet. “It is,” she said. “Two different shades and also blush.”
Caryn asked to see samples of the two shades of ivory and Rita went to find them. “I should probably keep the other appointments this weekend though,” she said, still studying her reflection, unwilling to take the dress off yet.
“Why?”
“The other girls will feel left out.”
I opened my mouth, about to tell her the snarky comments they had made while she was in the dressing room, but I stopped myself. That would only make her feel even more self-conscious around them. They could literally call her a cow to her face, and possibly had in the past, and she would still keep them in the wedding. “It’s your call,” I said finally, glad she was too engrossed with her reflection to notice the conflict that battled across my face. She wasn’t wrong; I didn’t have much of a poker face.
“I don’t want them to hate you for going behind their backs. They can be a little—oh, you met them!” I refrained from using the word that immediately came to mind as a description. She chewed the inner corner of her bottom lip. “Maybe—maybe I shuffle the appointments so we come here first the next weekend, so I don’t have to go to all those other places. It’s not nice to waste their time after all, right?”
I nodded. “And hey, these places have a waiting list for weekend appointments, right?” I asked Rita, who had returned with the fabric swatches. “It’ll make some other bride’s day if she gets your slot. And what if you invite your mom for this weekend so she can be here when you find ‘the dress.’”
“Is that weird?” Caryn asked Rita.
She smiled knowingly. “I’ll pretend I’ve never seen you before.”
Caryn dropped her shoulders in relief. I hadn’t even realized how much tension she was carrying there until she lowered them. She looked at herself in the mirror again, then stepped off the pedestal to hug me. “Thank you.”
I returned her hug tightly. “Of course.” I paused. “Do I still get to sing in the birdcage?”
She laughed. “You can do anything you want after this.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
I had a package waiting for me when I got home. I tore into it, expecting the new yoga pants I had ordered, but found a journal, brightly colored dual-tipped markers, stencils, stickers, and a gift note from Megan instead.
I know organization isn’t your thing, but a bullet journal will help you keep all of the weddings straight! I already put some of my important dates in for you! XX —Meg.
Bullet journals were more Megan than me. But she had picked one that was perfect for me: it had a turquoise background with gold lettering that said, “Get Shit Done.” I flipped to the first page, where she had written Lily’s wedding journal in sparkly gold pen. Turning to June, I saw that her wedding day was filled in with rose gold, as well as her rehearsal dinner, bridal shower, and bachelorette party.
Thank you for my super cute gift, I texted her. She replied with a kissy face.
I camped out in the living room and started transcribing dates from my phone calendar into the journal. Would I actually carry a journal around with me normally? No, I was pretty digital. But the profanity on it made me like it.
Megan’s first wedding dress shopping date conflicted with Caryn’s appointment at the salon where we had secretly found her dress, but I figured that my behind-the-scenes work meant I could skip the fake appointment. I was supposed to go with my mother and sister
on Sunday the following weekend, and I assumed I wouldn’t be involved in Madison’s dress shopping since they lived in Chicago. But I realized I hadn’t heard anything from Sharon about dresses and decided to check in and see how she was doing.
Hey love, I texted. How’s planning going? Are you looking for dresses? Can I help with anything?
I don’t want to get married anymore, she responded. I called her immediately.
“What happened? I can hire someone to break Josh’s kneecaps.”
“No, I do want to marry Josh. I just don’t want a wedding.”
“Why?”
She sighed. “I went dress shopping with my mom and my sister. And the saleslady was so mean. She took away the only dress I liked.”
“What do you mean the saleslady took away the dress you liked?”
“She said it wasn’t good on me.”
“What does she care? It’s not her wedding.”
“She said it wasn’t good and she practically forced me out of it and then put this big puffy thing on me that she said would hide my problem areas and I started to cry.” God help the bridal salon worker who says something like that in front of me, I thought. Yes, Sharon’s mom was even harder on her about her weight than mine was, but I couldn’t imagine Mrs. Meyer tolerating someone else bringing up her daughter’s “problem areas.”
“What did your mom say?”
“They wouldn’t let her in the room with me. So I just came out and said I wanted to go home.”
“That doesn’t make any sense though. Why would she take a dress away from you? She works on commission!”
“Because she’s mean.”
“What store was it?”
Sharon named a Potomac boutique that I had passed before. I fished my laptop out of my bag and opened it. “Do you remember what the dress looked like?”
“It was white.”
“Gonna need a little more info than that.”
“It was satin with lace over the top part. And it was kinda A-line, but like, not a lot.”
I pulled up the boutique’s website, but didn’t see a way to narrow that down. “Do you remember the brand?”
“Maggie something.”
I googled “Maggie wedding dresses.”
“Sottero? Does that sound right?”
“I think so,” Sharon said.
I clicked on a few dresses. But after shopping with Caryn, something immediately caught my eye. “Uh, can I ask a stupid question? Did your mom tell the saleslady how much she was willing to spend on a dress?”
“They made us fill out a form with our upper limit on it.”
“And did your mom give some ridiculous number?”
Sharon paused. “I don’t know if it’s ridiculous or not.”
“So yes, then?”
“Why?”
“Because this brand is way cheaper than most in the store. That’s probably why she didn’t want you to get it.”
Sharon was quiet for a minute. “Are you serious?”
“Yup,” I said. “But hang on, I’m sending you a link. Was it this one?”
She put me on speaker to look at the dress. “No. I didn’t see that one.”
I tried again. “This one?”
“No.”
“One more.”
“That’s it! But the saleslady said it wasn’t good on me.”
“How did you feel in it?”
She sighed. “Beautiful.”
I typed the model name into Google, went to the designer’s website, then clicked the where-to-buy link. “A store in Baltimore has it,” I said, and gave her the name. “Go try it on there. If you still love it, get it. And if anyone says it’s not good when you think it is, kick them.”
Sharon hesitated again. “I don’t want to go to a store again. They literally come in with you and make you take your bra off.”
“I feel like you should at least get Mardi Gras beads if you have to show your boobs to someone random. Can we start a bridal shop where we give the brides beads for every dress they try on?” She finally laughed. “Do you want me to call and make you an appointment? I can come too, if you want.”
“Would you?” she asked. “I didn’t want to ask with how much you have going on.”
“I’d love to.”
“Thanks.”
I smiled. I was a rock star when it came to this whole bridesmaid thing.
I hadn’t seen Sharon’s mother in nearly ten years. Partially because there was no reason to, but more by choice. Sharon and I met freshman year of college and decided to room together sophomore year. A decision that we repeated for junior and senior years as well, when we had an apartment off campus, despite her mother.
Not that her mother disapproved of me. Quite the contrary, back then at least. She heavily encouraged Sharon to spend more time with me because I was such a “good girl,” which we both laughed about behind her back. I was a terrible influence on Sharon, who had never had more than a sip or two of beer before she met me. That changed quickly.
My first time experiencing the full force of Mrs. Meyer, however, was move-in day sophomore year, when she steamrolled into our dorm room and ordered us to rearrange the furniture to her liking. “Is she for real?” I mouthed to Sharon behind her mother’s back. Sharon just shook her head at me to prevent me from saying anything, her eyes wide. I had never seen anything like this. Sharon, who had just as much of a mind of her own as I did when it was the two of us, turned into this meek little mouse as soon as her mother stepped into a room. It was like Sharon was a balloon and her mother was letting the air out.
When she had arranged our room to her satisfaction—including a pair of matching comforters, my own having been deemed unacceptable compared to her memory of her own college dorm room’s matching state—she insisted that we accompany her to lunch, where she lectured Sharon on how to lose the freshman fifteen from the previous year. “If it sticks around for sophomore year, you’ll never lose it,” she warned.
The second she left, we rearranged the room the way we had discussed over the summer. Then ordered a pizza. And breadsticks.
“Dude,” I said. “Your mom—”
“I know and I’m sorry. You just have to let her do her thing and then do what you want when she’s gone.”
“What happens when she comes to visit? I’m not redoing the room every time she pops by.”
“She just wanted to walk around campus and go out for meals last year. It’ll be fine.”
I loved Sharon. But I now understood why her previous roommate had found someone else to live with.
Sharon’s college graduation party was the last time I had seen Mrs. Meyer, and I still remembered the way she pursed her lips and said “I see,” when I told her about my new job at the foundation. She expected me to go to law school or, at the very least, be writing for the Washington Post or New York Times. I wasn’t even engaged to my then-boyfriend, who had visible tattoos.
But I wasn’t twenty-two anymore. And at thirty-two, I didn’t care in the slightest if she didn’t like my job. Was I curing cancer? No. Did I love what I did? Also no. But was that any of her business? Hell no.
I arrived at the bridal salon just before Sharon and her mom and greeted them as soon as they walked in. “Lily,” Diana Meyer said coolly. “I didn’t realize you would be joining us today.”
I looked to Sharon, who scrunched her face into a guiltily apologetic smile.
“Yup. Just invited myself along. That’s how I roll.”
“I see,” she said. She looked around the bridal salon and turned back to Sharon. “It’s not as nice as the last one we went to. Where did you find this place?”
“They had a dress I liked and wanted to try on.”
“And we came all the way to Baltimore for one dress?” Her lips were pursed in a disapproving pout.
“Please,” Sharon said. “I really like this dress. And if it’s no good, we’ll try on others.”
Her mother nodded her assent, and Sh
aron was whisked away into a dressing room while Mrs. Meyer began browsing the shop for choices she found suitable.
Sharon came out a few minutes later, and I smiled broadly. It wasn’t even that the dress was that great, it was that Sharon looked radiant in it. She looked happier than I had ever seen her.
“It’s nice,” her mother acquiesced. “If a bit simple.”
“I like simple, Mom.”
“You’ll try on the other ones I picked out. Then we’ll decide.”
Sharon’s shoulders slumped, but she agreed, then retreated into the dressing room.
While we waited, Mrs. Meyer turned her attention to me. “So,” she began, looking at my left hand. “You’re still single then?”
No, I’m married, I wanted to say. But I don’t wear my ring because it makes it harder to cheat and I really enjoy that. But she had nothing resembling a sense of humor and I wasn’t trying to make the next few months of dealing with her more miserable than they had to be. “Still single,” I said cheerily.
“Have you tried online dating?”
“No.”
“At your age, you really should.”
I blinked heavily. “I’ll get right on that.” She opened her mouth, clearly ready to give me more unsolicited advice about how I could reverse my single status, but I was saved by Sharon exiting the dressing room in a tulle-covered disaster.
“Lovely,” Mrs. Meyer said, gesturing for Sharon to stand on the pedestal before the mirror. “Something like this never goes out of style.”
I tore my eyes away from the gauzy mess of a dress and looked at Sharon’s face in the mirror. She looked miserable. Say something, I thought desperately.
Mrs. Meyer adjusted the shoulder and came around in front of Sharon. “Why do you look like that? Smile.” Sharon tried, but it was a pretty pathetic attempt. Mrs. Meyer raised her eyebrows. “You want the other one then?” Sharon looked at her mother and nodded almost imperceptibly. Mrs. Meyer threw up her hands and turned to the saleslady. “I guess she’s set on the first one. No one wants a mopey bride.”
Sharon smiled and thanked her mother, then returned to the dressing room to put her clothes back on. “Now what on earth will we put you in?” Mrs. Meyer asked, turning to me. “It’ll have to be black, I think.”
For the Love of Friends Page 5
