“Okay,” I say, trying to put on a positive face. I grab the box of useless invites and dump them into the recycling bin, then prepare to head out for some wedding fun. I mean, today is supposed to be a really great day, after all. I can’t let some soured invitations ruin it, right?
It’s the last Saturday in February. It’s major crunch time here. The girls and I have an appointment to try on the dream dress Mom found for me in the magazine. The boutique has received a sample for me to try on, and we’re all going to celebrate the special (and hopefully lucky) day by going out for a light brunch first. If the dress ends up working out, then I’m going to feel like a real bride. And I could really use a win right now.
As I crawl through the passenger door of my dilapidated car, I’m having a tough time putting myself in a positive mood, even though I could very well be purchasing my wedding dress today. I’ve got Conner in one ear telling me to have fun and not worry, and I’ve got an empty promise from Melissa ringing and driving me bonkers in the other.
“It is only one mistake,” I remind myself, forcing a smile as I start my car. I glance in the rearview mirror and slowly emerge from my parked position. “Only one mistake…”
***
“If you ask me,” Jackie says, “you’re acting way too on-edge.” She pushes away her brunch plate.
“Yes,” Emily says matter-of-factly. “You’re not yourself, Claire.”
“Girls,” I whine, “I’m calmed down now. I’m having a good time.” I’m forcing a happy face, and Sophie can see through it. She gently shakes her head at me. “I’m sorry,” I quickly apologize. And I mean it wholeheartedly.
Here the girls are all giving up their Saturday to do some dress shopping, and I’ve spent a good portion of the past hour of our brunch complaining about the bomb that Cliff had just delivered.
“It’s a rule for today,” Lara says. “No negativity or complaining. You, Claire, of all people, are not one to be a negative whiner. Weddings are stressful. Get over it.” She’s scrolling through her BlackBerry habitually, glancing up at me after each sentence, letting me know that while work’s keeping her on her toes, she’s still got my attention.
“Sure,” I sigh. “You’d think this wedding planner thing would alleviate trouble, though, wouldn’t you?” I cast about the table.
“Why don’t you fire her?” Robin suggests suddenly. She dips a spoon into the baby food jar and makes an airplane noise and motion, landing it in Rose’s open mouth.
Rose looks so cute with her bright pink bib and baby food smeared all around the sides of her mouth. It’s smeared on her chubby cheeks, too. One look at her and she melts your heart, makes you smile and feel all warm and gooey inside. Maybe I should keep Rose at the house for a while. She’d certainly ward off the evil wedding spells.
“Oh, that’s rash, I think,” Sophie says. “One mistake certainly can’t warrant firing.” She shakes her head enthusiastically.
“Oh, no,” I tell Robin. “I can’t fire Melissa. This far in the game? Take on all the stress by myself? No. No way. Besides, it’s not all that bad, and Sophie’s right.” I give Sophie a corner grin. “One accident isn’t a disaster.”
“You know,” Lara says, still scrolling through her cell phone, “if you do want to find someone else, I’m sure my mom would love to help out.”
I completely forgot. Lara’s mom is an event designer and coordinator. She used to have a business here in Seattle, but she’s been in Chicago for a few years now. I’m sure if she were in town I would have used her, no contest.
“Thanks,” I say. “I appreciate the offer. I’ll keep it in mind, but I’ll stick with Melissa for now.” I give a small grin. “Overall I think she’s doing a nice job…she’s friendly. This invitation flub isn’t the end of the world.”
“True,” Sophie says. “At least the invitations weren’t mailed!”
I point my fork at her and say, “Exactly!”
Once the check arrives, Lara kindly offers to cover it, announcing that there’s been rumor going around her office that she’s up for the executive advertising position.
“You’ll still have time for a social life with your new gig?” Emily queries.
“And a love life?” Jackie adds.
“I told you all what Nathan did for me for Valentine’s, right?” Lara says, unlocking her Audi, half the group filing into it, while the other half piles into Jackie’s car.
“Tell ‘em, girl,” Robin says. She buckles Rose into her car seat behind Lara. “Two lovebirds sittin’ in a tree…” she starts to sing.
Lara finishes filling us in on her romantic Valentine’s date with Nathan right as we pull into a parking space outside the bridal boutique. Even though the two haven’t been dating very long, he definitely delivered on the holiday of romance. He took her out to a really classy dinner and then a ballet performance of Swan Lake, followed by a romantic evening at his place. She wouldn’t give us too many details, since Lara has never been the type to kiss and tell…not really more than a typical girl might.
“I’m just so happy you’re over what’s-his-face,” I tell Lara, relieved that she’s moving on to greener pastures of love.
“You and me both,” she says, opening the boutique’s heavy, gold-plated door.
“You know you’ll have to retell that whole story, Lara?” Jackie says after she’s jogged over from her car. “Always love a juicy love story.”
“Hardly anything juicy-raunchy to share about this one,” I tell her, giving Lara a one-brow arch.
“Yeah, yeah,” Lara brushes off, ushering us all through the doors.
“Welcome!” One of the assistants who helped me last time greets us within seconds of our arrival.
She shakes my hand, and when I read her nametag I say, “Thank you, Jenna.”
“We have received the most gorgeous Vera Wang you’ve ever seen!” she gasps, still holding my hand, now leading me to the familiar dressing area. The girls follow quickly behind, Rose making loud gurgles and baby noises.
“Imagine if this is it!” Robin gushes.
“I sure hope it is,” I say. “If it looks half as good on me as it does in the magazine…”
“I’m certain it will!” Jenna says, turning back to look at me.
We reach my dressing room where, hanging from the rack situated nearby, hangs not only a variety of soft blue bridesmaid dresses, but the most breathtaking and fabulous and makes-you-weak-at-the-knees wedding dress!
“Omigod,” I breathe out. I remove my hand from Jenna’s and clap it to my mouth. A girl cannot describe accurately what the most gorgeous dress in the world looks like…nor the feeling that it could quite possibly be hers.
“Gorgeous, right?” Jenna says, reading my mind. She lifts the dress from the rack and carefully carries it over.
I’m in too much shock to budge. I can’t get over how beautiful it looks in real life and how it just might be “the one!” I had just about given up hope on Martha’s wise advice that there is “the one!” dress out there for each bride, just like there’s “the One” in terms of Prince Charming.
I slowly reach my hand towards the dress, wanting to feel the tissue organza for myself. It’s so soft. And the strips of—is that silk? A soft, silk fabric. It looks beautiful and it might even be comfortable. No sequins or jewels or scratchy little beads on this gown that could tear up my arms. Just pure silky, smooth, luscious, and probably damn expensive fabric. I can’t stop running my fingers along the mesh of soft material and organza. All of the fabric is cut to where it looks like sheaves of paper…very fold-like, and it bunches together in intricately patterned waves at the skirt.
I break my gaze for only a moment and look up at Jenna. She’s smiling just as brightly as I am.
“It’s so soft,” I say huskily.
She giggles. “Pure perfection from Vera right here. The material is a blend of silk gazaar and tissue organza. In ivory, as you can obviously see.” Jenna makes a motion to another assi
stant, who is looking on at the dress with just as dreamy an expression as mine and Jenna’s. I look back and see all of the girls are beaming as well.
“Let’s get Claire into her undergarments, and then we’ll be ready to slip into this Vera,” Jenna tells the other assistant. I’m so mesmerized by the dress that I miss the chance to see her nametag.
Just then, Sophie comes to my side, followed by Emily, and both of them ask if the two of them will be enough help with the dress. I mumble an okay and try my best to remain calm as I slip out of my Burberry boots, my favorite pair of Gap jeans, and a baggy sweater that looks like it’s about ready to be retired.
When Jenna hands over the dress, Emily and Sophie begin to slip it over my head, my arms reaching as high as they can (and I’m totally sucking in my stomach and holding my breath so much I’m afraid I might pop).
“You got it?” Emily asks Sophie.
“Claire, bend down lower,” Sophie instructs. She’s on top of a step stool, her lengthy legs not lending enough height to carefully clothe me in this much-too-long dress.
It doesn’t matter, though. It’s only a test dress. Of course they’ll alter it for me. It has to work—it just has to! I can feel it.
Slowly my head emerges from the dress’s neck, and the girls go straight to work on clasping me in to this strapless beauty. I can’t see myself yet, because the dressing room doesn’t have a mirror, oddly enough, but soon I’ll be perched back up on that pedestal and I’ll be able to see myself in all this Vera Wang vintage glory!
As the girls finish the last of the clasps, I let my hands run along the gown’s bodice. It really is the softest thing I’ve ever worn in my life. The cool silk bazaar, or whatever it’s called, feels so crisp and cool on my fingertips. Oh and how it poofs ever so slightly around the bottom, like a sweet bell. Oh, get me to a mirror already!
“Got it,” Emily says, finishing her fastening. She pushes open the dressing room door and ushers me towards the mirror.
Gasps all around. Sophie picks up the back of the dress, Emily one of the sides, and myself the other as I eagerly tiptoe to the pedestal.
“Eeeee!” I shriek as I see myself for the first time wearing the dress. That’s right. You heard me; it’s “the one!” This dress is mine.
“Wow!” Robin breathes.
“Definitely wow!” says Lara, who’s at my side in the blink of an eye.
“So?” Jenna says in a singsong way. “Love or what?”
I can’t nod or speak or do anything but beam and run my fingers all along the gentle folds of the soft dress.
“I think she’s in love,” Sophie says, snapping me out of it with a soft poke at my rear.
I lift up the long gown and do a small series of twists from side to side, a sort of show-off-the-dress move. Oh! This baby will look unbelievable on the dance floor. It’s not even a typical flowing, ball-gown-style dress where when you spin you just know it’ll spin wildly with you. This dress has magic, though. It’s one of those where it’s really asymmetrical and barely A-lined, so you probably wouldn’t be sure to receive a full-on spin and twirl kind of action when you bust out the moves on the dance floor. But with Vera. Oh, with Vera, this baby will spin and swing and be so stylish and the talk-of-the-town. You know that with one look at it, with one touch of its soft folds, it’ll do whatever you want on the floor. It’s…perfection.
“Like I said,” Jenna says, sidling up to me, “a one-of-a-kind gown.” She helps me lift higher the excess material that’s more than covering my feet, and she starts to attach pins to it.
Oh no! What’s she doing with my beautiful dress? Pinholes?
I’m about to ask what she’s doing—why she’s making this piece of perfection into a piece of Swiss Cheese—when she says, “These are very non-intrusive pins that we use especially for gowns of this material, so don’t you worry.” She continues to pin and I exhale the heaviest breath since I’d slipped into the gown.
Jenna presses on with the pinning, transforming the dress into a perfect fit before my very eyes the dress.
“As I was saying,” Jenna says, “this gown is the only ivory, strapless, and asymmetrical gown in the year’s collection. It’s a modified mermaid style gown…full-length and, if you’re interested, because many brides do inquire, it is alterable in several ways. We can even change the neckline—”
“No!” I gasp, clutching the bust line. “It’s perfect the way it is.”
“Obviously you’ll want to alter the length,” Robin points out, lightly bouncing Rose on her knees.
“Oh, yes,” I say. “Yes, definitely alter the length.”
“The dress can be altered in many ways—” Jenna proceeds, but I stop her again.
“Only where it needs to be altered,” I say kindly. “Obviously I’ve got stumps for legs, so let’s shorten this baby, and maybe pinch in a little at the waist…” I carefully pull back some of the loose fabric at the midsection and try to imagine how it would look altered to fit my curvy body.
“Can do,” the second assistant chirps in.
Jenna finishes the pinning and, yes, this dress is going to be mine! With the length adjusted for a test, and with the midsection fabric pulled taut a little, I can see the perfection of this dress for me, my body, and my wedding.
“It has a blossom flange detail,” Jenna says, “and a draped skirt. Don’t you love how the organza blends with the gazaar? So lovely. And very vintage. Very chic…”
“I’ll take it!” I blurt out. I can’t stop running my fingers over the dress’s folds. It looks so beautiful—the ivory color and the different textures of fabric—with my sparkly engagement ring. Oh, it’s amazing!
“I’ve found my dress, girls,” I say with pride. I feel like I’m glowing. “This is what I’m going to get married in!” I give a squeal of delight and clap my hands like a little girl, and, cutely enough, Rose imitates me.
“Excellent!” the second assistant says. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks!”
“Congratulations indeed,” Jenna says. She then makes a puzzling face. “Yes, we’ll definitely need to alter the length significantly here.”
I shrug and think that I can’t fight with the short and squat legs God gave me. Then I remember my shoes. My amazing Jimmy Choos that give me a sure four, maybe even five inches of added height.
“I won’t want it altered this short,” I blurt out with a hint of fear in my voice, as if Jenna is outfitted with a pair of scissors and is ready to alter on-the-spot. “I need my shoes. My Choos shoes.”
“Oh, we’re not measuring for alteration now,” Jenna says. She now looks stoic. She comes around to my backside and starts tugging and pinching at the dress. I’m worried something will rip or tear, but I’m sure she knows what she’s doing.
She then starts to hem and haw. What’s she thinking? Is something wrong? Is there a tear? Oh no! Did I accidentally grease something up? My boots! My boots are a little muddy.
“What is it?” Sophie asks, accurately reading my expression.
“I think we need to go with one size smaller, Claire,” Jenna responds.
“Really?” I’m in shock. I thought with a little altering this very dress could be fitted just right.
Jenna says she’s confident one size smaller will be better, and that way we won’t have to alter too much and take away a significant portion of the original detail that’s in the length or in the bodice, since the waist is a little too loose.
I’m panicked now, deathly afraid that the most perfect thing about this wedding so far is going to disappear. Somehow the dress will get lost in the shuffle, or some other bride will snatch it up, or there won’t ever be a record that I came in and tried on this beauty. I’m terrified I’ll have to start from square one all over and wait for this perfect dress to re-arrive. It took forever the first time. Oh dear! What if Vera Wang decided to stop making anymore of the—
“Claire?” Sophie says. She’s waving a hand at me. “I think w
e should try one size smaller.”
“Huh?” I look at the trifold mirror and try to turn to see the back, where Jenna is still poking and pinching.
“Yes,” Jenna insists. “I would feel much better if we got you a size smaller and then proceeded with altering then.”
I look to Sophie for reassurance. Is this really an okay idea? A better than okay idea? The best option for us? When she nods convincingly, I let the attendants place an order for the same exact dress, but in a different size.
“What if that one is too small?” I query. The question has to be considered. “And I end up needing this one, here?” I lift up the dress’s pinned skirt, feeling panic starting to settle it. “Or what if this one then gets bought by someone else? Then I’m left with nothing.”
Both attendants smile warmly and insist there won’t be any trouble. They’ll keep this one that I’m wearing as their sample and go ahead and order in two dresses—one in this size and one in a size smaller. They say that guaranteed satisfaction is their policy, with gowns ready for the bride on their special day, just the way they want them.
All I can do is trust that they know what they’re doing. I gave license to Melissa, and she’d already kind of screwed the pooch on the invites…but certainly everything here on out can go well. I mean, how many flubs can a girl have in one wedding?
Chapter Seven
Mr. Craddock is my third and last patient of the day. Mr. Crabby Craddock is more like it. Oh, what a tough day at work! But I suppose not every day can be as fun as finding your dream wedding gown.
Normally my patients are relatively amicable, as are my relationships with them. Mr. Craddock, unfortunately, is not one of them. He refuses, even after two years of care, to agree to a first-name basis. He’s a grouchy old man who has been left embittered by three divorces, a son whom he has disowned because of irreconcilable political differences, and an amputated left foot, because he refused to heed the doctors’ excessive warnings of what type 2 diabetes could do to his body. I’ve always tried to practice patience, understanding, and kindness, especially in my work, but Crabby Craddock sure makes it difficult sometimes.
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