Say Forever(25)

Nora was surprisingly polite during lunch, even apologizing several times for the way my adoptive mother treated me at our chance encounter last month. Nora had been there to watch The Cobra throw wine on me and then get kicked out of the country club. Nora even told me that was her turning point. After watching me stand up to that snake, Nora finally summoned the courage to end their so-called friendship and tell her husband about the affair before my adoptive mother beat her to it.

Nora makes eye contact with me several times while relaying this story. I want so badly to believe her. So why is it that, as my mom and I leave the restaurant and shake hands with Nora one last time, I still have this queasy feeling? I keep telling myself it's the pregnancy hormones.

At least I hope it is.

Mom and I drive straight to a bridal boutique we found on the internet. I huddle inside my jacket as we make our way through the parking lot. Yesterday, it was in the low seventies and today it's in the mid-forties. I've lived in Texas my whole life, and I still can't understand the weather.

When we walk in the door, I sigh in relief when I feel the warmth from the heater, but then my senses are hit with a blast of nauseating oldies Christmas music. Bleh. Even though I'm excited about Christmas in two more days, the holiday music is starting to wear on me. Still, I do my best to shrug it off. I'm looking forward to spending the holiday with my new family, and I can't wait to see my brothers' faces when they open the remote control helicopters Andrés and I bought them.

The salesladies are helping a bride who appears to be having a breakdown.The poor woman is surrounded by a cluster of bridesmaids in hideous foam green dresses. She looks like she's about to be swallowed up by a taffeta tsunami.

I know it's none of my business, but I can't help but wonder what's causing this woman's breakdown. Mom and I exchange questioning looks before we hear the woman blurt out, "I can't go through with it. I can't!" Then she cries into the fabric of her white gown. The saleswomen are panicking, begging the bride to take off the dress before she ruins it. The bridesmaids are telling her everything will all work out. Two matronly women, I suspect to be the mother and mother-in-law, are off to the side, bickering. I even hear one woman call the other a "meddlesome bitch."

Wow.

My heart clenches when I hear the bride sobbing even harder. This is no way to start off the happiest time of her life.

"Oh, Christina." Mom leans over and whispers in my ear. "Look at that dress."

I turn at the gown she's pointing to, a big frilly number that looks like a cross between a ballet dress and a vat of cotton candy. Ew. Not wanting to hurt her feelings, I force a smile as I follow her toward the monstrosity. I don't know how my petite mother manages, but she actually pulls the dress down without being crushed under an avalanche of fluff.

It's when my mom removes the big eyesore from the rack that I see the other dress.

My dress.

It's perfect. A strapless silk beauty with a modest rhinestone pattern across the bust and a simple satin gown that is dissected at the waist by a pink sash and hugs the hips before cascading straight to the floor. Though the dress doesn't have any puffy hoops, the train that connects to the back gives it a fuller look.

"Omigod!" I squeal as I pull the dress down. "It's perfect!"

Mom frowns as she squeezes the big ball of fluff to her chest. It crackles and pops beneath her grip as if it's made of bubble wrap. "Christina." She seems to deflate. "It's so plain."

"I know." I nod as I run my hand down the smooth fabric. "A blank canvas."

Recognition flashes in her eyes. "You're going to decorate this dress yourself, aren't you?"

"I'm an artist, remember?" I look at her with breath hitched. I really hope she approves, because what I have in mind for this gown will completely transform it, and if it doesn't turn out, there goes any chance of a refund. Even though the fabric paint I plan to use is non-toxic, it's permanent. Once the color sets, it's there for good.

"Why didn't I see that coming?" She laughs as she heaves that other dress back onto the rack. Then she locks elbows with me and leads me to the dressing room. "Let's go try it on."


***


Not only is this the perfect dress, it's the perfect fit. I only wish it was the perfect price. Nearly two thousand dollars for a simple silk gown! Luckily, it comes with an elegant veil made of silk and lace with a pink headband that matches the sash. My mom doesn't bat an eyelash as she swipes her credit card and the clerk hands us the dress. I'm so excited, I practically float toward the door as we leave.

But then I falter, nearly tripping over my gown as I spy the crying bride over my shoulder. Her mascara is running down her bright pink cheeks in heavy globs and there are makeup stains all over the gown. Both mothers are arguing with a saleslady, who's demanding they pay for the dry cleaning. I feel frozen in place as the bride gives me a knowing look right before she takes a drag from a cigarette. She doesn't even flinch as angry red embers land on her gown.