The gown swishes as I walk the runway. The borrowed heels the boutique gave me to use pinch my toes and have rubbed blisters on both of my feet. But I make it to the end and spin in a circle so they can get the full view.
They clap. Stevie puts her fingers in her mouth and blows an ear-piercing whistle.
Terri stumbles up the one-foot height onto the small platform at the end of the catwalk, running her hand down the long sleeve of the lacy dress. “This is it. I declare this to be the one! It’s superb.”
Stevie holds up her glass in salute. “Here. Here.”
My reflection stares at me from the sixteen mirrored panels that run along two of the four walls of this room. The off-the-shoulder mermaid gown hugs my body as if it were designed specifically for me. The sheer lace shows off the length of my spine almost to the top of my ass crack.
It’s beautiful. Truly perfect. “Not this one.”
Stevie dumps more wine into my half-empty glass—my first—sloshing a bit on the carpet as she jumps up onto the stage. She shoves it into my hand, shaking her head. “You’re out-voted. This is the one.”
I take a sip. “No. Any of them but this one.”
Terri has her hand on her chin as she studies me. “This one. It has to be this one. It’s the dress. Your dress.”
“She’s right. It’s the one. You have to get this one.” Stevie nods.
My nose twitches as the sting sets in. Tears prick behind my eyes, welling up.
Giving Stevie my back, I say, “Unbutton it.”
“But look at yourself in the mirror, Jo. It’s absolutely divine.”
I stamp my foot as the first tear spills over my lashes. “Please, for the love of God, get me out of this dress.”
Stevie’s fingers go to work. “Okay, okay. Calm down.”
Terri steps in front of me, taking my hands. “What’s wrong, sweet girl?”
I yank one hand away and swipe at the wetness under my nose with a great sniffle. “It’s fine. I just—this dress—I—no.”
Her brows knit. “Why ever not? Tyson’s instructions were to plan the perfect wedding. This gown, it’s per—”
I hold up my hand. “Shush. Don’t say it. I already know. And that’s why I can’t wear it. Choose any of the others, I don’t care. But I won’t—I can’t wear this one.”
Terri’s kind eyes show her drunken confusion. She may not even realize this whole thing is a charade. And if that’s the case, I can’t tell her.
I tap my foot, rub my arms, and finally glance over my shoulder at Stevie struggling with the hundred and one teeny pearl buttons that hold the dress together over my butt.
The tears flow free. “Please, hurry. Please.”
“This is silly, Jo. What’s wrong with you?”
“Oh, forget it. I’ll squeeze out of it.” I pick up the skirt and turn away from Terri’s sad expression. And I run.
Once in the dressing room, I latch the door and sink to the bench seat.
Less than five seconds. That’s all I get. Stevie rattles the door.
“Leave me alone. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
“Let me in. I can’t help if you don’t let me in, Jo.”
Back to that, are we? Let her in.
I burst out, bawling like a toddler. “I can’t. Why don’t you understand?”
“Aw, Jo. Honey.” Stevie looks up at me from the space under the slatted door to the dressing room. Then she’s slithering under it and into the space.
I want to laugh, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
Stevie throws her arms around me, her head against my back as we rock.
Tears are ridiculous.
“I don’t even…know why…I’m crying.” My words are punctuated by hiccups.
“Because you want all the things.”
I swipe my crumbling tissue across my runny nose. “All of what things?”
She smoothes my hair out of my eyes, looking at me like I’m pitiful. “The white picket fence, the kids, and Fido…all of it, with the man of your dreams. You want the fairytale.”
I am pitiful.
And pathetic.
“Well, I’m not getting a fairytale printed on golden-edged pages. I’m getting the joke book. Even worse, it’s the bathroom-reader joke book.” I sniffle and try to hold back the next wave of tears. “That dress deserves the fairytale.”
Stevie straightens and grabs my shoulders, pushing me away to gaze into my eyes. “Then quit. Move back in with me and tell pretty boy to shove it.”
“I owe him. If I do this, then I can move on and never think about it again.” I slump. “Maybe.”
She gasps. “Oh. My. Gosh. You did it.”