Back to Me (Book Three ✓)

six

EMMA

I'm a bad friend, I think to myself while shoving my arms through another sea of pale green lace. As the gemstones scratch the soft skin over my ribs, the older woman at the bridal boutique, Paula, pulls at the material with deft hands, straightening the gown out once and for all.

"Very nice," She murmurs, her accent just heavy enough to sound sophisticated and posh. She appraises me from behind her librarian glasses, giving me a curt yet approving nod before ushering me out of the dressing room and onto the podium.

Gemma squeals with delight, immediately joining me on the raised platform and inspecting the detail work. Laney does the same, feeling the material between her fingers, instructing me to twirl and shimmy under the bright overhead lights.

I do as I'm told, twisting this way and that to show off the bodice and the sway of the skirt. A sheen of sweat coats my forehead under the bright florescence as worry builds in my chest, making my head feel wobbly on my shoulders.

"Look how it catches the light," Laney murmurs, eyes wide in admiration. I'm starting to feel woozy, and it has nothing to do with the champagne I not-so-gracefully passed on earlier.

"Well, maybe if we take it in a bit here," Gemma pulls at the waistline, stretching the fabric tightly over my hips, and looks to Paula, her other hand lazily swirling her champagne flute. "See, that's just like the one in the magazine."

"Hm." Paula mumbles to herself, pushing Gemma's hands away and using her own practiced fingers to pin the dress back. Once she's finished, she takes a step back and smooths her black blazer neatly. "Like this?"

"That's just beautiful." Gemma clasps her hands together in front of her chin, an ear splitting grin across her face as she spins me around another time.

"It's just what you were hoping for in a Maid of Honor gown," Laney quips, still a bit sour that she was overlooked for the position.

"What do you think Emma?" Gem asks, big brown eyes wide on my face as I take in my reflection in front of me. I watch as they fuss over the details, patiently waiting for my opinion, but I'm unable to say much at all. I look fine now - the dress, a light shade of green, heavy with crystals and lace work, is truly a work of art. I stumble as Paula adjusts the corset back again and feel tears prick my eyes as she ties the laces impossibly tighter.

"It's beautiful." I squeak, doing my best to avoid eye contact with Gemma.

Lace. Gemma has wanted lace gowns at her wedding since we were only five. We spent many hours on the floor of my parent's lake house, staring at the ceiling but seeing ourselves dancing the night away with our future husbands on the walls. Her gown would be a show stopper, of course. Her parents would buy her a ball gown made of the finest lace money could buy and she'd look like a princess from the fairy tales we'd always read. Her best friends, she'd say, would match her but look just a little less pretty.

It always made me laugh. But now, all I want to do is cry. The fabric tightens over my abdomen and it's all I can do not to scream at them that this gown just won't work.

Lace isn't forgiving. I nearly lose all control as my eyes fall on my belly, already just a little fuller than it was before. Gemma's perfect day and here I am messing it up by not wearing the gown she's always wanted. And by being a complete buzz kill, if I'm honest, I groan internally, eyeing the fizzy champagne sitting in the ice bucket across the room.

"Okay." Paula mutters to herself, carefully undoing my dress without touching any of her meticulously placed safety pins. As she steps back into the changing room with me, she purses her lips. "You are not happy?"