We’re in New York, and Lori is quite prepared with a list of stores for us to check out and a car to take us.
She says, “Jade, if you can’t find a dress here, you’re doomed.”
“Nothing like a little bit of pressure to start my day,” I mutter back.
“You didn’t get coffee yet, did you? You’re always cranky without coffee. Did you eat breakfast?”
“Um, no.”
She sighs at me.
“Don’t give me that sigh. I’m going to try on wedding dresses! I need to look perfect, so I spent a lot of time getting ready.” I lean over and whisper in her ear, so the moms can’t hear, “Plus, Phillip would not let me out of bed. He’s insatiable.”
Lori giggles with me and then asks the driver to stop at the next coffee shop. She comes back with a latte and a chocolate chip scone for me. I’m happily sipping coffee and thinking about how Phillip looked when I left this morning. All those sexy muscles lying there, naked, twisted-up sheets down by his feet. The way his eyes sparkled when he spoke. How I can’t even remember what he said because I kept thinking about how I just wanted to take my clothes off and pounce back on top of him. I think about what I would’ve done. How I would’ve run my hands across his broad shoulders. How I love the way his abs feel in my hands. How muscular his butt feels when he’s—
His mom interrupts my thoughts by shoving a file folder in front of me. Mrs. Diamond tells me they clipped out some photos of dresses they thought I should try on.
I thank them and flip through the photos, not really looking at them. My mind is back to sexy places.
We go to a few bridal boutiques. I try on some dresses, but nothing wows us.
Around noon, I’m introduced to a bridal consultant named Hillary. She’s short, blonde, and extremely peppy. I like her enthusiasm right away.
Hillary says, “I’m going to steal the bride away for a little while. Enjoy some champagne, and she’ll be back out, looking like a bride.”
Hillary leads me back to a dressing room where we sit down. “So, tell me about the groom.”
“His name is Phillip Mackenzie, and I’ve known him my whole life. He was my best friend, growing up, and my college roommate. We got engaged a couple of months ago on our first date.”
“Wow, really? I’ve never met anyone who got engaged on their first date. So, how about your budget?”
I tell her my dress budget.
She nods and says, “Have you tried on any dresses?”
“I’ve tried on about thirty.”
“And have you liked any of them? Do you have pictures of dresses you like?”
“I have a stack that people think I should try on. I don’t want to waste our time though. I know that none of them are the one.”
“Okay, why don’t you tell me what you liked or didn’t like about the dresses you’ve tried on?”
“I hate hoop skirts. I don’t want anything heavy. I wanna be able to move.”
“Got it. Now, describe to me how you want to look on your wedding day.”
“No one has asked me that question before.”
“Well, I’m going to help you find the perfect dress. It’s my job to ask the right questions.”
I think about how I want to look. “I wanna look timeless. I want my daughter to look back at my dress twenty years from now and not know when I got married. I kinda want to look like Grace Kelly. Not her wedding gown; that was too lacy. More like the fifties classic strapless dresses. But, no, that’s not really right either because I don’t want to look dated. I definitely want strapless. I want the dress to be soft and light, so I can move around in it. I thought I wanted something very tailored and plain, but when I try on dresses like that, they don’t seem dressy enough, so I think I need a little bling. I know most brides probably come in and know exactly what they want—like, they want to look a certain way—but all I want is for Phillip to think I look amazing. I did try on a dress of each silhouette. Everyone thinks I look best in a strapless mermaid style. I sort of feel like a bridal failure.”
“You’re not a failure. You just haven’t found the right dress yet. You’ve told me a lot about what you want and don’t want. I’m going to pull a few dresses. Be right back,” she says in a very chipper voice.
I say a silent prayer that Hillary can figure me out.
That, today, I will find my dress.
While I’m waiting, my phone buzzes. I pull it out of my purse.
Danny: XXX-themed wedding requires a XXX bridal dress. Hint …
Following is a photo of a woman that you’d assume is a bride since she’s wearing a veil and dressed in all white. I’d say she’s probably a very naughty bride. She has on a white lace corset, sheer lace thong, fishnet thigh highs, and patent leather platform heels.
Only the classiest shoes for this bride.
Over all of this is a sheer robe. The robe is sporting a feather collar, or maybe it’s a white boa; I’m not sure. She also has extremely big hair, bright red lipstick, and a cherry halfway in her mouth. Maybe that’s a new wedding dessert I should consider.
Ha!
Me: OMG! Very classy!
Danny: If you decide you wanna try on dresses like this, one that will fit your theme, ditch the women and let the best man help you pick it out. I’m told it’s one of my duties to see my groom is well taken care of.
Me: You’re a goofball. Are you with Phillip and the dads?
Danny: Yeshhh 🙂 and Mac likeyyyyyy.
Me: Are you drinking?
Danny: I have a game tomorrow, so not really, but everyone else is. Lori says brides sometimes wear a second dress to the reception, and it should fit your theme. So, we ordered this for you. You can thank me later.
Me: More like, Phillip will be thanking you. Tell him it definitely fits our honeymoon theme.
Danny: You have a honeymoon theme?
Me: Maybe …
Danny: Phillip says you do but won’t tell me. He also said to tell you this outfit reminds him of whipped cream. What does that mean?
Me: Well, we can’t use XXX for the wedding, so … and ask him about the whipped cream. OMG, Danny, it was so HOT! Just don’t let the dads hear!
Danny: I’m jealous.
Hillary walks back in the room with four dresses. There must be something about having a complete stranger see you practically naked that makes you feel like you can talk to her about anything. While she’s getting me all done up, I find myself telling her that it’s kinda hard for me to be picking out a dress without my mom. I tell her how my mom loved bling and how I used to fight against it, but the older I get, the more I don’t mind just a little bit of sparkle. For some reason, it makes me feel more like her.
The first dress she puts me in is actually quite pretty. I know for sure it’s not the dress, but it’s probably the first one that I don’t dislike. It’s a strapless mermaid-style dress. It has just a bit of bling across the waistline, but the rest of it is pretty plain. Like the simplicity of the design is what makes it gorgeous.
I show Lori and the moms.
“This isn’t the one,” I say, “but it’s very pretty, don’t you think?”
Lori loves me in strapless, and the moms love the mermaid style. Maybe we’re getting somewhere. Maybe, today, I will find a dress.
Eight gowns later.
Hillary knows more about me than my best friends. Not only have I told her about my parents, but I’ve also told her how Phillip and I were going to have a long engagement but moved it up. How the wedding is going to be romantic. How the date magically fell into place. How it’s the day after my parents’ anniversary. How I feel like they gave me a wedding gift.
I tell her about the ballroom, the candlelight, and the food.
When she goes to grab more dresses, I’m embarrassed to realize that I’ve been totally spilling my guts to her.
We’ve tried on beautiful dresses, but none of them are right. I’m starting to feel like a failure again. And I’m not the only one who’s feeling that way. Hillary doesn’t seem as chipper. Lori and the moms are starting to look bored and frustrated with me. They’ve loved quite a few of the dresses, and I’m pretty sure they think I’m nuts.
Naked is starting to sound better and better. Maybe I could just buy a veil and have one of those artists come paint my body white.
Ha! If Kansas City makes the playoffs, I could leave the paint on, add some red and yellow, and go to the game! I’d probably get on TV. Like, if I didn’t get arrested first.
Hillary is a very patient trooper though, and she comes back in with four more dresses. She’s just about to put me in another dress that I already know I’m going to reject when my cell rings. I left my phone sitting on the chair, so I can see that it’s Phillip calling me.
“It’s Phillip, the groom!” I say excitedly. “Do you mind if I quickly answer it?”
“Sure,” she says.
I answer and say, “Hey.”
Phillip’s soft, dreamy voice fills the room. “Hey, Princess. How’s the dress shopping going?”
I apologize to Hillary, “Sorry, I must have hit the speaker button.” I turn off the speaker and say to Phillip, “I’m still looking, but I think we’re getting closer.”
It’s a total lie.
Both Hillary and I know this.
I tell him I need to go, and he tells me he knows I’ll find the perfect dress today.
As I’m ending the call, I notice Hillary looking at me kinda funny. “He calls you Princess? Is that his nickname for you?”
I nod my head and launch into the story about how, when we were ten, Mary Beth Parker told everyone not to play with me. How Phillip still did. How I told him he acted like a prince. How, since that day, he’s called me Princess. How he’s always called me Princess in private, but he lets it slip out now in front of our friends. I even get a little misty when I tell her about how we used to play games as kids. How I would be a princess, and he would rescue me from dragons. How, as we got older, he rescued me for real. When my parents died. From bad dates. Flat tires. You name it. How, when I was little, my parents told me I should marry Phillip. How I laughed and told them I was marrying a prince.
I pretty much gush on and on about how amazing Phillip is.
Hillary’s eyes light up. She gets a big grin on her face and says, “I have an idea.”
She dashes out of the room while I think about Phillip. About how much I love that boy. I need to keep reminding myself that’s what this wedding is all about. I’m going to marry the boy I love and have always loved. I think that’s why I’ve been having such a hard time. I’m trying to find a dress worthy of that love.
Maybe I’m approaching this the wrong way. Maybe I should think about what kind of dress Phillip would like.
I think about the dress he bought me for our engagement, freaking covered in sequins but still tailored and simple.
Hillary is grinning as she bounds in with another dress. She looks peppy again. “This dress is not a mermaid style. We’ve been getting sidetracked by what everyone thinks you look good in. You told me you want classic and romantic. Timeless. Mermaids are fashionable, but they aren’t timeless. I want you to try this dress on with your eyes closed. I want you to see it in front of the big mirrors for the first time.”
She seems super excited and sincere, so I say, “Okay.”
I mean, it’s the least I can do for the woman who’s probably going to need some kind of deep post-traumatic-stress counseling after dealing with me.
I close my eyes as she slides a dress on me.
Then, she holds my hand and leads me on the now-familiar walk out front.
“Keep your eyes closed,” Hillary whispers to me. “I’m going to grab a veil.”
I want to open my eyes. I can hear the moms and Lori whispering.
Hillary pulls back half of my hair, slides a comb and veil into it, and then lays a headband across the top of my head. “Okay, sweetie, now, you can open your eyes.”
I look in front of me.
Staring back at me isn’t me in another dress.
Staring back at me is a bride.
And this bride is wearing the most beautiful dress I have ever seen.
The top of her dress is strapless and satin. It fits the bride perfectly and accentuates her thin waist. Crossing her waist is a band of beautiful crystals. The skirt of her dress is layer upon layer of frothy silk organza. Her hair is half pulled up, her blonde curls are cascading down her shoulders, and there’s a long veil with a crystal headband that perfectly finishes the bride’s dress.
It takes a second for me to realize the bride I’m looking at is me.
I get little tears in my eyes. I’ve been looking for so long, and I’m so happy that I didn’t buy another dress because this is exactly how I want to look for Phillip. This dress is a combination of my tailored style and, well, a princess. A princess who isn’t going to the ball in a big hoop skirt. This princess is more like a fairy princess, and she’s going dancing in a frothy, swishy, twirly skirt that feels like she’s wearing a cloud.
It’s perfect.
I’m dabbing the little tears from my eyes when Hillary says, “Finally, the tears. So, what does everyone think?”
I pry my eyes away from the gorgeous bride in the mirror—I mean, me—and look back to see their reactions. They’re all in tears, too.
Danny’s mom gets up and hugs me. “Honey, you look so beautiful. Look at those gorgeous crystals.” She backs up, looks at the dress again, and sadly shakes her head. “Your mom would have loved this dress. I really wish she were here with us today.”
I cover my mouth with my hand. I can’t hold back the tears anymore. Just hearing that my mom would have loved my dress makes them flow down my face.
Hillary hands out tissues because we’re all bawling.
“So, does the fact that we’re all blithering idiots over this dress mean it’s the one?” Lori asks.
“Yes,” I say. “This is definitely the one.”
Mrs. Mac says, “You look a little like a princess,” as she dabs her eyes.
Like Phillip’s princess, I think.
“I’ll take it,” I say.
Then, I stare at the bride in the mirror some more.
I can’t wait for Phillip to see me in this dress.
