Page 18 of Take Me to the Wedding

We walked past a wall of greenery into a sitting space with white couches, rubber tree plants, and gauzy draperies where people could try on expensive dresses accompanied by any number of female friends and relatives. It was a lovely shop, but I had a feeling it was as far out of her comfort zone as it was mine.

“Look what I have.” Ms. Jessica suddenly appeared in the fitting room doorway. Mrs. D. and I simultaneously turned to find her carrying a mountain of tulle, satin, and crepe in a rainbow of colors, some sparkly, which I couldn’t help noticing. “I hope you don’t mind, but I found a few more you might like.” Mrs. D. gave an “Oh well, guess it’s too late now” shrug and pulled a comical face as she closed the curtain.

I shook my head and laughed. She had a fun sense of humor. Again, I noticed the resemblance to her son. If he ever laughed, would he pull funny faces too? I’d usually seen him when he was annoyed.

As I waited outside the fitting room, I texted Mia.

Your mom is trying on dresses at Ms. Jessica’s. Wish you were here.

How on earth did you get her in there?!came the reply.

A few minutes later, Mrs. D. stood on a carpeted platform, and I was taking pics of her from all sides.

“It’s very slimming,” she said. A rather large ornamental silk flower was sewn at the shoulder, and she instinctively pushed it away from her face. “The silk flower is pretty, but can it be removed? It’s choking me a little.” She fake-choked and bit back a laugh. Then so did I.

“Oh no no, you must not touch the flower,” Ms. Jessica said, spreading it out so that it flared out over Mrs. D.’s neck and avoided her face. As soon as she let go, the flower sprang up and hit her in the neck all over again.

“I’ve never had a dress like this,” Mrs. D. said, “but I like it. Except it looks more like a mother-of-the-bride dress than a dress to wear to a wedding.”

“Well, Mia and Brax are headed to the altar eventually,” I said. “So try out the fit by pretending to do mother-of-the-bride things.” I had no idea why I was acting so impulsively silly, but I just went with it. “Let me fix your train, my dear,” I said in a quasi-British matron voice, bending over, pretending to fix an imaginary bride’s train. Mrs. D. bent over too.

“It feels pretty comfortable,” she said. “Now what?”

“Now you greet all the relatives. ‘Hi, Uncle Martin,’” I said to the air in front of us. “‘How was your trip from California?’”

“Martin,” Mrs. D. said, talking to the same invisible person I was, “I’m so sorry about your divorce. How’s your twenty-five-year-old girlfriend that you left Mildred for, who happens to be a year younger than your oldest daughter?”

We both laughed hysterically. I glanced around to make sure Ms. Jessica wasn’t watching. I didn’t want us to get kicked out of here like two teenage girls at the mall. “You look very elegant,” I said in my own voice, putting my fingertips together as if I were holding the stem of a wineglass and pretending to hold it out to her.

She gave me a questioning look. “What’s this?”

“Your drink. You deserve it. You just married off your daughter.”

She laughed. But I wasn’t through yet. “See how it feels when you sit.” I directed her to a velvet bench nearby.

“Pretty good,” Mrs. D. said as she sat. “But the eight hundred dollars feels like a giant pain in my butt.” And then she giggled.

Which made me giggle. But then suddenly we heard the telltale click-clack of Ms. Jessica’s heels on the polished wood floor. “Hurry,” I whispered, guiding Mrs. D. into the fitting room. “Get in there and change before we get kicked out of here.” As I helped unzip her, I had an idea. “Would that thrift shop we passed have any dresses?”

I could only describe her look as one of pure relief. I knew that look well, because I was a thrift shop gal myself, through and through. “I don’t know,” she said. “But let’s go.”

* * *

Caleb

“So, Lilly.” I smiled at her over coffee and a cinnamon bun, which we were sharing at our former favorite coffee shop,Bean There, Done That, on Main Street. “Thanks for coming out to meet me.” I was trying to be nonchalant and look cheerful in a carefree way, but I could feel my neck sweating against my shirt. At least I was clean-shaven now, putting my best foot forward, so to speak.

“Of course. It’s good to see you, Caleb.” She gave me a genuine smile, which made me remember the many other times she’d smiled at me like that. She was still so pretty, with blue eyes and blond hair. Except now she wore her hair sleek and straightened.

Her pleasant greeting gave me the confidence to continue. “Listen, I wanted to meet you face-to-face to clear up a misunderstanding.”

“We talked about this a few weeks ago.” She sat back, her tone cautious. Yes, we had, but it hadn’t gone well. I’d called her to discuss the fact that we were in the wedding together and wanted us to start off on the right foot. But the conversation had devolved into a tawdry episode of Grey’s Anatomy. I’d made my case and told her it was all hospital gossip, that I wasn’t a faithless dirtball who disregarded the feelings of women, but the damage had been done.

“I wanted you to know the truth,” I said, persevering. “Especially since we’re going to be spending some time together over the next few weeks.”

“Look, you can date whomever you want. It’s not my business.”

“Fair enough.” What I really wanted to tell her, hospital gossip aside, was that I was here to find out for myself if she might be the One. If we might have missed our golden opportunity together because of all the stress we were under. That I had all these unresolved questions that had been eating away at me. That I had to separate out thewhat-ifsfrom reality, and I didn’t want to look back with regret.

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