Page 30 of Beauty and the Beach

“You’ll look more than put together,” she says. “You’ll be gorgeous. You’re going to knock Phoenix’s socks off.”

“Oh, no—no no no,” I say to her. “No. Phoenix’s socks will stay on. We were very clear about that. Everyone’s socks will remain on. Besides,” I go on, scrunching up my nose, “Phoenix is?—”

“Hot,” she cuts me off. She turns into the large parking lot of our first bridal shop. “Phoenix is hot. He’s dreamy. He looks better in a suit than anyone I know.” She finds a spot to park and pulls in neatly; then she looks at me, her eyes sparkling. “Do you think you guys might?—”

“No,” I say again, more firmly. “Definitely not. Whatever you’re going to say, the answer is no.”

She pulls the keys out of the ignition and then gives me another little scowl, just like when I complimented her freckles. “Fine,” she says. “But I’m going to hold out hope.”

“You do that,” I say, patting her on the arm. “Just know that you’re wasting your time.”

The inside of the bridal shop is immediately overwhelming; the door hasn’t even closed all the way behind us before a little thread of panic shoots through me. Everything is either white or light blue, and there’s nothing simple about the decor; I see lace and sparkles and fanciness all around.

The idea of getting married in a white sundress suddenly sounds ten times more appealing. Would that fly with Phoenix?

But Maggie must be able to sense how I’m feeling, because she puts one firm hand on my back and pushes me forward, further into the shop.

A smiling woman hurries over and greets us, enthusiasm positively dripping from her; I have to force my answering smile. She introduces herself as Marie and then asks what she can help with, and I stare at her for a good two seconds before I’m able to say anything.

“I’m getting married, Marie,” I say. The words are still bizarre to me. “So I need a wedding dress. And I guess some shoes too, if you sell those.”

Marie looks at me likeOf course we sell wedding shoes, who do you think we are?Then she smiles again and whisks us further into the belly of the wedding beast, around several little displays topped with accessories, through racks and racks and racks of white lace and tulle and chiffon, past several brides trying on dresses in front of mirrors, and finally to a back corner of the shop.

“We don’t have any appointments scheduled right now,” she says, beaming as she gestures to two poofy chairs infront of a large, three-paneled mirror like the ones we just passed. “So why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for, and I’ll pull some for you to try on.”

“Simple,” I say immediately, glancing at the tulle ballgown a woman at the next mirror is wearing. It’s lovely, but it’s not my style. “Simple. And—classy, I guess.”

Marie nods, tapping one long finger against her chin as she thinks. Then she nods again, and her blunt bob doesn’t sway an inch. I think it must be hairsprayed solid. “Elegant and timeless; I love it. What about shape? Do you have any ideas there?”

“Not really,” I admit. I settle into one of the chairs, and Maggie sits in the other. “Maybe just not a lot of volume.”

And to her credit, Marie is great at her job. The first two dresses I try on aren’t my favorites—too much tulle on one, a slit I don’t like on the other—but the third…

“Holland,” Maggie says, her hands on her cheeks as she smiles at me in the mirror. “It’sgorgeous.”

She’s right; dress number three is gorgeous.

It’s long and flowing, with a v-neck, fluttering chiffon sleeves, and a plunging back. There’s light beading on the bust, but that’s it; the rest is unadorned.

Simple but not boring; sexy but not cheap. It’s perfect. And the woman staring back at me in the mirror looks like abride. An actual, real-life bride.

“Maggie,” I whisper as Marie looks rapturously on. “I’m gettingmarried.”

“I know,” she says, her eyes wide, her smile tremulous. “You’re getting married. How weird is that?”

For a second I debate with myself: Is this a dress I want to wear for a wedding that isn’t real? Do I want to waste this gorgeous gown on a man who’s not actually going to be a true, loving husband?

But my questions are brief. Because the truth is, I don’t know if I’ll ever wear another wedding dress after this. I hope to get married for real someday, but who knows?

So I stand up a little straighter. “Marie,” I say to the woman. “I think this is the one.”

Marie claps her hands loudly and shows every single one of her pearly whites as she smiles.

After giving in and allowing Maggie to buy me a set of jewelry—which she refuses to let me look at until the day of the photos—we head back to Sunset Harbor to see Nana Lu.

We look absurd carrying everything on the ferry. I’ve got the hanging bag with the dress draped over my arm so no one can see the name of the bridal shop emblazoned on the front—thankfully it’s opaque—and we’ve transferred the shoes and jewelry into an old duffle from Maggie’s trunk so no one will see the bridal shop logo there either.

“Remember,” I say once we’ve dropped the enormous bags of shoes, jewelry, and dress back at the house, “not a word about this. Nana’s heart would stop if she thought Phoenix and I were actually getting married.”

---