Page 23 of Betsy
“Need help in there?” Molly offered.
“This is dumb. I’ve already had a wedding once. If Drew weren’t being so stubborn, we could be married already. A few hours’ drive to Vegas and badda bing, badda boom, married.”
“Since when do you channel the spirit of John Stamos as Uncle Jesse?” Amanda raised her voice so she could be heard from the adjoining changing room. “Drew’s being stubborn foryou, Nicole. You never had the wedding of your dreams because your mother guilted you into using the money to save the planet instead of letting you have one day when you could focus on yourself and not be some environmental hero. You’ve found the man of your dreams, and he wants you to have the wedding you deserve.” She opened her curtain. “Now get out here so we can see you in that dress.”
Molly covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes instantly misting as she stared at Amanda.Athletic and willowythe sales clerk had announced of Amanda’s body type, then had helped them pick out a form-fitting number with a halter top and intricate beading down the bodice and hips.
“You look stunning,” Molly finally managed to say.
Amanda looked down as she ran a hand over the corseted waist, a pinch forming between her brows. “You think so?”
The hooks holding the curtain to its rod rattled as Nicole pushed the white fabric to the side and stepped out. “I look like a poufy cloud. And not in a good way.”
“Is there a good way to look like a cloud?” I drolled.
“You look…” Molly considered Nicole in the yards and yards of tulle falling around her. The shape of the dress did nothing to accentuate Nicole’s figure. In fact, all the extra material did was hide the generous curves she possessed.
“Ethereal.” Molly landed on a word to describe the dress and Nicole in it without hurting her feelings.
“You look like a cautionary tale.”
Molly snapped her gaze at me, censure written in every frown line. Amanda appeared to be holding back a laugh.
“What? You’re Mrs. Truth.” I challenged Molly to argue with me. “Are you really going to say this is the dress Nicole should walk down the aisle in?”
“I wouldn’t say that…” Molly hedged.
We all looked at her. Waited. Finally, she threw her hands up in the air. “Fine. I’ve been trying to work on tact because everyone keeps telling me I can be honest and not brutal about it, but you want the unedited truth? The sales woman is completely insane if she thinks that’s the kind of silhouette that will flatter your figure. It looks like a white, gauzy potato sack, and I’m mad at her on your behalf.” She crossed her arms and pouted. “Happy now?”
Amanda threw her arms around Molly and squeezed. “You don’t have to edit yourself on our account. Be authentically you.”
It hadn’t been too long ago that Molly had lost her job because of her honesty policy. She’d had to take a nanny position to one of her former preschool students. It had been a hard time in her life, but everything had worked out. Especially considering she was now married to that student’s father.
Nicole exhaled a deep breath. “I’m so relieved.”
Molly tilted her head, confused.
“I’m not usually self-conscious about my shape or weight, but every woman has their moments of insecurity,” Nicole confided. “If this dress was the best there was for me then—”
“Take it off,” I interrupted. Whatever Nicole was going to say to finish that sentence didn’t need to be voiced. I placed my hands on her shoulders and forcibly turned her to face the changing room, then shoved her inside.
I pivoted to Amanda. “You too. Take it off.”
“But Molly said the dress is stunning,” Amanda argued.
“Youare stunning,” I countered. “Do you really love this dress?” I waved my hand down the length of her. “Because you look uncomfortable to me. Your shoulders are hunched like Quasimodo, and your eyes are squinting like you’re trying to hide pain.”
She reached up and touched the knot of silky material at the base of her neck. “The halter is putting pressure on my spine and giving me a headache.”
I pointed to the open dressing room. Nicole I could manhandle, no problem, but because of Amanda’s chronic illness, I gave her a silent command and no-nonsense glower instead. I didn’t want to unintentionally cause her pain.
She grinned, not the least bit intimidated by me, and retreated back to the changing room.
Sierra, Nicole’s preteen daughter, sat in one of the plush chairs halfway between the dressing area and the half-circle of mirrors creating crescents around pedestals brides could step up on to inspect dresses from every angle. She had a pale rose-pink confection draped across her lap, the maid-of-honor dress she’d looked radiant in the moment the zipper had been fastened in the back. Nicole had tried to beg off any more shopping after mopping her face with a tissue at the sight of Sierra in that gown, claiming the day already a success, but I’d be hanged if either of my friends left this boutique without the gown of her dreams.
“Sierra.” I tapped her on the shoulder. “Want to help pick out your mom’s wedding dress?”
Her eyes lit. “Can I really?”
