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“Am I?” I stomp through the store flicking dresses out of my way.
He grabs a nearby dress and shoves it at me. “This looks like a nice dress.” He holds up the strapless mermaid style dress to me as if he’s judging whether it’s my size or not.
“Not my style.” I shove it out of the way.
Darren grabs another one, this time with a full skirt made of tulle, and I shake my head.
“You’re going to make this a very long year,” he huffs from behind me.
I don’t expect Darren to understand—he’s not a woman. Wearing a wedding dress is a big deal – not that I ever thought I would get married. I wasn’t ashamed of who I am, but I’m not stupid enough to think that even if I did allow myself to fall in love, that man would fall in love with me, knowing what I am—what I’ve done. It’s a double standard, but it’s also reality.
Whenever I imagined getting married, because that’s what little girls do, it wasn’t to an infuriating, overprivileged child who played dirty to get what he wants. When I get to the end of the aisle, dresses falling on the floor in my wake, I stop short. Darren almost careens into the back of me, dresses in hand, as he tries to put them back on the racks.
“I bet my jeans and sneakers are looking really good about now?”
“You need to stop acting like a brat,” he says, but I’m not paying attention to him.
In front of me is a dress made of delicate lace, the modest neckline and sleeves clinging to the mannequin in a way that looks both chaste and alluring. The material is not quite white, but aged or vintage, the way clouds can look sometimes right before rain.
Darren stands next to me, breathing heavily, as if he’d just had a workout. He’s quiet for a moment.
“I think you would look exquisite in that dress,” he says quietly. He looks at me without any pretense or condemnation, and for a moment, I see the man in the alley who was vulnerable and too drunk to hide it. There’s an uncomfortable silence, and all I can hear is my own breathing as my heart thuds rapidly against my chest.
I turn away from the dress and find something gaudy and expensive looking.
“You want me to wear a wedding dress?” I ask, shoving the dress at him. “This is my size.”
9
Elvis Tribute Package
Darren
“How many people can say they got married by Elvis?”
She points to the sign at the entrance. “Apparently, over eight hundred thousand.”
Bailey opens the door on Evangeline’s side and helps her out. The trail of white chiffon falls out of the car and onto the concrete like a waterfall.
“Let’s get this over with,” she sighs.
Evangeline picks up the skirt of her dress and marches across the parking lot, her ass swaying defiantly the whole time, and I am oh so helpless to follow her.
An elderly woman greets us at the small front desk area. “Walker wedding,” I say, and Evangeline clears her throat while the woman looks at her computer.
“I have you down for the Elvis Tribute package.”
Evangeline grabs my arm. “I thought you were joking,” she grumbles.
“What’s a Vegas wedding without Elvis?” I pull a sarcastic face and shrug.
“Oh, Harold’s a wonderful Elvis, you’ll love him. Looks just like him,” she laughs.
“Harold,” Evangeline whispers into my ear with amusement.
“Do you have anyone else in your wedding party?”
“It’s just us.” It comes out sounding sad without meaning it to, but Alistair already went back home earlier today, so it’s just us.
