Page 37 of The Wedding Favor

“And?”

“And what?”

“That’s not the whole story.”

“There’s nothing else to the story. He’s helping me out; I’m helping him out.”

She sniffed. “There’s more. I know there is.”

“There isn’t. We shared a supply closet together. That’s all.”

“Well, I hope there was a passionate kiss somewhere in there.”

I rolled my eyes. “There was no kissing. Or anything else. It was just him and me and a jar of pickles.”

“And now he’s going to that boy’s wedding with you?” She smiled slyly. “This is all so convenient. Almost like it was meant to be.”

“Don’t read anything into this.” Gloria would have us married by the end of the week if I let her.

Gloria hummed. “And you’re not tempted to… have a taste of this snack?”

“Seriously. Never say it again. He’s a nice guy, that’s all. He has his life already figured out. I can’t figure out where I’ll be in September.”

“Well, I can’t wait to meet him.”

“Oh, that’s not happening.”

Gloria didn’t reply. She did smile, though.

THIRTEEN

“The key to staying young is to never admit you're old.”

—excerpt from the unpublished memoir,

Darling, I Must Say by Gloria Hayes

On Saturday morning. I borrowed Mom’s car and drove into Houston to meet up with the Four Horsewomen of the Wedding Apocalypse.

Okay, fine. It was Missy and her three bridesmaids—Ashley with a Y, Ashleigh with an IGH, and Jane. Ashley with a Y was Missy’s younger sister, fresh out of high school, and a carbon copy of Missy. Ashleigh with an IGH and Jane were college friends, who strangely also looked alike with their long dark hair parted in the middle and dead-eyed stares of judgment.

“You made it,” Missy said when I walked into the trendy bridal boutique in downtown Houston. She gave me a hug so tight, I was surprised her twig-like arms didn’t break. “I’m so excited to find you the perfect outfit.”

“Yay.” I plastered on a smile. We may not have seen each other since my birthday, but we’d been in contact. A lot. There were the emails, sometimes daily, with wedding updates. More phone calls and of course, the group texts. Missy was intense. Like the sort of bride who ends up on a TV show called The Devil Wears a Wedding Dress or something.

She squealed. “Let’s do this.”

Before I knew it, I was whisked away to a dressing room and told to strip. Waiting for my fate wrapped in a fluffy white robe, I pulled up the secret photo album on my phone and flipped through the photos until I paused on one. Senior prom. My first real date. To match my black hair, I’d worn a black dress with a corset top and short tulle shirt and, of course, my Doc Martens. Standing next to me was Aidan, handsome in his tux, looking a little green with nerves. He’d been terrified to ask me to prom, according to Mae, but he hadn’t needed to be. I was already nursing a crush. By the end of that night, I’d been head over heels for him. A wave of sadness washed over me for those teenagers who’d just found each other.

“Knock, knock.” The bridal consultant poked her head into the dressing room. “The bride picked out these for you to try on. Of course, we’re limited in what we can do for you since it’s so close to the wedding date. It will have to be something off the rack, and…” Frowning, she let her voice trail off as her eyes slid down my body. “… you are not a sample size.”

I crossed my arms. “Aren’t you a sweetheart?”

Ignoring my sarcasm, she brought in four outfits tucked into see-through garment bags and hung them on the wall. Before I had a chance to examine any of them, she began unzipping one. “Let’s start with this one. Would you like my help?”

I wanted to sit on her with my non-sample sized body. “I’m sure I can figure it out. Thanks.”

Despite my confidence, I spent the next ten minutes struggling to put the thing on. It was a stretchy, sleeveless tube dress with one long piece of fabric attached to the top. Based on the tag, said strap was meant to be styled “any way I wanted.” Yeah, right. I managed to twist it into some kind of asymmetrical, half sleeve thing which I would never be able to recreate.