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“Laundry day on tour?”
Interactions with Ellie are smoothest when I don’t engage. I simply smile and sip, letting the dry, bubbly liquid wash down the retort I might otherwise say.
The two women working here carry dress after dress into the changing room tucked in the corner of the store, prompting a trickle of trepidation to work its way down my spine.
“I, uh, I thought you were just trying on your dress,” I say. “That you’d already picked it out.”
Ellie waves her pink-tipped fingers at me. Her diamond engagement ring twinkles under the muted lighting of the store. “I thought I had decided, but Meredith rang me to say she just got some new styles in. I couldn’t resist agreeing to try a few on. You don’t mind, do you?”
The only answer I can give in response is the polar opposite of the one I want to. “Of course not.”
Ellie smiles. Literallybouncesin her seat as one of the women comes over and lets her know all the dresses are ready to be tried on.
I slouch back in the cream-upholstered armchair—everything in here is in some shade of white, making me feel like I’m smack dab in the middle of a snowstorm—and swallow more champagne, regretting the fact that I have to perform tonight and can’t overindulge.
My phone buzzes, and I nearly soak myself with champagne in my rush to look at the screen. It’s not from Teddy. It’s a reminder from Hannah that the time for the meet and greet before the show has been moved up a half hour. I like the message and shove my phone back into my pocket.
A minute later, with no sign of Ellie, I pull it back out. I pull up Teddy’s name, trying to decide what to send him. As uncomfortable as I am with how we left things, it also feels right in some strange way.
We bickered a lot in high school. When I helped out around the farm, he’d never hesitate to tell me what I was doing wrong. We argued about which musicians were overrated and who deserved their iconic status. We definitely disagreed about us—if therewasan us.
Ever since we reunited outside Dave’s Grocery, we’ve mostly vacillated between playful and polite. Beneath that, our past has always lurked, bubbling up during certain moments, but never fully emerging. Now, it has, and there’s no way to go back to just the easier aspects of our relationship.
Honestly, I don’t know if I want to. We might not have vocalized any of the obvious questions, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t hovering in the undertone of what we said.
Rather than send anything to Teddy, I type out a text to my dad. We haven’t spoken since he called me while I was en route to Madrid.
I’m not surprised by the lack of communication; it’s how our relationship has always operated. My dad will reach out when he feels obligated to or has something specific to tell me. But we’ve never had the sort of relationship where we check in regularly. Share the mundane.
I message him,Send me her number, and then shut off my phone and tuck it away before I can fire off another text, claiming my phone was hacked or some other excuse for asking him for a way to contact my mother.
I’m not sure if I’ll use it—I probably won’t. But not taking the opportunity for the possibility feels…cowardly, I guess.
Ellie pulls back the curtain cordoning off the changing room with a dramatic sweep, then steps up onto the raised platform in front of the three full-length mirrors that display every angle.
The dress she’s wearing is simple, yet elegant. It’s a sheath style that hugs her slim frame and flares at the hem into a train that trails a few feet behind her.
Ellie twists and turns to survey every angle. “What do you think?”
“It’s nice.”
Fashion is not my forte; it never has been. I like dressing up. Like styling my hair and putting on a pretty outfit. When I’m on tour, dramatic, stunning clothes are the norm. Almost every night, I end up in something sparkly or skintight or sequined—sometimes all three—with my hair and makeup professionally done. It’s enough to make me revert to my natural curls, no makeup, and clothes made from denim or cotton whenever I have the chance.
Based on the face Ellie makes,niceisn’t the response she was hoping for. Maybe if I’d known this was actually going to turn into a fashion show, I’d have come prepared with more flowery compliments.
“There’s no lace, unfortunately.”
“There’s always the veil,” the saleswoman chimes in.
“That’s true,” Ellie muses, studying her reflection critically. “Do you have a veil that would work, Meredith?”
The auburn-haired woman taps her chin. “Let me take a look. I think something shorter…to contrast the train.”
Ellie nods, then spins to look at the back of the dress.
I start to get the sense that this won’t be a quick process.
When Ellie comes out in the ninth dress, I’m trailing my fingers along the long row of white hanging on one rack. Organza, tulle, silk, satin, taffeta, chiffon.
