AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Mila
YOU KNOW WHAT I FORGOT? Everything the maid of honor is required to do in preparation for the wedding.
I thought because we were fast tracking this thing, some of the usual traditions would be left out. But no. Nadia wants it all. I don’t blame her, really—I’d just rather not be in charge. Or, you know, go at all.
I still haven’t found a way to get out of the business trip with Grayson, nor have I gotten up the nerve to throw myself down a staircase, so for now I’m playing the part of a not-fully-committed maid of honor. I mean, I’m doing all the things; I’m just holding out for a miracle.
The best-case scenario would be for me to attend the wedding as just a guest. It feels like a fair compromise, since I never want to go to a wedding again and Nadia is adamant that I be her maid of honor. It’s like meeting in the middle. But Nadia didn’t like it.
“Please, Nadia?” I’d begged her one last time after I told her about Grayson’s plan to test the app in Hawaii. She gave me a mission to see the BILK in swim trunks and report back immediately if he has the six-pack we’ve always assumed he has.
“No way. I’m not letting you just come as a guest,” she said, that firm look on her face, a line between her brows creasing. “You are too important to me.”
She’s important to me too, and maybe if I told her everything, she might understand. But then again, maybe not. It feels like one of those you-had-to-be-me scenarios. Plus, there are things I don’t want to admit, things I still haven’t really told anyone. When I broke up with Monty after that final wedding fiasco (a.k.a. wedding number seven, which shall not be talked about), I moved back home to start fresh. Nadia knows bits and pieces, but not everything, and that was by design. Besides, even if she knew every dirty detail, I doubt she’d let me out of this.
“Fine,” I said, feeling the despair of really having to be Nadia’s maid of honor fill my gut. “If I’m going to do this, I probably should know if there’s any chance you’re allergic to ants.”
Her brow furrowed. “What?”
“Never mind,” I said, waving the words away with my hand. “I just really hate you right now.”
“And I hate you,” she told me, a big, beautiful, non-hate-filled smile on her face.
She hugged me, and then immediately sent me a text with a list of things she’d need me to do as her maid of honor, and I sent her back a thumbs-up emoji. Yes, there is an actual middle finger one on there, but I like to stay on-brand.
Her list included things like going dress shopping, helping her find bridesmaid dresses, planning a bridal shower, seeing Grayson in swim trunks and reporting back, and making arrangements for the bachelorette party. Except we’re doing a combined bachelor and bachelorette thing, so I get the pleasure of planningallthat.
It’s nothing new. I’ve done all this before. I’ll just addaccidentally do something to ruin the weddingto the bottom of the list, because that’s inevitable.
What’s sad is, in my head, I keep telling myself it can’t possibly happen again. I mean, what are the odds? Maybe this time will be different? Maybe I won’t do something to ruin Nadia’s wedding? The thing is, the odds are not in my favor, and as before, I’ll do everything I cannotto ruin Nadia’s wedding. I won’t be doing any dances, I won’t make her stand in an anthill, I’ll try hard not to give the groom a concussion … and I’m just going to stop right there because I don’t want to have a panic attack in this bridal shop, which is where we are currently waiting for Nadia to come out in another dress.
With the wedding in less than two weeks, we have to do everything at lightning speed. So, this morning we’re doing the dress shopping, and later this afternoon we’re having a bridal shower—a cozy gathering at her parents’ house. Luckily her mom, Shanti, and her grandmother, or nani, as Nadia and her sisters call her, took over the decor and food. I just had to do the inviting. The last-minute inviting, as it were. All in all, fourteen people RSVP’d yes, which I thought was great, considering the short notice and the fact that I had to send out the invites electronically.
We found a bridal shop that was able to get us in. They were also able to guarantee that they could make alterations in the next ten days, as long as they were simple. Basically, Nadia would have to pick something off the rack and make it work. No custom gown for her.
“Oh, Nadia,” her mom, who looks like an older version of Nadia, says when Nadia comes out of the dressing room in a strapless, off-white, mermaid-style gown with a floor-length bow sash on the back. It’s a classic look, like something Marilyn Monroe would wear, and Nadia looks fabulous in it.
Melissa, the saleswoman who’s been working with us, leads Nadia over to the round carpeted platform situated in front of three large standing mirrors so the bride can see the dress at all angles.
“I think this is the one,” Nadia declares after she’s stared at her reflection in the mirrors for a bit.
The rest of us—her sisters, Aisha and Leela, as well as her mom, her nani, and I—are all sitting on white tufted couches as we watch. I love that her family is here with her, even if it makes me slightly envious because my parents are so far away and I’m no longer speaking to them. Well, I did speak to the both of them earlier today, but I swear it will be the last time.
The group collectively holds its breath as we watch Nadia, because this is the sixth dress that she has immediately said “I think this is the one”about, but then found something to nitpick soon after. It should also be noted that she’s looked flawless in every single one. I should hate her for this, but I already hate her for putting me in her wedding and I just can’t have that much hate in my heart right now.
“What do you all think?” she asks as she turns toward us and Melissa moves behind her, laying the short train out so we can get the full effect.
Okay, this is new. This is the first time she’s asked for our opinions. This feels like a step in the right direction.
“You look beautiful, Beta,” Nadia’s nani says, her mostly gray hair pulled back into a low bun at the nape of her neck, her small, wrinkled hands in a prayer pose as she looks at her granddaughter. We all add in our praises as well.
She really does look stunning. Of course, Nadia is stunning in any regular old dress. But put her in all white, with that beautiful bronze glowing skin of hers, and she looks like something out of a magazine.
The good news is that Nadia makes the dress, not the other way around. Which means she will still look amazing if I accidentally pour red wine down the front of it.
“What do you think?” her sister Aisha tentatively asks as Nadia turns back toward the mirrors. Nadia is the oldest, followed by Aisha, and Leela is the baby. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said they are a family of beautiful people and I will look like a pale Neanderthal in the pictures. Maybe I should reiterate this to Nadia—give it one more shot.
“I think … I think this really is it,” Nadia says, her smile growing wide in the mirror in front of her.
