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“You might not be the only person who’s married here in a bit.”
“Okay, but if you get married, you have to let me be your maid of honor.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
I heard my mother before I saw her, the definitive sound of her kitten heels clicking, clipped, and staccato against the tile floor.
“Jasmine, you are a lifesaver,” she said.
“Thank you, Mrs. Cavanaugh. It’s my pleasure.”
“Well, it’s my pleasure to find a competent designer in this town. You wouldn’t believe some of the goons I’ve had to deal with,” My mother gushed.
“Hello, Rebecca,” she added.
“Hello, Mother.”
A shop assistant popped his head into the doorway, “Are you ready to try your dress on?” he asked. I sucked in my gut and nodded, ready for the moment of truth.
Jasmine went with me into the dressing room and laid the dress out so I could step into it. The last time we tried to put it on over my head, I nearly drowned in tulle.
“Aw, you do have a little baby bump!” Jasmine cooed.
I grimaced. “Please don’t,” I begged. I was already nervous, but seeing the dress pooled on the floor and knowing deep inside that there was no way I’d be able to fit into it, only forced my nerves further into overdrive. It was a dry, humid day. Sweat pooled beneath my breasts and ran in rivulets down my back. I wanted a granola bar to keep the nausea away, but my mother was holding my purse. I knew if I dared ask for a snack, she would explode. I felt disgusting.
“You okay, Becks?” Jasmine asked.
“I’m fine,” I insisted. I gagged, throwing up in my mouth a bit before forcing myself to swallow it. The acid burned the back of my throat. I wiped my sweaty palms on my leggings and finally disrobed.
I stepped into the dress as my mother started to pound on the door.
“What’s taking so long?” she crowed, getting impatient.
“I’m fumbling with the buttons a bit, my bad!” Jasmine lied.
Jasmine slowly shimmied the dress up to my hip; the fabric had already stretched to the limit.
“Suck in,” she said gently.
“I am,” I whine, sucking in further, which only makes me more nauseous. Jasmine grunted as she moved the bodice up, presenting me with the armholes. I slipped each arm in and forced the material up onto my shoulders. Even with the reinforcements, I could feel the boning poking into my breasts, which chose today to be extremely tender. I adjusted the bust and winced as a piece of boning stabbed me directly in the boob.
“I’ll start with the corset now. I’ll be gentle.” Jasmine reassured me.
“Sorry, guys,” she added as she started to pull strings. Beneath the thick material of the dress, the room was suddenly twenty degrees hotter. It felt like Jasmine was trying to shove all my organs into a sausage casing. I couldn’t move my arms. I was trapped and completely immobilized. Jasmine was also starting to sweat.
“Okay, I think we’re good with the corset. I’ll start on the buttons now,” she huffed.
She tried the first button, snapping it closed with all her might. Moments later, we heard a plink. The button popped off, glistening on the floor below us.
My mother decided to take matters into her own hands, pounding loudly.
“Come in,” I hedged.
When she saw the button on the floor, along with me stuffed into the dress, she let out a low, panicked moan.
“Rebecca, what did you do?!” she exclaimed.
“This dress fit you two weeks ago! What did you do since then? Just decide to let yourself go? Is that a button? Rebecca! I get it; you want to ruin this wedding. You want to humiliate me and your father, but is that really the way to do it? By letting yourself transform into some sort of cow?” My mother was fully enraged now.
