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“Sure,” I say and she leads me upstairs to the small apartment above the bakery.
She doesn’t actually live up here anymore. She lives with Nate in his giant house in Sheridan. She only uses the apartment occasionally to crash in when she works too late or too early. Apparently, Nate is some former tech guru and is loaded. Emmett talks about him like he’s his hero or something. It’s honestly pretty funny.
When I get upstairs, I let a gasp escape. There’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen hanging on a satin hanger. It’s a fitted cream gown covered in lace with partially sheer long sleeves and small pearl and jewel details scattered across the fabric. I look at Bea, whose eyes are sparkling as she looks at it with me.
“Oh, Bea. Is this your wedding dress? It’s gorgeous!” I say as I gently run my fingertips across part of the delicate fabric.
This dress is so different from the one I was forced into trying on not that long ago. It makes me wonder, maybe foolishly, for a moment what kind of dress I’d actually like to wear if I got married someday. Married to someone I truly loved. Someone I chose, and someone who chose me back.
“I was planning on getting something simple, but I saw this in a window and tried it on for fun. But once I had it on, I didn’t want to take it off. So I bought it.”
Bea takes a seat on a sage green couch and continues staring, starry-eyed, at the dress.
“I know Nate’s going to freak out,” she says. “I still have him convinced I’m wearing jeans for the ceremony.”
I chuckle, imagining how Nate would react if Bea did in fact show up in jeans. Although, I suspect he would still think she’s the most beautiful bride in the world. I once again find myself longing for what Bea and Nate have. A love that’s playful but intense, so intense it sometimes makes me uncomfortable. I want to be with someone who pushes me to be the best version of myself but who will be there for me in my most vulnerable moments. Someone who would think I was the most beautiful bride on the planet even if I was wearing jeans on my wedding day.
I have that with Emmett—as friends. He called me gorgeous over and over when I wore nothing but oversized clothing and not a stitch of makeup. I just don’t know if he thinks of any of that about me as more than friends.
“Bea,” I say, turning away from the beautiful wedding dress to face her.
I squeeze at my knuckles on one hand, rhythmically.
“I think I’m in love with Emmett, and I don’t know what to do about it,” I blurt out, keeping my eyes trained on the ground.
“Oh, sweetie,” Bea says.
She stands and grabs both my hands in hers and leads me over to the couch. We sit with our legs tucked up on the couch, facing each other, my hands still in hers.
“You just gotta tell him. Believe me, I know how scary that can be. I was terrified to admit I was in love with Nate and now look at us. We’re jetting off to another country to get married,” she says with a weak laugh.
“But what if he doesn’t feel the same way about me?”
Bea leans forward and hugs me tightly. I stiffen, still getting used to the casual shows of affection from my new friends, but after a few moments, I return her embrace.
“I think he might surprise you,” she says, pulling back from her hug.
When I get back to the barn after Bea and I have finished cleaning, I have a new resolve to do the scary thing I’ve been avoiding. I’m going to tell Emmett how I feel.
I send him a few quick texts before jumping in the shower.
Me: Hey!
Me: Can you come by the barn tonight?
Me: I need to talk to you about something.
Me: It’s important.
I briefly considered sending a heart emoji, but stopped myself. I’m still learning the whole subtext language of emojis and have had more than one blunder over the past few weeks. Emmett’s friends, who I suppose are now my friends, added me to their group chat recently, and I had a rough time keeping up at first. Half the conversation usually plays out in just emojis and pictures. I’m getting better at understanding the meanings and a quick internet search usually helps with what I don’t.
By the time I get out of the shower, Emmett still hasn’t responded to my texts. I start to panic a little at first, but pull out my textbooks and settle into the couch to study and distract myself. I’m sure there is some perfectly normal, rational reason he hasn’t responded. I’m also sure it has nothing to do with my run in with Pastor Johnson. At least for now, I have to pretend like everything is fine or I might lose it.
When it starts getting dark outside, I re-read the texts I sent him and wonder if they came off the wrong way. I send a photo of a dancing Pomeranian surrounded by hearts on a whim. Once it’s sent, I instantly regret it and shove the phone under a couch cushion in an effort to keep it out of my hands.
That plan doesn’t last long, though, when I hear a faint chirping from beneath the cushion. I dig the phone out frantically.
Emmett: I’m sorry, I have a family thing.
