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My belly is now full, and I thoroughly explained to Shawnie that the only thing I did last night was argue with my mother about this very wedding and color coordinate my shoes in the closet I only filled halfway.
The minute Shawnie opens the door to her apartment, she starts in. “Before you freak out, I need you to know that I’m your best friend and I refuse to let you make a mistake on your wedding day.”
“What did you do, Shawnie?”
I walk through her front door and she steps to the right and out of the way.
The white dress we tried on at the mall, which fit me like a glove, hangs from her window sill.
It’s as beautiful as I remember, hanging in the morning light of Shawnie’s apartment. A pair of silver pumps that I tried on with it at the shop sit just below it.
“Shawnie… you didn’t,” I tell her, my voice tinged with a mix of gratitude and resignation.
I can’t decipher whether I’m happy or irritated with her.
“You're wearing this dress and you're going to look drop-dead gorgeous. And Ryker is going to keep you forever.”
I want to argue with her.
I want to refuse to wear the dress.
I want to tell her to get her money back.
But I can’t do any of that because… for the first time since I hung up with my mom last night, I’m excited to show up to the courthouse today in that dress.
Shawnie knew I would need this boost of confidence to get me through today.
It’s amazing what you can get through when you feel amazing in yards of white organza. But also, I can’t deny the thrill in the idea of Ryker seeing me walk down the aisle in this dress.
It’s the kind of dress more fit for a red carpet than a fairytale wedding, but that’s exactly what this wedding calls for.
I walk over to the dress and touch it gently with my hand. I’m out of words, which isn’t like me.
“I knew you’d love it once you just let it happen.”
Maybe she’s right but I’m not happy that she paid for this.
“I’ll pay you back,” I assure her.
I also look over to the silver shoes she purchased and find a pair of white panties lying over the side of the shoe box. I pick them up and read the butt.
Mrs. Ryker.
“What are these?” I practically spit out.
She can’t be serious and expect me to wear these. Yes, I’ve seen dozens of brides wear something under their dresses before, and I’ve thought the idea was cute, but those couples were in love.
“Just stop your wailing and come do your hair and makeup. The least you can do is appease me after all I did,” she says, walking into her open-concept kitchen.
Shawnie is a master of guilt-tripping me when she needs to and it’s working wonders now.
“No panties… no dress,” she adds.
I look over toward her kitchen to see that she has a curling iron and every piece of makeup she owns out on display for our use.
I do as she asked and sit in the seat, drinking my coffee.
“Thank you for this,” I tell her softly… minus the panties.
