“And you have this short body and no boobs,” I add, making my companions look at me like I broke wind in front of them. What? It’s true. Isabella has always had the smallest chest in our group. And now that she’s a pre-wedding size 8 (the equivalent of the even tinier-sounding American size 4 or 6, depending on the label), her little tits were swimming in the gowns she tried on.
“You need a simpler dress. Come on, let’s have another look.” Penny leads Isabella to the racks filled with all sorts of gowns.
I should’ve said something like that. Times like these, the gaps in my upbringing bite me in the arse.
I get up and follow them; behind me is the store clerk in charge of our appointment at this fancy bridal shop. I made the booking myself—Isabella saw their dresses online and I made the call.
“How about this one?” Penny suggests, pointing at a very plain, fitted satin number that looks like a glorified full-length nightie. “That’s so cute. Hold it up against me, chick?”
Penny can’t do it herself. Only those wearing white cotton gloves—another specification of the store—can handle the delicate, expensive gowns. Isabella uses her covered hands to comply with her friend’s request.
“This is so me.”
We know. Penny loves the plainest possible styles.
“We’re shopping for me, Penny. I want a little tasteful bling, or detail. As long as the gown’s not mermaid style—I’m thinking an A-line skirt to give me some shape.”
“I want to get married just so I can tell all my friends what to wear,” Penny muses. “You’re not going to put me in something sleeveless though, right? My arms look huge.”
Nine more dresses later and everyone, including the sales clerk, is tired. I’ve wandered off to the racks. Shopping is fun except when it’s for other people’s stuff and you’re just tagging along. Penny is consoling the bride and trying to convince her that it’s the selection that is the problem and not the fact nothing seems to suit her.
And then I see it. The most amazing wedding gown I’ve ever laid my eyes on. It’s on a dressmaker’s mannequin in the side window with its back to me. It’s mermaid-cut with silver thread embroidery in swirly patterns accentuated by crystals that go from the middle of the back to just below the wearer’s bottom. The skirt has a small, round train which is also decorated at the hem with the silver thread and tasteful bling detail.
A mental picture of me in that gown suddenly comes unbidden. I’d never ever imagined me getting married before, much less looking so happy in a white wedding gown. But this dress transports me there. I can almost see the groom at the end of the garden path, but only his wide smile is clear to me.
My feet take me towards the dress. My hand reaches out to trace the romantic swirls.
“You found something, Jess?” Penny asks behind me.
I quickly turn around, hoping my height and girth would hide the gown behind me.
Isabella is nowhere in sight which probably means she’s in the change room, trying on something else.
“No. Maybe we should try another place.” I walk towards Penny to herd her away from the dress I’ve just fallen in love with. It’s irrational, considering I have neither any desire to get married nor someone to marry, but I want to save that gown for me.
Isabella emerges from the curtain just as Penny and I take our seats in front of the change stall again. This time she has on a strapless gown with a lacy bodice and small floaty skirt. It’s gorgeous but there’s something missing.
“That’s nice,” Penny says, then looks at me expectantly to gush with her.
“It’s beautiful.” I can fake a lot of things but enthusiasm is not one of them.
Isabella studies herself in the mirror. “It’s the best one so far…” she says with a thoughtful frown, but she’s not sold on it either.
“Sometimes you have to try on something totally different,” Penny suggests. “My friend Mikayla, the designer, says she’s never met a bride who looked good in the gown she thought would look good on her.” Penny stands up, and for a heart-stopping moment, I think she’s going to suggest to Isabella to try on my gown. Instead, she heads for the rack and back to the nightie-wannabe dress.
Isabella lifts up the beautiful chiffon skirt of her current frock to inspect Penny’s suggestion. She takes it off the rack and places it against her body while she inspects her reflection in the mirror.
“It’s a little too plain for me, Penny.”
“It might look better on. You’ll look so classy, like Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy.”
Isabella cringes. “She died in a plane crash,” she says, probably thinking about her own flight back to London in just over a week.
“Fine. This can be my wedding dress. What about that one in the window that Jess found?”
I watch them both turn towards my dress.
“It’s mermaid cut,” Isabella dismisses.
“Yeah. Isabella said she didn’t want that style,” I say.
“You’ve worked your arse off, babe. Literally,” Penny says, already walking towards my dress. “You deserve to show it off. Come on. It’s got bling.” She asks the sales assistant for a dress in Isabella’s size.
“Sorry. That’s the last one we have,” the woman informs us.
Yes! Secret-fist pump moment in my head. Isabella already has so many things in her life that I want but don’t have. Keats’ interest being on top of that list. I want this dress. It’s several sizes too small for me but it’s the dream gown I never realised I wanted.
“It’s not really my style anyway, Penny,” Isabella says, looking at herself in the mirror again in the dress she has on.
“Just try it on. I suddenly have a good feeling about this one,” Penny insists.
The sales assistant puts on a brave smile as she carefully peels the dress off the mannequin. I suppress the urge
