Mrs. Blocken broke in. “We should begin the fitting. Who would you like to see first? India?”
Why am I not surprised? I thought. Without a word or a glance in Bobby’s direction, I followed Topaz and Olivia into the house.
Inside, Topaz handed me a garment bag.
Olivia said, “You can change in my old bedroom.” She was practically jumping up and down in prenuptial ecstasy.
I trudged upstairs. Although I hadn’t been in the Blocken house for several years, the layout was as familiar to me as my childhood home. Olivia’s room was on the second floor, the second doorway on the left, and looked the same as it had when we had graduated high school. I was relieved to discover that at least one memory of Kilbourne Street had not changed.
I walked across the lush carpet and threw the dress bag on Olivia’s old double bed in disgust. I stalled for time by snooping. Olivia’s personality had defected when she’d fled to college by way of Dixie. Left behind was the image of Olivia Mrs. Blocken had tried to create throughout Olivia’s childhood. The room was painted lavender and the furniture was a matched set of white provincial, consisting of two dressers, a writing desk, and headboard. On the dresser, Olivia had abandoned her silver-plated brush and mirror, as well as various childish knickknacks. A white shelf nailed high on the wall above the desk held a complete set of ceramic girls in frilly Victorian-inspired gowns with numbers in front of them, one dainty lady for every birthday through eighteen. At sixteen, Olivia confessed that she hated those figurines, and she didn’t know what in the world she was going to do with them. I smiled at the memory.
I sat on the bed beside the garment bag. I had to ask myself why I was even sitting in Olivia’s childhood room with that garment bag. I was absolutely positive that a woman could be a bridesmaid too many times. Olivia’s wedding would be my sixth tour down the aisle in a hideous monster of a dress. Somehow I can never say “no” to a betrothed’s teary-eyed request, be it my sister, a friend from art school, or a third cousin twice removed.
I had to admit even to myself that wasn’t explanation enough for me to be in this particular wedding. Olivia had broken my brother’s heart. It was seven years ago now, and although Mark had been in other relationships since, they’d never match his memory of Olivia. His depression that had followed Olivia’s graduation party had put a wedge between her and me that the geographic distance between us could not mend. When she had called to ask me to be in her wedding, I was shocked and maybe even a little flattered. Okay, a lot flattered.
“Please, India,” she’d said, “I’ve always wanted you to be in my wedding. I can’t imagine getting married without you there.”
I tried to say something, but she didn’t give me a chance. “Don’t you remember how we said we would plan each other’s weddings? How you promised to wear gloves at my wedding, and I promised to wear a black dress at yours even though I thought it was morbid?”
“I—”
“What about the time I agreed to that save-the-mourning-doves rally with your family just so I could keep that creepy Brad Coldecker away from you.”
I’d forgotten Brad Coldecker. He’d been a college student and a member of one of the environmental groups that my parents ran. I didn’t remember which group it had been. There’d been so many. Brad Coldecker was convinced that by flirting with me, he would get closer with my parents. Apparently, the fact that I was thirteen at the time made little difference.
“You don’t have to do a thing. All you need to do is show up and be there. I need you there.”
Then, I’d heard myself say “yes,” and, before I knew it, I’d been giving her my dress measurements and my address for the invitation.
It wasn’t until later that my chest tightened and the reality of what I’d just agreed to sunk in. That’s when I forgot Brad Coldecker again and remembered Mark.
I told myself that it would be fine, and that I was there in Olivia’s old bedroom for the finality of it, because I wanted to witness the end of my brother’s obsession. Surely, even Mark would have to let her go when she was married. Or maybe I was just there because I couldn’t say
I reluctantly thought of Mark. Last time, he’d comforted himself with the black-and-white world of mathematics and dedicated the same obsessive energy he had in pursuing Olivia to solving story problems I had no way of deciphering. I hoped that he would be able to do that again. I also knew when my parents found out, there would be heck to pay because they couldn’t forget that Olivia was the catalyst that had caused Mark to fall apart.
I shook the melancholy thoughts from my head. If I didn’t want Olivia to bop upstairs and offer to help me dress, I’d better get moving.
I gave a long and heartfelt sigh. “I can burn it after the wedding.”
That cheered me a tad. I had had a nice bonfire after the third cousin twice removed’s wedding and could look forward to another one.
I unzipped the garment bag in a dramatic flourish and suffered paralyzing blindness. I wasn’t blinded by a chemical discharge or random laser or anything that friendly, but by the dress itself—a bright squint-worthy gold. Rumplestiltskin gold. I yanked the dress from the bag in hopes that the brilliant gold was a layer of psychedelic tissue paper. No such luck. I pushed the empty garment bag onto the floor and spread the dress out on the bed for a better look at my fate. The design of the dress was relatively simple. It had a floor-length full skirt with a sleeveless off-the-shoulder top. I could not overcome the color. The shimmering gold fabric attracted light like a bike reflector. I hoped that the wedding invitations recommended guests bring sunglasses and SPF forty-five. I doubted they’d ever need them more. By that time, I had been in Olivia’s room a full fifteen minutes without a peep. I knew that at any second, she’d be tapping on the door asking if I needed any help, or, worse, her mother would.
I stripped and tugged on the dress. It zipped up, but it was remarkably tight, highlighting every imperfection my figure had to offer. I stood in front of the mirror in Olivia’s childhood bedroom and felt the sudden and uncontrollable urge to burst into tears. The dress was hideous in every conceivable way: cut, color, and style. I giggled, somewhat manically, I’m afraid. I doubled over, and something popped in the back of the gown. Apparently, my stock bridesmaid dress measurements had changed since the third cousin twice removed’s ceremony.
A friendly tap-tap rapped at the door. “India, do you need any help?” Topaz asked.
I calmed down enough to say, “I think the dress is broken.”
“Let me in, honey, I’ll fix it.”
I cracked open the door, hiding behind it for cover, and allowed Topaz to slip in the room. I slammed it shut before anyone else could eel in.
“Shoot, girl, you almost took off my foot.”
“Sorry.”
“That’s all right—” Topaz stopped when she saw me in the dress. I’m sure I was not what she’d envisioned when she’d created the gown. “Girl.”
That was about all I could get out of her for the next twenty minutes as she circled around me, pulling, pinning, and ripping seams.
Every few minutes, Olivia called, “Is everything okay in there? Is there anything I can do? Can I come in?”
Each time, in unison, Topaz and I yelled, “No.”
“Well, honey, the dress will fit, but I don’t know—there’s nothing I can do about the color,” Topaz finally said.
I shrugged in defeat.
“You’re definitely a winter, honey. Winters should never wear gold.”
She left me to change back into my capris and tank top. When Topaz and I walked downstairs, the whole party greeted us with a collective groan.
“Where’s the dress?” Olivia asked.
“There was something wrong with the zipper. Bree, would you like to try your dress on next?” she asked
