Carly shook Jillian’s immaculately manicured hand and looked around. There were a dozen or so mannequins set around the room, all dressed in long white gowns. Beads, lace, and white mesh abounded.
“Can I get you ladies a beverage before we start?” Jillian asked. “Sparkling water? Champagne?”
“Champagne for both of us, please,” Carly said, before Heather could say anything. “We can recreate the moment Heather said yes to this dress, since I wasn’t here to see it.”
“Oh, it was love at first sight for this one, wasn’t it?” Jillian said to Heather. “I’ve never seen anyone decide so quickly.”
“When you know, you know,” Heather shrugged.
“Sure, but I wanted to sit through a whole goofy montage of you trying on dresses, each one bigger and fluffier than the last,” Carly said, as Jillian disappeared into a back room to get their drinks.
“Jillian doesn’t do big and fluffy,” Heather murmured, gesturing around the room. “She’s known for sleek and simple. And I don’t think she approves of goofy montages. This is a very serious business.”
“Well, let’s get down to business, then,” Carly replied, lifting Heather’s dance bag off her shoulder and nodding toward a long silver-grey curtain that had been pinned back to reveal a spacious fitting room with mirrors on all three walls. She sat down on one of several plump velvet love seats in the middle of the room as Heather disappeared behind the curtain. “I’ll be right here with my champagne.”
Jillian floated over and set two slender flutes down on the glass coffee table next to Carly’s couch, then stood outside the fitting room with a leather sewing kit in one hand.
“Ready?” Heather called through the curtain a few moments later, and Carly sat up a little straighter.
“Only since the day you called to say Marcus proposed,” Carly responded, and she heard Heather’s chuckle from behind the curtain. Then Jillian pulled the curtain aside and revealed Heather in a low-cut ivory gown with thin straps and a delicate gathering at the side that accentuated her waist. Beneath the ruching, a narrow slit was lined with lace that brushed against her knee and lower thigh as she stepped out into the showroom.
“You have to imagine it with my hair half up and wavy, and not in a damp, post-class ponytail, okay?” Heather said.
Carly didn’t say anything. Her throat was suddenly thick and clogged, and her nose was stinging as she watched her friend turn and examine her reflection in all those mirrors. The straps crossed over her shoulder blades, and Carly could just see Heather’s heels, still a little pink and inflamed from her pointe shoes, under the fabric. Jillian had clearly hemmed the dress so that Heather could be barefoot on the beach.
“Heather, you look …” Carly started, but she stopped to take a deep sniffle. Heather looked perfect. Perfect, happy, ready for this huge step. Carly sniffed again and took a deep breath before she spoke again, feeling pride and love mingle with anxiety and fear. Heather was moving on, moving forward, again. And here Carly was, standing still, unless she could make something magic happen with that interview. She pushed the thought away and focused on what was in front of her: her best friend glowing with anticipation and pleasure and love, beautiful even with her hair in a damp, post-class ponytail.
“You look so happy,” she said at last. “You look perfect. This dress is divine. And I hope Jillian won’t mind me saying that it makes your ass look spectacular.”
Jillian pursed her lips primly and gestured at the slight gathering of fabric at Heather’s lower back. “The ruching is subtle but effective,” she said.
“Effective at making my ass look spectacular,” Heather said, shooting Carly a conspiratorial smile in the mirror. Jillian said nothing and reached out to smooth out one of the straps, no doubt grateful that Carly hadn’t been present for Heather’s previous appointments.
“I don’t think we need to make any more alterations, but take a lap around the room, please, and tell me how it feels,” she instructed Heather, who obeyed, walking a careful circle around the circle of couches, looking like one of the leggy mannequins brought to life. The dress swirled gently around her knees and ankles, and Carly was reminded of the way the water at Freshwater frothed and spread in lacy white shallows after the waves broke and slid toward the sand. She pictured Heather walking down the beach, hair caught in the breeze, every step taking her closer to the love of her life. Her heart squeezed at the thought of her best friend finally getting the love she wanted and deserved, after everything she’d been through. What, Carly wondered, would that feel like?
After another few laps around the room, Heather and Jillian agreed that the dress needed no further alterations. Jillian laid it gently into a white dress bag and zipped it up, before carefully lifting the bag and holding it out to Heather.
“I’ll take it,” Carly said hastily. “Pretty sure that’s an official maid of honor job.” Jillian looked as if she’d rather not entrust Carly with one of her perfect creations, but Carly reached out and took the dress bag.
Out on the busy, baking street, Heather opened the car, and Carly laid the dress along the back seat with painstaking care.
“Let’s get some lunch,” Heather suggested, and Carly’s stomach rumbled in agreement. A two-hour class followed by champagne on an empty stomach was a recipe for disaster.
They strolled down the bustling commercial street lined with luxury boutiques and chic cafés. Heather led her to an Italian eatery that was serving overstuffed sandwiches and gelato, and they ordered two sandwiches to go.
“There’s a park over there, and a nice little beach,” Heather said, shading her eyes with one hand and gesturing across the road with the other.
“How long would I have to stay to see every beach in this city?” Carly asked.
“I’ve been here two years, and I’m nowhere near done. Come on, I’m ravenous.”
They ate their sandwiches in silence, seated in the shade at a picnic table that overlooked a long, placid beach. As she chewed, Carly watched a silver-haired man wrestle what looked like his grandchild into a pair of floaties before the small child sprinted down the sand and into the shallow water. A few feet down the beach, two small dogs were chasing each other, throwing plumes of sand into the air as they scrambled in circles. There was a row of colorful kayaks lined up near the shore, and Carly watched a pair of kayakers slide over the calm water and out toward the harbor, where ferries and sailboats were crisscrossing on their way to and from the city. Far on the other side of the harbor, she saw the steep, forbidding face of North Head rising from the water.
Carly swallowed a large mouthful of focaccia. Maybe it was the champagne, or maybe the sight of Heather in her wedding gown, finally, but something made her blurt it out.
“I’m sleeping with Nick.”
Heather coughed and spluttered. Maybe Carly should have waited until Heather didn’t have a mouthful of sparkling water.
