9
WILLOW
“You look like the Snow Queen,” I tell Katrina.
She is truly a vision in white, silver thread, and diamonds for the first and, hopefully, only fitting of her wedding dress. Francine, the designer, moves around with colored pins and clamps, pinning what needs pinning and clamping what needs clamping.
Her studio is on the Lower East Side, on the top floor of an industrial building that’s been converted into artist’s spaces. She wanted to work there because she feels connected to her roots, even though she could easily afford something posher uptown.
“Have you lost some weight since I last took your measurements, Katrina?” Francine asks her.
“I have!” Katrina beams with pride. “I want to be perfect for my wedding day.”
I’d like to tell her that she is already perfect, but there’s no talking to a woman who’s at war with her own body.
Francine rolls her eyes, adding more notes to her workbook. “You should stop, honey. Otherwise, I’ll have to keep making adjustments to your dress. It’s already a short-term project.”
“I’m only making the dress look even better,” Katrina quips as she fawns over herself in the mirror. One moment, she loves what she’s seeing, then, a minute later, she pinches her hips through the shimmering fabric, lips twisted in disgust.
“You look great, Katrina,” I say, trying to ease her mind. “Terrence’s going to love you. I mean, he already does. You don’t need to lose any more weight; I promise.”
“I bet you’d like me to stay fat like you, so he can dump me before the wedding, right?”
I let a heavy sigh roll from my chest. I knew going to this fitting was going to be hard, so I came mentally prepared. “Moving on,” I reply, going over my agenda. “The color scheme for the gown matches the décor, which is great. You already approved the table settings and the floral decorations.”
“Sheila approved them,” Katrina says. “I mean, yeah, they’re approved. Whatever.”
“You didn’t like them?” I ask, carefully analyzing her expression in the mirror.
Her back is to me, but I’m seated on the ottoman behind her, which gives me a good view of every scoff and eye roll this spoiled, moody brat makes. This morning, she’s been on an emotional roller coaster from the moment I walked through the door.
“I had other ideas, but Sheila talked me out of them,” Katrina concedes.
“It’s your wedding, though.”
Katrina turns around and gives me a puffy scowl. “You have no idea how the rich work, do you?”
“Oh, I do. I’m just pointing out the obvious. You’re the one getting married, Katrina, not Sheila. It’s your wedding day, your dream come true, right?”
“Right.”
“So why aren’t you the one deciding these things?”
She turns to face the mirror while Francine steals a sympathetic glance at me and adds a few more clamps to the skirt part of the bridal gown. My eyes wander across the fabric, dazzled by the studded pearls. It’s a fresh, pristine white—an almost perfect match to mountain snow in the sunlight.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s fine. It’s going to look great. Like I said, everything is approved,” Katrina says.
The more I’m around these people, the clearer it becomes that I dodged one hell of a bullet when Terrence unceremoniously dumped me.
“Okay, what about the bridal bouquet?” I ask Katrina. “I sent you three options the other day. Did you get a chance to look at them?”
“Yes,” she replies with a faint nod, “I wanted the lilies.”
“Then I’ll order the lilies.”
“No, get the white roses with the lily-of-the-valley fillers.”
She sounds downright disappointed, and I know this is because of Sheila’s interference. Taking a deep breath, I give Katrina a soft smile. “Are you sure? If you like thelilies?—”
