"Youarethe cupcake." Amelia tugs at the zipper. "We just need to frost you better. Vinnie, thoughts?"
Vinnie takes a thoughtful sip of champagne from her perch on the vintage settee, her coffee-brown hair cascading in perfect waves while mine's escaping its clip in rebellion. "The color's gorgeous with your skin, but . . ."
"But it looks like my grandmother's curtains had a baby with a prom dress from 1987?" I supply.
"I was about to say it's not quite wedding guest material, but yeah, that works too." She sets down her glass and stands, disappearingbehind a rack of dresses that Amelia's mom Rose had curated for the spring collection. "What about something more . . ." Her voice trails off as she pushes hangers aside with purpose.
"More what?" I call out, still wrestling with the zipper that's now stuck somewhere between my shoulder blades. Sweat beads across my back as panic sets in. "Because if you say 'sexy' I'm vetoing it. I'm going to support my friend, not audition forThe Bachelor."
"Yourfriend," Amelia echoes, making air quotes with her free hand while the other helps wrestle my zipper. "Because it's normal to fly across the country for someone who barely plans ahead enough to book a flight, let alone a plus-one."
I try to breathe normally as the dress seems to tighten. "It's what we do. He needs backup, I show up."
"Yeah," Amelia mutters. "That's kind of the problem."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing." But her tone says everything. "Just that most guys don't ask their best friend to be their date to a family event like that."
"He didn't . . . it's not like that. Matt's wedding is a big deal, and his family can be intense, and—"
"And somehow you're the only one who can help him survive it?" Amelia's eyes meet mine in the mirror. "Funny how that works."
"Maybe I should get some Spanx." I change topic, even though I promised myself last year I was done trying to origami-fold myself into clothes that weren't made for me.
"Don't you dare!" Vinnie calls from behind the racks. "You've got curves and you need to show them! I wore Spanx to that charity gala once and let me tell you, circulation is important. Plus, trying to pee was like performing a circus act in a phone booth."
"Can we—ugh—focus on getting me out of this death trap first?" I'm starting to see spots. "Amelia!"
"I'm trying. Stop squirming!" She gives one final yank and the zipper breaks free, sending us both stumbling.
I sag against the wall, panting, fighting the urge to cry because why does nothing fit right?
"Found it!" Vinnie emerges with something midnight blue and flowing.
I'm still catching my breath when I pull the dress on. The silk settles around and I catch my reflection, barely recognizing myself. Not because I don't think I'm pretty—my body and I have mostly made peace after years of warfare—but because something about this carries a weird kind of weight. As if I've slipped into some alternate timeline. One where I'm not just the supportive friend. One where I'm—
"Holy shit," Amelia breathes. "This is it."
"Told you." Vinnie circles me. "The cut is perfect, and watch the way it flows when you walk."
I twirl, watching the fabric float around my ankles. "It's not too much?"
"For a wedding? No way." Amelia starts playing with my hair, sweeping it off my neck. "You should wear it up, maybe with those crystal pins you have."
She's fussing with my hair in the mirror, so focused I nearly miss the shadow that crosses her eyes. It's the same look she gets whenever helping to style the window displays with pieces she could design better herself.
"Speaking of fashion decisions," I turn to face them both, "what's this I hear about you chickening out on the New York designer internship?"
Amelia's hands drop from my hair. "Who told you that?"
"Your mom mentioned it to me when she came in for some relaxation tea." I cross my arms. "Why didn't you tell us?"
"Because there was nothing to tell. It wasn't serious. Just a stupid idea I had."
"Stupid?" Vinnie scoffs. "Ames, you've got more fashion sense in your pinky than most designers have in their entire portfolio."
"It's fine." Amelia shrugs. "Besides, the application deadline passed."
