She pulled back. My sisters were radiant with shared joy, both of them looking like they were ready to spend the night poking fun at me. I was suddenly very, very happy with my life.
“Just trust your gut,” Myra said. “Or better yet, trust ours. We’ve both agreed to double team you until you pick the dress we like best. Or pick a dress at all. Or let us pick one for you.”
“No way,” I said. “I am the bride. What I say, goes. Got it?”
“Since that isn’t different than any other day you’re bossing us around?” Jean said. “Uh, I mean, yes, sure, boss, I mean Delaney, Sister, Sir, Bride. Whatever you say.”
I pointed. “Fired and fired. But I still love you, so let’s get the dress shopping over with!”
Myra lifted her glass, Jean lifted hers, we clinked, and everyone else gave a short cheer, then Jules started to chant: “Dress! Dress! Dress! Dress!” Everyone else joined in.
I was shoved to the front of the room as my audience settled into seats, except for Cheryl who rolled out a rack with dresses in fifty shades of white.
“This might look overwhelming,” she said, “but I wanted enough of a selection to follow whichever way your tastes might fall. I have an idea of what you’ll like, but you might surprise me. We talked, and you said white, right?”
“I think so?”
“We’re going with white.” She pushed the dresses apart with one clean movement, like a good blade cleaving through bone.
“Have another sip of wine,” she suggested, “and sit down. I’m going to pull out the kinds of dresses I have, and you can give me a love, like, or hate. Okay?”
“Hang on.” I gulped wine, letting the burn fortify me. Then I took the seat that Myra and Jean emptied between them. “Bring it.”
“Spoken like a true warrior,” Hera leaned forward and gave me a wink.
“White is a good choice,” Frigg said. “It shows the blood of your enemies much better. Warns those who think they can make you bow to their whims.”
“We are talking wedding dress, right?” I grinned. “Holy matrimony, not holy war?”
“Sure, we are.” Hera dragged out the words. “Bliss. We’re talking about wedded bliss. All the bliss.”
Frigg snorted and drained her glass. “Refills! Who wants one?”
Everyone raised their glasses except Cheryl, who was wrangling lace and wrestling fluff like a pro.
“Delaney?” Frigg offered.
“No, I’m good with one. I don’t want to regret this anymore than is necessary.”
“Boo,” Jules called out. “I thought I raised you to enjoy life, young lady.”
“You did. I’m going to enjoy watching you all have your wine, then when you fall asleep, I’ll slip out the back and get to wear sweats and a T-shirt to my wedding.”
“No sweats!” Myra said.
“Drink more wine,” I suggested.
“The dress will be as comfortable as sweats,” Cheryl insisted. “We still have time to tailor. Once that is done, you won’t even want to wear sweats anymore.”
I shook my head, because, yeah, there was no way any dress could be as comfortable as sweats.
She wagged her finger at me. “Just you wait.” She pulled the first dress off the rack with a swirl of lace and a flash of some kind of jewels. Pearls, maybe?
The collective “Ooooo,” was impressive.
“All right,” I said, eyeing the fabric that didn’t give me any idea of what the dress would look like on a person—on me—I self-corrected. “Talk me through this baby.”
Cheryl grinned. “This little model is a classic. The lines are engineered to really show you off, bumper to bumper, if you know what I mean.” She bumped her hips out, side to side, with each word.
