The dress fit much better than I’d thought it would. It wasn’t skin tight, which I liked, and it skimmed the right places and pulled away from the others. The lace, which I’d thought would be too much, really did look…what had Cheryl said? Elegant?
I was surprised how much I liked it.
“Okay,” I said, not looking at any of the women. “You are all being awfully quiet. Is it that bad?”
“Turn around and give us a walk,” Cheryl said.
I turned to a sea of faces that held the same expression.
I couldn’t tell if that expression was surprise or something else, so I did my walk, just my normal walk this time, turned, and then stopped in front of them.
I planted my hands on my hips. “Somebody better say something or I’m going to decide dresses were a bad idea and go back to the sweat pants plan.”
“No,” Jules said. “We covered that. Death scissors. No sweats.”
“It’s your dress,” Frigg said.
Hera nodded. “She’s right. It’s lovely. You’re lovely. This suits you, Delaney.”
“Plot twist,” I said. “Do I sense changing alliances here?”
“I wasn’t allied with anyone,” Frigg said.
“What do you think, Jules?”
“It’s perfect. Damn it,” she said. “I always imagined you in a princess dress. But this. This is the one.”
“There’s still a chance you two could team up with Cheryl and vote for your favorite,” I said to my sisters. “I promise to take everyone’s opinion into account before I decide the winner.”
“How about I weigh in?” Cheryl stood by the platform, and finally took a sip of wine.
I nodded.
“I love you in this dress. I love you in all of them,” she said, “but this is you. It fits you in every way. You glow.”
“Myra? Jean? Would you like to submit your complaints?”
“Just, why?” Jean said. “Why do you have to look so beautiful and elegant in that dress? It doesn’t even have any sparkles.”
“It has a lot of lace, though,” I said.
“True,” she said with a sigh. “I like lace. I love it. It’s perfect.”
“Myra?” I didn’t think I’d change my mind if Myra’s vote was lukewarm. But if she absolutely hated it, I would ask her for ideas that would make her hate it less.
“I could probably stick a ribbon on it somewhere, or have someone take up the hem a little,” I said to her. “People do that with wedding dresses, don’t they?”
Myra stood and stepped over to stand right in front of me. “I hate to admit I was wrong. You know that. But I was wrong. This is everything. This is your dress. And oh, my gods, Delaney, you’re getting married!”
She laughed but it was also part sob and I felt my throat tighten with emotion.
I grabbed her and hugged her and tried not to cry while all the girls let out little comforting sounds. Then Myra pulled away and made noises about not wanting to mess up my dress with her makeup, and Jules was there to wrap her in her big soft embrace and, somehow my wine glass was in my hand again.
There was a quick toast to the wedding dress, then Cheryl took a couple minutes asking me if I wanted it tightened or loosened anywhere. I realized I loved this dress in ways I couldn’t put into words.
Some of it was because it was chosen for a singular purpose. The dress would mark an event I would hold in my heart for the rest of my life.
But some of what made me love this dress was that it had brought my sisters, friends, and family together, to share this one-of-a-kind joy.
