“No way!” She whipped off her sunglasses and hit my arm with them. “I can’t believe you didn’t call me!”
I pressed my lips together and shrugged while she found a parking space outside Southern Charm and cut the engine.
“Oh my god.” She unfastened her seat belt and slumped against the seat. “This is so huge. How is it real?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Which is why I didn’t call. I needed thinking time, and it felt like speaking it aloud might make it disappear.”
She rolled her head to face me. “It makes me sad that I’m just hearing about all of this. You always call.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Alicia offered a sad smile. “Don’t be. I like that you’re confident enough to know you can handle whatever comes on your own, and I love that you know you can fill me in later, when you’re ready.”
A breath of relief swept through me, as did a rush of pride. “I still need you. Don’t start thinking I don’t.”
I wanted her insight on everything. I wanted to dissect every detail of our lives over wine and laughs. I just didn’t need her to make decisions for me anymore. I could weigh her advice without relying on it. And that was monumental.
“Holy hell,” she whispered, replacing her sunglasses and dropping her keys into her purse. “You’re going to France!”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Southern Charm Bridal Salon was the oldest wedding-gown shop in the area. Owned by a well-known and respected family for four generations, every southern Virginia bride aspired to buy her dress from this specific store.
I hadn’t been inside for decades, but I remembered the experience all too well.
“Wow,” Alicia said, stepping inside with an expression of hazy nostalgia. “This brings back memories.”
She’d joined me on the hunt for my perfect dress. I might’ve drop-kicked my mother into the river without Alicia present.
Soft classical music drifted from hidden speakers, drawing us into the vaulted foyer. Rows of chandeliers hung from exposed beams in the high, arched ceiling overhead. Enormous windows on two sides invited massive amounts of natural light.
Passersby slowed to enjoy the displays and occasional bride-to-be on a pedestal up front. Shoppers admired views of the river and rear patio in the back.
I’d found my wedding gown here, as had my mother before me. She’d complained about the prices the entire time I shopped. When I asked her to stop, she justified her behavior by saying her mother had done the same to her, and she could finally understand why. I’d vowedin that moment to let my daughter, if I had one, choose the dress she wanted.
I’d married Robert in a discounted gown I didn’t love, because Mom wouldn’t spend more on the one I wanted. I’d walked the aisle at a church he chose for the aesthetics, because neither of our families went to church regularly enough to lay claim on any specific one. His mother had coordinated the details, taking liberties anywhere she chose, because she and Robert’s father were paying more than half the costs. Traditionally, the bride’s family paid for the ceremony, but we simply couldn’t afford the tastes and demands of the Biancos. So, they stepped in with their wallets and walked all over my family in the process.
Day one of more than eight thousand similar days to follow. “Did you just roll your eyes?” Alicia said, crossing her arms and lowering her brows.
“No.”
“Yes, you did. I saw it. What did we just talk about?”
I wrinkled my nose.
“Stop that.”
“I’m sorry!” I laughed. “That was an apology face.”
“Mama!” Camilla called. “Auntie Alicia!” She sprinted toward us in four-inch white satin heels, then pulled us into a group hug. She’d rolled her jeans up her calves, presumably for a better look at the heels. Her cropped green sweater brought out the flecks of hazel in her brown eyes. “I was so excited I couldn’t wait for my appointment, so I came early,” she said. “Isn’t it amazing that they could fit us in today? I just called yesterday and poof! They had a cancellation! We’re taking pictures of everything I try on to send to my bridesmaids as soon as I ask them.” She covered her mouth and made wild eyes over the tops of her fingers. “I want to send flowers or some kind of cute gift when I ask. I can’t decide what to choose. Why are there so many decisions?”
I smiled, warmed by her joy, and certain things between us would never be too bad to sort out.
A woman wearing a black pencil skirt and cream blouse appeared, and Camilla stepped away. “Luckily, we’re here to help,” the lady said. “We will be your decision helpers today.” She smiled at Alicia and me.
“This is Patti,” Camilla said. “Patti, this is my mom, Sophie, and my aunt, Alicia.”
Alicia and I took turns shaking Patti’s hand.
