“And the dress?” My voice is getting higher, more frantic. “Where am I supposed to get a wedding dress?” I check the time on my phone. “In six hours?”
“We can go to another dress shop and see if we can find something off the rack that would fit.”
“Again, in six hours?” I'm pacing now, my hands shaking. “Even if they did, we don’t have an appointment, and I still need to get my hair and makeup done. Not to mention finding a new place to have a wedding and finding someone to marry us!”
“Then we'll find something else. What about a nice dress from a department store?”
“I'm not getting married in a 'nice dress,' Mom!” The tears are coming now, hot and fast. I know I’m being completely irrational and sound like a spoiled brat, but I can’t help it. “This was supposed to be perfect. After everything that’s happened with the food poisoning, the florist, and the fight with Frost, I thought today would finally be perfect.”
Mom reaches for me, but I step back and wrap my arms around myself.
“I think this is the universe’s way of trying to tell me something,” I say, my voice breaking. “Maybe we're really not supposed to get married.”
“Hope Marie Webster, don't you dare think that.” Mom's voice is firm now, even though her eyes are shiny with tears. “Don't you dare let a few obstacles make you doubt what you have with that man.”
“A few obstacles?” I gesture around wildly. “Everything is falling apart!”
“So, we'll put it back together,” she says forcefully.
“How?” I'm crying now, ugly crying. “How are we supposed to fix all of this in six hours?”
The door bursts open again, and Amy rushes in. She takes one look at my tear-streaked face, the pink dress on the bed, and her eyes narrow. “What happened?”
“Everything,” I sob. “Everything happened.”
“The bridal boutique handed us the wrong dress,” Mom explains quickly. “The tent has a hole, everything outside is ruined, and to top it off, the pastor just called. He's sick with the flu and can't do the ceremony.”
Amy's eyes go wide. She looks at the pink dress, then at the window, and back at me.
“Okay,” she says slowly. “Okay, that's... that's a lot.”
“What the hell are we going to do, Amy?” My voice breaks on her name. “I don't have a dress. I don't have a venue. I don't have anyone to marry us. The wedding is in six hours, and everything is falling apart. Maybe this is a sign. May?—”
“Stop.” Amy crosses the room and grabs my shoulders, forcing me to look at her. “Breathe.”
“I ca?—”
“Yes, you can. Breathe with me.” She takes a deep breath, and I try to follow, but it comes out shaky and broken. “Again.”
We breathe together, once, twice, three times, until the panic recedes just enough for me to think.
“Better?” Amy asks.
I nod, even though I'm still crying.
“Okay.” Amy looks at Mom, then back at me. “This is bad. I'm not going to sugarcoat it. This is really bad, but we've dealt with worse.”
“When?” I wheeze.
“The other night,” she says simply. “When you thought you were losing Frost. You didn't because you fought for each other.”
“This is diffe?—”
“No, it's not.” Her grip on my shoulders tightens. “This is just logistics, and that can be fixed.”
“How?” I gesture at the pink dress. “How are we supposed to fix all of this?”
Amy's jaw sets in that determined way I know so well. “I don't know yet, but I’ll figure it out.”
