Amber, on the other hand, is another matter. She floats in and out like a vulture in couture, commenting on lighting, on seating arrangements, on whether the ivory leans too cream, on how my dress—the most matronly of the bridal party—is a little trashy for such an important event.
Faith selected the blush color, then told us to pick our dress designs, so they’d suit what we were comfortable in. Mine has a high neck, three-quarter sleeves, and is tea-length. Alexis, Brie, and Candy picked low necks, sleeveless, and a length that ranges from mini to don’t-bend-over.
But I’m the problem?
“Oh, Perry,” Amber says sweetly, “you’re doing so well.”
I swallow her sarcasm. Because I owe Faith. I almost detonated her engagement, and this is the least I can do to make her happy, so I ignore Amber’s commentary.
For now.
I look around and can’t help but feel relieved. This is the life I once thought would fix everything. The gown. The venue. The aesthetic. The fake perfection of every choice. Thank God Jason and I didn’t work out. I would have slowly gone insane.
Faith is snapping at the makeup artist now. “I said dewy, not oily.”
“You look beautiful,” I tell her.
“I needperfect,” she replies.
That’s the problem. She needs perfect. And I am trying to be an angel for the day.
We’re only three hours in, and the bridal suite smells like champagne and desperation. Not the fun kind. The anxious kind.
Faith is sitting in the center of it all, looking too sharp, too icy. Her dress hangs on a rack behind her, gleaming in layers of white that probably required three separate consultants to select. Thankfully, the dress hunt was long over before I was brought on board to serve as her wedding monkey. “It’s wrinkled,” she says, pointing behind herself.
“It’s not,” I reply, smoothing the bodice anyway.
“It looks wrinkled.”
“It’s the light.”
“Fix the light.” Goody. More light fixing.
“Candy, stop eating that,” Faith snaps suddenly.
Candy freezes mid-bite over a macaron. Alexis pretends she doesn’t hear anything. Brie is still fighting her bra in the corner, which now somehow feels symbolic.
“I need you to breathe,” I tell Faith softly. “If you keep picking on Candy, she might not make it to the actual ceremony. She’s hanging on by a thread.”
“I am breathing,” she says, not breathing. “They’re not going to fit in their dresses if they keep eating like that.” Her eyes flick to mine. Searching. Measuring. “You’renot going to disappear on me, are you?”
“I’m right here,” I say. “I’m not going anywhere, Faith. I gave you my word.” I have to wonder whether Jason has ever given her this kind of reassurance.
She fans her face. “Don’t make me cry. They’ve already done my makeup like four times.”
Amber reappears like an omen. “You are doing so much work,” she says to me. “Almost like you’re trying to prove something.”
I smile and lie, “I enjoy logistics.”
“Of course you do.” She adjusts her diamond bracelet and surveys the room. “It’s amazing what people will do when they’re…motivated.”
Faith stiffens slightly. “Let’s not rehash the past today. Today is about the future.”
“I’m just saying,” Amber continues, “I’m glad Perry has grown out of her…impulsive phases.”
The air thickens. I swallow. I deserve some of this. I don’t deserve all of it.
Before I can respond, the wedding planner pulls me aside to confirm the procession order. I answer questions about timing, about aisle width, about the flower girl’s meltdown over glitter.
