“I love it too,” I tell her earnestly. “And not because I pickedit.”
“Liar,” Shannon says, her mouth tiltingup.
I laugh. “Well. Notjustbecause I pickedit.”
The sales assistant reappears, carrying a scrap of fabric that turns out to be a detachable sleeve. She puts it on Shannon, demonstrating how she can wear this for the ceremony, and then remove it later when the dancing begins.
I hand her glass up to her. “You look like a princess.”
“I feel like one, a bit,” she admits.
She takes a sip and passes it back to me, her focus returning to the mirror in front of her. She moves left and then right. For a brief moment it could almost be said that we’re havingfun.
“OK, that’s enough of that,” she says briskly. “I’ll take the other one.”
I splutter. “What?”
She’s already stepped down toward the changing room, beckoning the sales assistant to followher.
“I did what you wanted. I tried your dress on,” she says. “But I’m getting the other one.”
“But—but—we still have more than an hour left,” I say, my anxiety rising. “Shouldn’t we try on more dresses?”
“No need,” she says, disappearing behind the curtain. The sales associate follows her through with a clipboard and a measuring tape, ready to take Shannon’s measurements.
I feel confused—and a little bit panicked. Did Shannon evenlikethe first dress?
“Are you sure, Shannon?” I call from behind the curtain. “Why don’t we come back later? You can think aboutit.”
Her tone is clipped. “I don’t need to come back later. I’ve decided.”
Who cares what you’ve decided!I want to scream.How do youfeel?
Shannon is dressed and back on the other side of the curtain, sitting down while the sales assistant runs her through the particulars of the purchase. I hover nearby, forgotten.
“Shannon,” I say, trying to catch hereye.
“We’ll take the full payment now,” the woman is saying toher.
“Wait.”
The spiel continues. “Alterations are done in-house but priced separately.”
“Shannon.”
“That’s fine,” Shannon says, nodding.
“WAIT,” I screech, my voice ringing out in the quiet room, freezing both women in place.
Shannon is annoyed. “Annie, can you please—”
I look to the saleswoman, my eyes boring into hers. “Can you give us a minute?”
She looks from me, to Shannon, to me again, and then stands, saying she’ll confirm the atelier’s lead times, and be right back.
“Do you fuckingmind,” Shannon hisses when she’s out of earshot.
“Shannon,” I plead with her. “Just slow down for a minute. Are you sure about all this?”
