“It’s your own fault for letting this spiral out of control,” I told myself as I stomped up the stairs.
My parents were in the living room watching Golden Age Hollywood movies. They were delighted to see me.
“We made popcorn, Brea!” Todd said.
“I already had a lot to eat,” I told them, feeling woozy and sick from the alcohol and from dumping Mark.
You weren’t in a relationship. There was no dumping. You just kept it from going further than it should. Mark will meet some nice woman from his own social class, and you will continue to live here, surrounded by a prison of fabric.
I wanted to go to sleep for the next week, but I had wedding dresses to finish. One of my other brides had asked me to embroider several quotes from her great grandmother onto her veil at the last minute to surprise her mother. I turned on a romance audiobook and started to sew.
“The billionaire took me in his arms and kissed me. I had never felt so, loved so—”
“Blah!” I yelled and turned it off. Instead, I played some upbeat dance music as I embroidered the final quote around the hem on the veil.
* * *
I arrivedat the wedding venue out in the Hudson River Valley at an upscale vineyard early the next morning.
The blushing bride squealed when she saw the veil and hugged me. Her whole family told me how beautiful it was. The bride’s mother dabbed her eyes.
“Thank you so much for making this a special day. I always dreamed of the day my daughter would get married. You’ve just made my dreams come true!”
After double-checking the wedding dress, an ethereal ball gown with a cascade of silk flowers, to ensure that there wasn’t a thread out of place, I went down to the ceremony in a small outdoor amphitheater in the gardens on the vineyard grounds. Amy was bustling around, stringing up garlands of flowers.
“I have the chiffon you wanted,” I told her.
“Did you bring your needle and thread?” she asked, harried.
“What kind of seamstress would I be if I didn’t?”
Amy stuffed a bucket of white roses into my arms.
“Loop the chiffon along the aisles and fasten these roses on.”
Ivy’s voice squawked periodically out of Amy’s Bluetooth walkie-talkie. She was ticking off various items on her to-do list then asked Amy if there was extra ribbon, as the ring bearer, a Jack Russell terrier, had chewed up part of his tux.
“Brea’s here,” Amy told Ivy.
My friend came outside a few minutes later with the half-chewed vest.
“Oof,” I said, inspecting it.
“Can you save it?” Ivy begged. “The bride is upset and crying. She refuses to have the wedding if the dog isn’t properly attired.”
I whipped out my sewing basket. “One fixed tux coming right up.”
Amy was putting the finishing touches on the cascade of flowers on the awning, foregrounded against the rolling vineyard hills with a view of the Hudson River beyond. She asked me slyly, “So you’re going to be partnering with Ida’s sex company now, I hear?”
“Uh no. No way.”
Amy tittered. “She has you all over her company Instagram account. You were out drinking with her last night?”
“I don’t see why you’re following her sex toy company.”
“Hey, not all of us have a billionaire at their beck and call.”
“I don’t anymore,” I said, ripping out the seams on the dog vest.
