“Now, that attitude’s not going to win you any points with your future husband,” Gran said, hands on her hips. “I know you aren’t the most experienced…”
“I have enough,” I mumbled, face red.
Gran sniffed. “I slept with three different men this week. One of them was super young too—in his fifties, can you believe it? Your gran’s still got it!”
* * *
“You’re goingto be such a beautiful bride!” Brea squealed happily.
My friends were gathered in the bridal suite while the camera guys zoomed around us. I tried to act natural. We were supposed to be pretending to be drinking, laughing, and having a good time while I prepared to be married to a complete stranger. All the while, Ivy was surreptitiously checking her text messages from the venue and Elsie was giving directions into a Bluetooth headset to the catering staff that was prepping the reception.
“I can’t wait to see you in your wedding gown,” Gran said happily. She was already dressed, and her hair had been sprayed, permed, and shellacked into a foot-tall beehive on her head. The bright-purple mother-of-the-bride dress was blinding, and the parrot was wearing a matching vest.
“You should have seen me on my wedding day,” she reminisced as Brea helped me step into the flowing gown.
“All the guys wanted me,” Gran bragged. “I caused a traffic accident when I walked down the street to the church. And I know you’re going to—ooooh.”
She made a face as Brea zipped up the back of the dress.
Elsie paused mid-sentence, and Ivy’s face was perfectly professionally neutral.
“What?” I demanded, looking down.
“It’s very creative…” Sophie began.
“This dress isavant-garde,” Brea insisted. “It’s part of my fall wedding dress collection.”
“You don’t think you want to go back to the drawing board on that?” Gran said.
“Karlie Kloss wore this dress down the runway, Mrs. Fulton,” my friend said stubbornly.
Gran snorted.
I turned to look in the mirror and sucked in a breath, trying not to make a face because I didn’t want to hurt my friend’s feelings. The top of the dress was like a long-sleeved suit jacket but had a cinched waist then choppy layers of tulle. There were two skirts—one long one and then one that stopped at my knees, then there was a train out of the same material that trailed in a mat behind me.
“Kylie has like a foot and a half on me, and she is a former ballerina,” I said slowly. “I look like…”
“She looks like a demented cupcake,” Gran said. “Can’t you put her in something else?”
“This is the only dress I have in her size.” Brea chewed on her lip.
“It’s a lovely dress,” I assured her, not wanting to make her feel bad. “And if I’d been given more than twenty-four hours’ notice, I probably would have not eaten my weight in donuts over the last few months.”
“No, you don’t like it. I can try to fix it,” Brea insisted.
“Showtime in twenty!” Gunnar said, sticking his head through the door.
“It’s fine. It just needs a little accessorizing,” Gran said, rummaging around in her bag. “Lucky for you gals, I brought all my best jewels!” She draped chunky costume jewelry around my neck and glittering bracelets on my wrists.
“Gran, I don’t think I need all this.”
“Nonsense,” she said, arranging a patchy white fake fur stole complete with the head of a fox onto my shoulders.
“And my prized possession,” she said, pinning a plastic beauty pageant tiara on my head. “I beat out Stella Lynn to win the Ms. Smoked Eel pageant in sixty-three.”
I inspected my reflection in the mirror.
“I look insane.”
