“You need to go get yourself laid,” I whisper back.
Quincy snickers and Mama looks back at us like we’re up to no good.
Inside the studio, Iris offers us champagne. Mama graciously accepts and looks at me sideways when I turn it down.
“We already had too much at brunch this morning,” Quincy explains away.
The fitting room is in the corner of a roomy studio that’s not so much a dress shop as a workroom with mannequins, cutting tables, sewing machines, bolts of fabric lining the walls, and patterns laid out at several different stations.
I step into the one and only fitting room, and Iris follows me in with the ivory gown, leaving my Mama and Quincy perched on the chaise just outside.
Iris holds it in place while I disrobe down to my shape wear and then step into the dress. The seamstress expertly helps me with the sleeves, adjusts the skirt, and then begins with the zipper, hidden under tiny silk buttons. It’s gorgeous work, but it’s just not me. I’m dreading breaking Iris’s heart over it.
“Come on, honey,” Mama calls out. “Let’s see the dress on you now that Iris has finished the final alterations.”
The zipper stops halfway.
“It’s… a little snug,” Iris murmurs, her forehead creasing in the mirror.
My heart races. “Is it?”
Iris tugs again. The zipper won’t budge.
I suck in my stomach, hold my breath, but it’s no use. “It doesn’t fit.”
I can’t be showing yet. It must be all the extra chips, cookies, ice cream…I’ve been craving a lot. Mostly from stress, more than a very new pregnancy.
Iris is calm as can be. “Maybe I measured wrong. Let me check.”
When she leaves the fitting room, my Mama stands in the doorway. “What’s this whispering I’m hearing that it doesn’t fit?”
Quincy stands behind her, trying to think of anything to say that might help. “It probably just needs to be let out. You know how people’s size can fluctuate.”
Mama turns on Quincy. “Iris already altered the seams! That’s why this is called a final fitting.”
“I-I don’t know what to say,” I stammer, heat prickling the back of my neck.
Quincy, who is giving me a look that says, “Now’s your chance, sister.”
Suddenly, I can see it all so clearly. I need to cancel the wedding, not just because of the gown, but because our little family has to come first. We need time to plan. We need to work more overtime while we still can, before our spare hours are taken up by dance recitals, soccer practices, and kindergarten field trips.
At the same time, I need less stress. We need to ease into this new life. And we need to do everything on our terms. No one else’s.
Iris returns with the measurements she took from the last fitting, and reports that these are the correct ones.
“I’ve gained weight, Mama. But I have a backup plan.”
“I’ll say we do,” Mama says. “I have these pills that I took right before my wedding. I think they’ve been banned in the US, but I can get some, I’m sure…”
I make eye contact with my best friend, and I find my strength.
What do they call this? Serendipity? This baby might not be far enough along to be the cause of me going up a size, not yet, but I’m definitely not going to get any smaller.
“Mama. I’m not going to be losing any weight.”
Mama takes a step back. “I don’t understand.” She whirls toward the seamstress. “There must be something you can do.”
Iris shakes her head. “I’m afraid the seams are already at their limit. The fabric can’t take another alteration.”
