“Katie, have I ever told you that you are the best friend anyone could have?” I ask, looking at my roommate with stars in my eyes. The right corner of her mouth lifts, but she’s too modest to reply. Instead, she tucks blonde hair behind an ear and disappears behind me, tugging on the dress to work the zipper.
Not just any dress. My dress. At least, it will be mine when Mr. Right shows up on my door on bended knee brandishing a diamond ring. Sure, I’d have to sell my apartment - and probably a kidney - to pay for it, but Vera Wang is worth it.
“So, I take it the presentation didn’t go as you planned?” Katie asks, her fingernails graze the back of my neck as she works the loops. I laugh derisively at the question.
“Oh, it went to plan. I mean, apart from a little technical hiccup, I did everything just like we rehearsed.”
“Then I don’t get it. Is this a celebratory fitting?” Katie reappears and eyes me with suspicion.
She manages the most expensive bridal store on Fifth Avenue. Noelle’s. One perk of being her best friend is that I get to come in and try on dresses whenever I want. Besides, people see me trying on these outrageously expensive gowns through the window, which is good advertising, right? I swear, trying on a designer wedding dress works better than Xanax. It’s arguably just as addictive, though.
There’s something about standing on the cushioned stool, surrounded by floor mirrors and dazzling lights, swishing the big skirt side to side, that just makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.
I am Emma King.
Talented designer, delightful conversationalist and drop-dead gorgeous female any man would be lucky to have.
At least, that’s who I am when I’m in this dress.
It fits snug on my waist and forces me into the perfect posture. I feel regal, poised, elegant. It gives me the courage to tell the truth.
“They hated my design,” I blurt, my brain settling back on the very reason I’m here. My eyes dart to the box in the corner of the room, the entire contents of my desk sitting inside. “Then my boss fired me.”
The words sting. They slide off my tongue like I’m spitting blades and it makes my eyes water. Katie gasps, her slender hand flies to her open mouth and her wide eyes turn glassy.
“The Schnooze shoes? I think they’re genius. Look, I’m wearing them now.” She turns and bends a knee, lifting her right foot in the air with grace.
“So, that’s where my prototypes disappeared to.”
Katie lowers her foot again and her face turns crimson.
“I can’t believe they fired you because they didn’t like your design,” she said, folding her arms and looking up at me like she doesn’t believe me.
But why would I lie about this?
“Steven didn’t fire me because he didn’t like the design,” I explain. “He fired me because he stuck his neck on the line to give me that pitch. In his words, I was an ‘embarrassment to the company.’ To be fair to him, I told him to fire me if the pitch didn’t go well.”
Katie gawps at me like a fish, her eyes bulging as she gasps.
“You’re kidding.”
I shrug haphazardly, and almost wobble off the stool, my sophistication is dropping by the second.
“I was so confident the board would love my design, I placed a bet with Steven.”
Katie throws her head in her hands with a groan. I need not say any more. This is not the first time a bet has got me into trouble. In fact, if I’m going to place a wager, I should bet on myself losing the bet. If I’d done that on all the bets I’ve ever placed, I’d be a millionaire by now.
Slight exaggeration, maybe. But I’d be filthy rich.
The china bell hanging over the door rings and we stop our conversation to look up.
I have one of those delayed reactions as my brain recognizes one of the women who has just entered the boutique among an entourage of ladies. Problem is, I can’t place her.
My boss' ex-girlfriend Hannah? No, she didn’t have blonde hair. Miss yoga pants from apartment 50a? No, she’s too tall. I suck in the air around me and hold my breath as my brain scans through hundreds of headshots and memories. Then the dots add up and the picture becomes all-too clear, setting my blood into an ice-freeze.
“Oh, please, no,” I whisper.
I need to get out of here. Pronto.
The skinny blonde has had her lips done, giving her a permanent pout. I don’t think she’s seen me yet. At least, her glittering eyes do not fly in my direction. If I can just dash into one of the changing rooms without being seen…
“Emma?”
I’ve bunched up the skirt of my dress so high I can no longer see anything. A twitter of hushed voices surrounds me and my heart sinks. They found me.
Well, it’s not very hard. I’m standing dead center in the middle of a bridal boutique, wearing the biggest dress in the world.
“Emma King, is that you?”
I lower the skirts in defeat and put on my best smile.
“Shelly Bones! Fancy seeing you here,” I say, my New Yorker accent fading and sounding oddly posh. British, perhaps?
Shelly is my high school frenemy. We were friends - kinda. We always ended up liking the same guys, and the run up to prom escalated to a full-blown war as we both wanted to be prom queen. Neither of us got it, of course. Who could compete with Harper Fox, the six-foot blonde with the supermodel mom?
“It is you!” Shelly cries, her voice far too high to sound convincingly delighted. She’s just a mortified as I am. I can see it in her eyes. “How long has it been?”
Since the last time we were in the same room?
Not long enough.
Last time we spoke, it was graduation. I threw my shoe at her head when I found her kissing my boyfriend under the bleachers.
“So, you’re getting married! Congratulations. Do I know the lucky guy?” she asks. Her posse leans in and eyeballs me as if they’re a rally of reporters and I’m at a press conference. Katie stands to the side, staring at us all like she’s watching a talk show. Give us five minutes and she’ll be screaming, “Hit her with the chair!”
Or not. Katie is too sweet for that.
“The guy?” I say, biting my tongue as I step down.
“Your fiancé, silly,” Shelly says with a giggle that sends a chill down my spine.
“Oh. No, no,” I say, playing it cool. “You know; I feel like even I don’t know who he is.”
Nervous laughter fills the room as Katie catches onto the situation, and finally jumps into action.
“Can I get you ladies a drink?”
She disappears out back while I hover on the spot, wondering whether to make a break for the exit, or run for the changing room and lock myself in until they leave. I picture myself running around central New York in a huge wedding dress like a fairy tale character.
“Well, Frederick and I met in Africa,” Shelly says, clearly undeterred by my inner turmoil. “He was building new schoolhouses, while I was running the vaccination program.”
I am impressed with my restraint. My eyes remain on Shelly instead of rising to the ceiling. I fix a smile on my face too.
“Africa? Wow.”
Shelly thrusts a phone into my face and her claw-like nail swipes through endless photos. Frederick is not at all like the picture I had constructed in my mind. He’s tall and athletic. Tanned. He’s kissing Shelly in almost every photograph. I try not to heave.
“We’ve been together for five years now,” Shelly continues, her sickly-sweet voice making my stomach churn with each syllable. “Last year, he took me to Venice and popped the question during a gondola ride at sunset.”
Shelly and her girls break out in one collective sigh.
“How romantic,” I say through gritted teeth. Thankfully, the shuffling noise behind me announces Katie’s return. She appears with stemmed glasses on a silver platter and I manage to stop myself from snatching one.
“So, come on. I’m dying to know about you. Where did you meet this mystery man? Have you booked a venue yet?”
I gulp my drink to build courage and buy some time. I need to just come out with it and tell the truth. There is no guy. There never was a guy. I have spent the last decade fighting my way up the career ladder only to get fired at the end of it.
So now I’m guy-less and jobless.
But this is Shelly, who’s been doing humanitarian work in Africa. She probably joined the Peace Corps too. Not only that, she’s engaged to some equally charitable and sexy bachelor who wants to sweep her off her feet in every European country there is.
I take another swig and make the decision to tell the lies of all lies. Just this once.
“We’re having a small ceremony at the Plaza hotel.”
A sea of wide eyes stare back at me - Katie’s the widest of all. It only spurs me on. “He’s quite the romantic, actually. We’ve got a string quartet and a harpist for the wedding march. Perrier Francé is catering.”
“Perrier. The Perrier Francé?” Shelly says in a revered tone. I had read an article about his restaurant in the city earning 5 Michelin stars. Who knows if he even caters for weddings? But creating this elaborate lie is the most fun I’ve had in months.
I ramble on about caviar and that instead of wedding gifts, we’re asking for donations for a charity for the Children’s Hospital.
Shelly asks about my fictional fiancé again and this time I don’t hold back, my imagination doing overtime.
He’s the sexiest bachelor in Manhattan. So stinking rich, he focuses his energy on helping people, and he’s totally devoted to me. We met in London on a rainy day. He offered me his umbrella to keep me from getting soaked and it was definitely love at first sight.
“He’s booked our honeymoon in Bora Bora. We’re going to plant trees there and rescue pandas.”
“There’s pandas in Bora Bora?” Katie asks with her face twisting. I finish my drink.
“Yes, there’s pandas in Bora Bora,” I say with a laugh, as if she’s the most foolish person on the planet to even ask the question. “They’re extinct though, it’s tragic really. That’s why we want to help.”
A stunned silence follows, and I cough as the back of my throat burns.
“What did you put in this, vodka?” I say with a giggle, raising my empty glass.
Katie’s brows lift. “It’s just orange juice.”
I glance at the women; their glasses are frozen in mid-air and they’re all staring at me like I’ve just declared the Earth is flat.
“Right. It’s got a bit of a kick,” I say in a raspy voice, handing her the glass.
“When are you getting married?” Shelly asks, then takes a sip of her untouched drink.
“April eleventh,” I blurt. It’s first date that springs to mind. Shelly splutters and gags as the ladies gasp and twitter to each other with excitement. It’s not the reaction I expect, maybe her orange juice is strong too.
“I’m getting married on April eleventh too! What a coincidence.”
I mirror her excited face and we both squeal, I’m 100% sure we’re both faking it now.
“Well, I guess you can’t make it to my wedding then.” I say with a shrug.
A wave of giggles follows, and I take the opportunity to give Katie a pointed look.
“Wow, is that the time? We need to get you out of this dress, don’t you have a date?” she says, tugging on my elbow. I tap my forehead, exaggerating my movements as I edge away.
“Yes. Time ran away with me. It was great to see you again, Shelly. Good luck with the wedding!”
“You too, Emma. So thrilled we both got our happy endings.”
The words sit on my chest like an anvil as I dash into the changing room and hide.