Camille Camacho stood in front of the mirrors on the pedestal while the seamstress stuck what felt to be the one-millionth pin into the Kelly-green silk. The bridesmaid dress was formfitting, but her form was starting to expand in the middle just a little. “Oh God!” she gagged as she jumped down and ran for the trashcan in the corner. Her breakfast vacated her stomach as Miranda calmly rose from the sofa and rubbed her friend’s back.
Deb followed and ran into the bathroom, returning with a cool, wet washcloth for Camille. She gently held it to the back of Camille’s neck. “Whoever called it morning sickness obviously paid zero attention to his wife hurling while he was in bed asleep at 10 p.m.,” she said sympathetically.
The seamstress smiled coldly. “I’ll leave a little more room through the waist.”
Miranda snorted. “Bet this is usually the bride’s problem, not the Matron of Honor’s.”
“Certainly was mine,” quipped Deb. “But at least Dan was diligent and noticed the 10 p.m. hurling. He didn’t stop noticing me for a couple of years, anyway.”
“Yeah, I can’t wait to marry him! You make him sound quite the catch,” Miranda said, batting her eyelashes.
“Oops. I keep forgetting to talk him up,” Deb teased.
“You’re marrying your bridesmaid’s ex-husband?” the seamstress asked Miranda.
“Yes. Is that unusual?” she asked, stony-faced. The seamstress swallowed hard. “I’m just kidding!” Miranda laughed.
Camille groaned. “Sorry. Well, that was unpleasant. The real shame is that my brand-spanking-new Illinois driver’s license has a picture of me five minutes after I threw up. I have to live with that picture for four years. And no offense, Miranda, but green is not my color, at least not on my face.” Deb and Miranda were developing quite a rapport. Camille had to admit she was feeling just a tad jealous, but only a tad. Deb was actually quite likeable.
Miranda smiled. “I’m just happy you’re here. And I saw your new license. You look beautiful.”
The seamstress asked, “If you’re feeling better, can we finish your fitting? Or would you prefer I work on the next girl, and come back to you? I’m sorry, but I have another wedding party fitting at 2:00.”
Deb smiled. “I’ll go. Camille can take a few minutes to recover.” Camille smiled, feeling grateful. Deb was alright. And Miranda would never replace her.
The seamstress smiled. “Thanks. And congratulations, by the way.’ She patted the pedestal. Deb handed Miranda the cloth and stepped up. “I think the green looks nice on you all,” the seamstress winked. “But what’s really important is that it makes the bride’s hair really pop!
Deb laughed. “Miranda’s hair pops no matter what. But yes, our job is to accentuate her!”
The seamstress finished fitting Deb quickly. Camille, sitting on the sofa, holding the trashcan, waved off, returning to the pedestal. “I guess I’m up,” announced Sally Blevins, rising from her seat on the sofa.
Deb retreated into the changing room to take off the green silk dress and returned in her normal attire: jeans and a tee shirt. Deb was a natural beauty. She looked as good in the jeans as the expensive gown, Camille noted.
Deb picked up her champagne flute as she sat back down beside Miranda. The two women who were partaking clinked their glasses together. The one who couldn’t buried her face inside the rim of the trashcan she held. “Here’s to your marriage. This time, he’s marrying the right girl! And I couldn’t be happier for you both,” Deb toasted.
“Hear, hear,” said Camille, her voice muffled inside the trashcan.
Sally responded, “It’s certainly about time. I lost the pool by ten years. So, when was that first kiss, Miranda?”
“Honestly, it was after I got my memory back, and I kissed him. It was after I bought my house. There were lots of near kisses. He just wouldn’t pull the trigger,” she giggled. “But the real kiss came when he was vulnerable. It was like he needed me to breathe for him. It was… breathtaking…sexy, and sweet at the same time. I felt like I was falling into those green eyes. And then his mouth was over mine, and his hands were…You don’t need to know where his hands were. Let’s just say they made me tingly. He pulled me in closer, and I felt my legs go limp, but he kept me standing. And the room just sort of melted away. Yeah, it was a good kiss. The best kiss of my life.”
“I remember kisses like that. Then I had twins,” Camille’s voice came from inside the trash can.
“That’s…so great. I’d kill for a kiss like that. The best kiss of my life was a long time ago,” Deb sighed.
“Do tell,” Sally giggled. “Ow!”
“Stop moving,” said the seamstress.
Deb laughed. “There’s not a lot to tell. I didn’t even know his name. And I never told him mine. He was a soldier. I was 19, and I met him at a Halloween party at NIU. Hardly even a meeting. We hadn’t spoken. He was kind of stand-offish, not really interacting. Someone said he’d just gotten back from Afghanistan. My friend I was visiting dared me to kiss him. So, I walked over to where he was standing against a wall and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. It surprised him. He laughed and asked what the hell that was. I giggled and told him my friend dared me. He got this…mischievous, I guess…look and said that I should totally commit to the dare then and not just half-ass it. He put one hand on my back and the other behind the back of my neck. Oh my God, he kissed me…really good. Made my knees wobble. You remember my spider ring? I took it off and gave it to him.”
“Wow. What did he look like?” Camille asked, completely enraptured, forgetting to retch.
“It was Halloween. He looked like Zorro. He did have a faint scar running down his neck from under his hair behind his left ear.”
“And you?” Miranda laughed.
“Morticia Addams,” Deb replied, snorting she laughed so hard.
“Ohhhhhh. That’s so romantic. A passionate kiss from an anonymous man…” Sally sighed.
“I’d rather have passionate kisses from the love of my life,” Deb replied wistfully. “I just haven’t found him yet.”
“But I have!” Miranda giggled.
Deb’s phone rang. She smiled, and Miranda noticed. She elbowed Deb in the ribs playfully. “Gavin? Ewww, somebody has a crush.”
Deb blushed. “He’s okay, I guess.” Her smile revealed she found him more than okay.
“Well, answer it,” came the muffled voice from inside the trashcan. “This old, pregnant woman needs some vicarious romance from the bride and the other bridesmaids.”
Sally laughed, getting stuck with a pin as she did. “Ow!”
“Then stop moving,” said the seamstress.
“Good luck getting any from me. I haven’t had a good date in months. Just a bunch of duds,” Sally said sadly, trying not to move.
Deb answered her call. “Hello, Gavin. What’s up?” Her smile vanished. She set her flute on the table in front of her. “What?” Her voice was raised and high-pitched.
“What’s wrong?” asked Miranda.
Deb sighed heavily. “My mother pulled a Houdini again.”
Miranda had told Camille everything. Deb’s mother, Kathy, had been committed to a mental health facility for the last five months, ever since she had set her own condo on fire and attempted to run off with her own cousin/brother/lover with money from an armored truck robbery she’d participated in 32 years before. Only her cousin/brother/lover turned out to be more disturbed than she was, and started killing people and stalking Miranda. Unfortunately, she was a bit of an escape artist and kept getting out of where she was supposed to be. She never went far, usually to the cafeteria or common room. And while, technically, Deb was only allowed to visit three times per month and needed to sign up seven days prior, the staff found it beneficial to let her mother see Deb or Deb’s sister without the benefit of an actual visit. Just seeing either of her daughters from across a room would calm her enough to convince her to return to her cell peacefully. It was enough to curtail some of those jealous feelings.
“I’m sorry. I have to run,” Deb said, rising and gathering her purse. “But I’ll see you all tonight at Camille’s house.”
“Can’t wait,” came the voice from the trashcan. She could, but there was no reason to be rude.
“Sure. Hope everything’s okay,” said Miranda.
“Ow!” said Sally.
“Stop moving,” said the seamstress.