Chapter 6

I swallowed down my nerves as I entered New Genesis Bridal, where it was located on the second floor of a building in midtown Manhattan. The family video chat had been an epic failure. We still had no idea how many guests both sets of parents wanted to invite, we didn’t have a room count to give the hotel, and we hadn’t discussed where to hold the rehearsal dinner. The one thing the call did accomplish was to convince me that unless I wanted to wear lingerie to my wedding, I needed to buy a dress the day before yesterday. Since relying on a future trip to Florida to shop with my mom was too risky, I decided to make another attempt at searching locally. There were no available appointments with any of my second-choice boutiques—Kleinfeld had been my first—for a few weeks, so I asked Bridget if she’d accompany me to the one place I could find that accepted walk-ins.

I glanced around the tiny store and lowered my expectations of finding The Dress there. The selection was probably as limited as the square footage. But at least I wasn’t alone. Or with my entire bridal party. I wasn’t sure which would be worse. “Thanks for coming with me, Bridge.”

Bridget placed her hand on my arm. “Are you kidding me? This is the most fun I’ve had in months. We’re living out our teenage fantasy, right here, right now. And, besides, I could use the distraction.”

I cocked my head to the side. “From what?”

Bridget waved me away as a saleswoman approached. “Not now,” she whispered out of the side of her mouth.

“Welcome to New Genesis Bridal. How can I help you?” asked an attractive woman who appeared to be in her late forties.

Bridget pointed at me. “She’s getting married and needs a dress. Can you help her?”

The woman smiled. “You’re in the right place for a wedding gown. It’s a good thing she’s not searching for swimwear or pajamas.” She winked at Bridget and turned to me. “Do you have a dress style in mind?”

I repeated what I’d told India at Kleinfeld, and ten minutes later I was in the storage room (the store was too small to house a formal fitting room) trying on a beautiful La Sposa mermaid-style dress in crepe with chantilly and lace work on the bodice. I gaped at my reflection in the mirror in awe—I looked like a bride! “I’m digging this V-neckline. And check out my ass. Bootylicious!” I twirled in front of the mirror. “What do you think, Bridge?” I couldn’t tear my eyes away from my mirror image. When Bridget didn’t respond, I stopped staring at myself and faced her. She was crying. The gown was stunning, but the tears were unexpected. “Really? You think this is the one?” I desperately needed to find a dress today, but I also didn’t want to miss out on the fun of trying on a variety of them.

Bridget buried her head in her hands and dropped to the floor. “I’m kind of pregnant.”

My mouth opened and shut in rapid succession while I let her words sink in. Finally, I said, “You’re kind of pregnant? How can you be kind of pregnant?”

“I’m not. I’m one hundred percent preggers.” She stood up and wiped her eyes, leaving a mascara stain. “I’m with child. I’ve got a bun in the oven. I’m harboring a fugitive. You get the picture? I’m full-on knocked up, K. Four weeks along.”

I swallowed hard as my own eyes welled up. Bridget was having a baby and I loved her already. (I just knew it was a girl the way you knew things about your very best friend in the entire world.) “Oh my God, Bridget. That’s…” I walked toward her with my arms outstretched. Then I remembered Bridget and Jonathan didn’t want children and froze in place.

“Jonathan’s going to kill me.”

My eyes opened wide and I clenched my fists. “Oh no, he won’t. If he so much as pulls on a luxurious strand of your hair outside of the heat of passion, I will rip off all his limbs with my bare hands. And then I’ll go to prison and break Nicholas’s heart.” I glanced down at myself in the wedding gown. If I was in prison, I’d probably have to wear an orange jumpsuit and shackles to my wedding, which would make this shopping session moot.

“He’s made it very clear he doesn’t want marriage and kids.”

“What about you? I thought you guys were on the same page.” I bit my lip, uncertain how she would respond to the question. When I’d expressed doubt she and Jonathan wanted the same things the summer before, we had our first real fight, and our eighteen-year friendship almost went up in flames. Since then, I’d learned to keep my opinions to myself.

“I thought we were too, until…” Her voice dropped off and she sighed. “Until there were two pink lines on my pregnancy test.” Her chin trembled and she hurled herself into my arms and sobbed.

I gently extracted myself from her embrace. The last thing I wanted to do was push away my best friend in her time of need, but if she stained my dress with her makeup, she’d have to pay for it. Patting down her hair, I said, “It’s going to be fine. You’re going to be fine. Just let me get out of this dress and we’ll go someplace quiet and talk over a glass of prosec…” Crap. Booze would not be appropriate in this scenario. I forced a smile. “Let me buy you a cupcake.”

Bridget helped me out of my dress while blubbering her apologies for ruining my special day. I assured her it wasn’t a big deal, which was a big fat lie, but an “oops” pregnancy took priority over shopping every day of the week and I still had six months.

I explained to the boutique owner there was an emergency and we had to leave, but I’d be back. I was getting quite practiced at rushing out of bridal salons under the guise of an emergency, and wouldn’t be surprised if there was a clandestine list of blacklisted wannabe brides making its way through the underground bridal circuit with my name now at the top.

A half hour later, we were comfy on the top floor of 2Beans, a gourmet coffee and chocolate shop near Grand Central Station. We’d both catch the train home from there later, only I’d head downtown and she’d make her way uptown. Bridget didn’t say a word during the ride in the Uber over from the dress shop and now she was hunched down in her seat. But at least she’d stopped crying. I ordered a latte for me, a hot chocolate for Bridget, and a chocolate sampler for us to share.

“You all right, Bridge?” I asked. We’d talked each other off the ledge countless times over the years, but we were in foreign territory now. For the first time in my life, I didn’t have the words to make my best friend feel better. If only I knew what she wanted to hear, I’d say it.

“I don’t know.” With her head bent toward the brown wood surface of our table, she looked so lost. She lifted her head and met my gaze, her green eyes pleading. “Promise me you won’t say anything—to anyone. Even Nicholas.”

I grimaced. “You have my word.” This was the only right answer, but I didn’t think she understood how hard the task would be. “It’s only a matter of time before Jonathan will notice something is up. You won’t show for a while, but you can only feign a sore throat for so long before he questions your lack of smoking, and how long do you really think you can get away without drinking? Lent is over. Unless you tell him you’re on an antibiotic for a ‘cold.’” I used air quotes around the word cold. When Bridget beamed at me, I did a double take. Maybe she’d come to her senses and realized being pregnant was a great thing and not something to weep about, unless it was tears of joy. Cautiously, I asked, “Why are you smiling?”

“You’re a genius. I’ll tell Jonathan I went to the doctor and he put me on an antibiotic. It will buy me about two weeks and give me time to come up with a plan.”

I slid down my seat. “What kind of plan? You need to tell him the truth. The sooner the better.” I had no idea how I was going to keep this from Nicholas. He was going to ask how the shopping went and I’d have to lie. My first attempt to find a dress earned me a heaping bowl of ice cream. This one found me shoving assorted truffles in my piehole. By the time I did buy a dress, I’d be a size bigger, at least.

As if reading my mind, Bridget said, “I’m so sorry I messed up your day.” Her lips trembled dangerously.

Since I didn’t want to add to her worries, I shrugged it off. “No biggie.” My heart stopped. “You’ll be seventh months pregnant at the wedding. You’re going to need a new dress. A maternity one.” I told the girls they could wear whatever they wanted as long as it was a shade of dark purple. Even if I wanted them to wear the same dress, it was more likely Erin and Natalie would kill each other than ever agree on a style. All the dresses had been purchased since, unlike me, my bridal party was on the ball. Bridget would look stunning in a burlap bag, but she’d gushed over the one-shoulder pleated dress she’d picked out. I thought she might even make out with the whimsical bow across the left shoulder.

Bridget’s eyes opened wide. “My fat belly is going to ruin all your wedding photos. I’ll opt out of the party if you want. You can make Caroline your maid of honor.” She chewed on her lip and averted eye contact.

I groaned. “For the love of God, Bridget, I don’t care what you wear. If George has to drag you down the aisle by your chinny chin chin, you’ll stand at my side as my maid of honor. End of story.” George was Nicholas’s closest friend and his best man. His girlfriend, Sarah, was our caterer. Even though the Soho Grand had an in-house caterer, we wanted to support Sarah’s new business so we had it written into our contract. “And, besides, your belly won’t be fat; it will be pregnant. I need you.”

Bridget’s eyes welled up. “You’re my BFFAEUDDUP.” This was the acronym we’d devised as tweens. It translated to “Best Friends Forever and Ever Until Death Do Us Part.”

“And you’re mine. Now stop blubbering and eat your chocolate.” I brought up the notes app on my phone and added “tissues for Bridget” to my shopping list. If her hormones were already raging now, I’d be handing her a lot of Kleenex over the next nine months.