I gave my name at the reception desk and waited for my name to be called. All around me, brides and their excited entourages were flipping through magazines and comparing photos from their iPhones. One of the consultants stepped into the waiting area and called out my name. I jumped up to meet her.
“I’m Christine, I’ll bring you downstairs to meet with Regan,” she said in a somewhat hushed tone.
While the salon offered the services of a Wedding Unwinder, it was clear they weren’t looking to advertise the function too loudly, especially in front of blissfully happy brides about to drop thousands of dollars on their dream dress. I nodded and followed Christine down to the small office on the lower level of the shop with tranquil sky-blue walls and a deep-seated light grey velvet couch. Enya’s Only Time was still humming out of the ceiling speaker, and I had to wonder how many other never-to-be brides had sat in this same spot since I was last here a little over six weeks ago.
A few minutes later Regan appeared, the same loose bun, simple white button-down shirt, classic strand of pearls, slim trousers, and tasteful kitten heels. “Joanna,” she gushed. “Wonderful to see you again.” She gave me a welcoming kiss on each cheek before offering me a cup of tea.
I waved my hand. “No, thank you.”
“I hope you don’t mind if I pour myself some? It’s been one of those mornings. So, tell me, how was Topsail and the Boot Camp? I’m so pleased you decided to go.”
“It was wonderful, exactly how you described it.”
“How amazing is that property? The surfing? The yoga? The chef?”
My head shot up. “The chef?”
“I never ate so well in my life. Did you know he used to be the chef at Ma Belle Ferme, the famous LA eatery?”
“Yeah, I think I heard that.”
“Seems a shame more people don’t get to experience his cooking now that the restaurant’s closed, but it’s certainly a draw for the Retreat House that he stays on. Anyway, more importantly, how are you feeling these days?”
“A lot better than the last time I was here.”
She smiled warmly. “I’m so glad. So, I assume you’re back because you’ve come to a decision about the wedding dress?”
“I have.”
Regan stood up to retrieve the manila folder holding all the dress receipts and details. “Let’s see here,” she said flipping through the paperwork, “you purchased a Georgica Goldstein blush organza gown with full tulle skirt, antique silver beading embellishments, cap sleeves, fitted bodice and open back.”
“That’s right,” I said, confirming her statement.
She pulled the garment bag with the dress out of the room’s closet and hung it on a clothing rack. “It was a sample gown, and you received our trunk show discount so in total you paid $18,500 not counting the alterations.”
The number sounded insane to me now. It was practically all the money I had in my savings yet somehow, I justified the cost in my mad pursuit of the perfect wedding.
“As you may recall you have two options. Option One, you take the dress home today. Option Two, we resell the dress as a sample,” Regan recounted.
I walked over and unzipped the garment bag. No question, it was a beautiful gown any woman would feel special in, but I knew it in my bones, the same way Merritt had, that wasn’t my dress. That dress belonged to different bride.
“I’d like to sell the gown,” I said.
Regan made a checkmark on her sheet. “Wonderful. To be honest, Georgica Goldstein’s are in very high demand and the waitlist for them is long. I have a feeling this one will go fast and probably for what you paid which was no small chunk of change. Enough to fund a few nice handbags at least,” she teased.
“I just quit my job, so let’s hope it can cover a bit more than that.”
“You just quit your job? Wow, that’s a big decision.” Regan handed me the manila folder. “You’ll want to take this to the office adjacent to the reception desk. They’ll make sure we have the right contact info and square away the contract for the resale of the gown.”
“Thank you for all your help, Regan. Really.”
“It’s my job and very fortunately, I love it. I hope you feel the same about whatever you’ve decided to do next.”
I took the folder and got halfway upstairs before I remembered Regan didn’t say anything about the veil. I hurried back to find her.
“Regan, was there a veil that was left along with the dress?” I asked.
She opened up the closet and popped up on her toes. “Let me check, they usually place the accessories up here. Oh, I see it,” she said pulling down a bag with my name scrawled across the front. “Sorry I missed it before. May I take look?”
“Of course.”
Regan opened the bag and pulled out the white scalloped lace veil with satin edging. “That’s beautiful. I assume you’d want the salon to sell the veil as well?”
“No, not the veil. The veil belonged to my mother and when and if I ever get married, I want a piece of her with me.”