“She said it wasn’t good and she practically forced me out of it and then put this big puffy thing on me that she said would hide my problem areas and I started to cry.” God help the bridal salon worker who says something like that in front of me, I thought. Yes, Sharon’s mom was even harder on her about her weight than mine was, but I couldn’t imagine Mrs. Meyer tolerating someone else bringing up her daughter’s “problem areas.”
“What did your mom say?”
“They wouldn’t let her in the room with me. So I just came out and said I wanted to go home.”
“That doesn’t make any sense though. Why would she take a dress away from you? She works on commission!”
“Because she’s mean.”
“What store was it?”
Sharon named a Potomac boutique that I had passed before. I fished my laptop out of my bag and opened it. “Do you remember what the dress looked like?”
“It was white.”
“Gonna need a little more info than that.”
“It was satin with lace over the top part. And it was kinda A-line, but like, not a lot.”
I pulled up the boutique’s website, but didn’t see a way to narrow that down. “Do you remember the brand?”
“Maggie something.”
I googled “Maggie wedding dresses.”
“Sottero? Does that sound right?”
“I think so,” Sharon said.
I clicked on a few dresses. But after shopping with Caryn, something immediately caught my eye. “Uh, can I ask a stupid question? Did your mom tell the saleslady how much she was willing to spend on a dress?”
“They made us fill out a form with our upper limit on it.”
“And did your mom give some ridiculous number?”
Sharon paused. “I don’t know if it’s ridiculous or not.”
“So yes, then?”
“Why?”
“Because this brand is way cheaper than most in the store. That’s probably why she didn’t want you to get it.”
Sharon was quiet for a minute. “Are you serious?”
“Yup,” I said. “But hang on, I’m sending you a link. Was it this one?”
She put me on speaker to look at the dress. “No. I didn’t see that one.”
I tried again. “This one?”
“No.”
“One more.”
“That’s it! But the saleslady said it wasn’t good on me.”
“How did you feel in it?”
She sighed. “Beautiful.”
I typed the model name into Google, went to the designer’s website, then clicked the where-to-buy link. “A store in Baltimore has it,” I said, and gave her the name. “Go try it on there. If you still love it, get it. And if anyone says it’s not good when you think it is, kick them.”
Sharon hesitated again. “I don’t want to go to a store again. They literally come in with you and make you take your bra off.”
“I feel like you should at least get Mardi Gras beads if you have to show your boobs to someone random. Can we start a bridal shop where we give the brides beads for every dress they try on?” She finally laughed. “Do you want me to call and make you an appointment? I can come too, if you want.”
“Would you?” she asked. “I didn’t want to ask with how much you have going on.”
“I’d love to.”
“Thanks.”
I smiled. I was a rock star when it came to this whole bridesmaid thing.
I hadn’t seen Sharon’s mother in nearly ten years. Partially because there was no reason to, but more by choice. Sharon and I met freshman year of college and decided to room together sophomore year. A decision that we repeated for junior and senior years as well, when we had an apartment off campus, despite her mother.
Not that her mother disapproved of me. Quite the contrary, back then at least. She heavily encouraged Sharon to spend more time with me because I was such a “good girl,” which we both laughed about behind her back. I was a terrible influence on Sharon, who had never had more than a sip or two of beer before she met me. That changed quickly.
My first time experiencing the full force of Mrs. Meyer, however, was move-in day sophomore year, when she steamrolled into our dorm room and ordered us to rearrange the furniture to her liking. “Is she for real?” I mouthed to Sharon behind her mother’s back. Sharon just shook her head at me to prevent me from saying anything, her eyes wide. I had never seen anything like this. Sharon, who had just as much of a mind of her own as I did when it was the two of us, turned into this meek little mouse as soon as her mother stepped into a room. It was like Sharon was a balloon and her mother was letting the air out.