“Oh.” I clicked over to my inbox to see thirty-eight new messages. Jesus. “Sorry. I was doing the Lewis-Fielding release.”
“That can wait,” she said, waving a manicured hand. “Can you go dress shopping on Saturday?”
I pulled out my planner. Becca’s birthday was that night and Amy wanted me to go bridesmaid dress shopping with her that Sunday. “As long as it’s not too late, yes.”
“We’ll do early afternoon. I’m going to a barre fitness class in the morning with Caroline and Mia. Caroline swears it’s why her arms look so good.” I glanced at Caryn’s arms and raised an eyebrow, which she ignored.
“Okay. Are you serious that you want us in nice dresses? I thought half the fun of bridesmaids was forcing us into something ugly.”
“Why would I want you ruining my pictures?”
“So no huge eighties-style puffed sleeves and butt bows?”
She laughed. “Can you picture my friends dressed like that?” I tried to imagine Caroline with permed hair and fried bangs. It was a satisfying idea.
“No. But it’d be funny.”
“I’m thinking pale purple. Everyone looks good in purple. And something simple and strapless and elegant. You know—something you’d totally wear again.”
I tried to remember the last time I wore an elegant gown to something other than a wedding, where recycled bridesmaid dresses were beyond obvious, and the best answer I could come up with was my high school prom, fourteen years earlier. And purple? Did I even own anything purple? Granted, black was the primary color of my wardrobe, but still.
“Saturday it is.”
“Great! Can you reply that in an email so everyone knows you’re in? And bring a good strapless bra so we can see what the dresses will actually look like!”
I looked down at my chest and back up at Caryn’s. A good strapless bra probably existed for her—but when you’re a D-cup, “good strapless bra” becomes an oxymoron. “Um . . . I’ll try.”
I hopped off the Metro a stop early on my way home, determined to find a bra that got the job done. Either Bloomingdales or Lord and Taylor had to have a contraption that would hold my boobs up adequately for a wedding. I checked my bank account from the escalator at the station. This was definitely a wedding expense, as I would probably need a high-quality strapless bra for more than one of the weddings, but it was going to have to go on my credit card to be worried about later.
Two stores, eleven bras, and one saleslady who had to be forcibly removed from my dressing room after trying to adjust my breasts herself later, I had one that seemed to stay in place well enough to dance without creating the dreaded quad boob or cutting off my circulation to the point where I would suffer the loss of any vital organs. It cost a gut-wrenching ninety-eight dollars before tax and looked like it was part of a Victorian asylum restraining device rather than the pretty, lacy underthings that the girls who were less blessed in the chest were able to buy, but it would serve.
I walked back toward the Metro station. If it were warmer out, I would have walked the mile and a half home, but there was a chill in the air and the sun was setting earlier and earlier, making that option less desirable. Plus I was still in my work shoes. My phone vibrated to tell me I had a text and I looked down at it, narrowly avoiding a collision with someone exiting the Metro station while also looking at his phone.
“Lily?”
I looked up. Alex again. “What are you doing here?”
“Going home. I live two blocks that way. What are you doing here?”
“I had to grab something at Bloomingdales. I live in Bethesda.”
“We’re practically neighbors.”
“A Metro stop apart. Us and probably fifty thousand other people in the same radius.”
He smiled. “A cynic in five weddings. How’s that working out?”
I grimaced and gestured toward my bag. “I just spent a hundred bucks on a strapless bra to go bridesmaid dress shopping this weekend. I think that’s a pretty apt metaphor for my life right now.”
“Bras cost a hundred dollars? A pack of boxers costs like ten bucks for three pairs.”
“There’s a tax on being female, didn’t you know that?”
“Is it nice at least?” he asked, trying to peek in the bag.
I swatted his hand away. “You have to at least buy me dinner to get a look at my underwear.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I braced myself for the dinner invitation, but he just laughed. “I’ll catch you around, Lily.”