“Please, India,” she’d said, “I’ve always wanted you to be in my wedding. I can’t imagine getting married without you there.”
I tried to say something, but she didn’t give me a chance. “Don’t you remember how we said we would plan each other’s weddings? How you promised to wear gloves at my wedding, and I promised to wear a black dress at yours even though I thought it was morbid?”
“I—”
“What about the time I agreed to that save-the-mourning-doves rally with your family just so I could keep that creepy Brad Coldecker away from you.”
I’d forgotten Brad Coldecker. He’d been a college student and a member of one of the environmental groups that my parents ran. I didn’t remember which group it had been. There’d been so many. Brad Coldecker was convinced that by flirting with me, he would get closer with my parents. Apparently, the fact that I was thirteen at the time made little difference.
“You don’t have to do a thing. All you need to do is show up and be there. I need you there.”
Then, I’d heard myself say “yes,” and, before I knew it, I’d been giving her my dress measurements and my address for the invitation.
It wasn’t until later that my chest tightened and the reality of what I’d just agreed to sunk in. That’s when I forgot Brad Coldecker again and remembered Mark.
I told myself that it would be fine, and that I was there in Olivia’s old bedroom for the finality of it, because I wanted to witness the end of my brother’s obsession. Surely, even Mark would have to let her go when she was married. Or maybe I was just there because I couldn’t say no to Olivia when it was her turn to ask, especially after saying yes to the third cousin twice removed. As this was the sixth wedding I would endure, it has been established that I wasn’t particularly good at saying no.
I reluctantly thought of Mark. Last time, he’d comforted himself with the black-and-white world of mathematics and dedicated the same obsessive energy he had in pursuing Olivia to solving story problems I had no way of deciphering. I hoped that he would be able to do that again. I also knew when my parents found out, there would be heck to pay because they couldn’t forget that Olivia was the catalyst that had caused Mark to fall apart.
I shook the melancholy thoughts from my head. If I didn’t want Olivia to bop upstairs and offer to help me dress, I’d better get moving.
I gave a long and heartfelt sigh. “I can burn it after the wedding.”
That cheered me a tad. I had had a nice bonfire after the third cousin twice removed’s wedding and could look forward to another one.
I unzipped the garment bag in a dramatic flourish and suffered paralyzing blindness. I wasn’t blinded by a chemical discharge or random laser or anything that friendly, but by the dress itself—a bright squint-worthy gold. Rumplestiltskin gold. I yanked the dress from the bag in hopes that the brilliant gold was a layer of psychedelic tissue paper. No such luck. I pushed the empty garment bag onto the floor and spread the dress out on the bed for a better look at my fate. The design of the dress was relatively simple. It had a floor-length full skirt with a sleeveless off-the-shoulder top. I could not overcome the color. The shimmering gold fabric attracted light like a bike reflector. I hoped that the wedding invitations recommended guests bring sunglasses and SPF forty-five. I doubted they’d ever need them more. By that time, I had been in Olivia’s room a full fifteen minutes without a peep. I knew that at any second, she’d be tapping on the door asking if I needed any help, or, worse, her mother would.
I stripped and tugged on the dress. It zipped up, but it was remarkably tight, highlighting every imperfection my figure had to offer. I stood in front of the mirror in Olivia’s childhood bedroom and felt the sudden and uncontrollable urge to burst into tears. The dress was hideous in every conceivable way: cut, color, and style. I giggled, somewhat manically, I’m afraid. I doubled over, and something popped in the back of the gown. Apparently, my stock bridesmaid dress measurements had changed since the third cousin twice removed’s ceremony.
A friendly tap-tap rapped at the door. “India, do you need any help?” Topaz asked.
I calmed down enough to say, “I think the dress is broken.”
“Let me in, honey, I’ll fix it.”
I cracked open the door, hiding behind it for cover, and allowed Topaz to slip in the room. I slammed it shut before anyone else could eel in.
“Shoot, girl, you almost took off my foot.”
“Sorry.”
“That’s all right—” Topaz stopped when she saw me in the dress. I’m sure I was not what she’d envisioned when she’d created the gown. “Girl.”
That was about all I could get out of her for the next twenty minutes as she circled around me, pulling, pinning, and ripping seams.
Every few minutes, Olivia called, “Is everything okay in there? Is there anything I can do? Can I come in?”
Each time, in unison, Topaz and I yelled, “No.”
“Well, honey, the dress will fit, but I don’t know—there’s nothing I can do about the color,” Topaz finally said.
I shrugged in defeat.
“You’re definitely a winter, honey. Winters should never wear gold.”
She left me to change back into my capris and tank top. When Topaz and I walked downstairs, the whole party greeted us with a collective groan.
“Where’s the dress?” Olivia asked.
“There was something wrong with the zipper. Bree, would you like to try your dress on next?” she asked before Olivia or Mrs. Blocken could make further comment.
I mouthed thank you to her.
Ten short minutes later, Bree floated down the stairs in an exact replica, be it a smaller one, of the bridesmaid dress of my nightmares. On Bree the gown was stunning. Her tanned skin and the shimmering fabric fit together perfectly. Appreciative murmurs swept the room. Bobby’s expression was comically enraptured.
Mrs. Blocken glided over to Bree’s side and circled her several times. “Perfect, perfect.” Olivia joined her. “I told you this color would be perfect, Olivia. The ladies will be like golden stars adorning you,” Mrs. Blocken said.
From my seat on the floral printed sofa, I gagged. O.M. straddled the threshold of the open French doors that led into the backyard. Her face encompassed all the horror I felt. It gave me small comfort.
“Olga,” her mother called. “Try on your gown.”
O.M. backed outside onto the patio.
Mrs. Blocken looked up in disgust. “Olga, now.”
O.M. shook her head.
Mrs. Blocken marched over to her daughter. “Young lady, you will do as you’re told.”
The doorbell rang, playing Für Elise. Happy for an excuse to exit the room, I offered to answer it. To my dismay, I opened the door to my brother’s eager face. His blond hair was sticking up in all directions, his beard was unruly and in desperate need of combing, and his T-shirt hung crookedly on his thin shoulders—sure signs that he’d been up at ungodly hours with mathematical equations, theorems, and other things I hoped never to understand. Mark looked just as startled to see me as I was to see him.
“India?” He adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose. “What are you doing here?”
“Mark, this isn’t a good time. I’ll talk to you later.” I started to close the door.
He began nodding, then, “Hey, I didn’t come here to see you. I have to speak to Olivia. It’s urgent.”
“Not now. I’ll tell her you’d like to talk her. Now, please leave.”
The conversation from the living room moved closer.
“India, who’s at the door?” Olivia called.
Hearing her voice, he barreled past me, ramming the brass doorknob into my hip. I swore under my breath.
“Olivia, I have to talk to you.”
She froze. Her sunny party expression vanished.