You accept the whole package, right?
When she got engaged, I was genuinely happy for her. I knew she’d been planning her wedding in her head since we were 20, and I wanted to see it finally happen.
I assumed I’d be part of it—help with planning, maybe stand up there with her, at least sit in the crowd and cry like everyone else.
A couple of weeks after she got engaged, Sophie came over, eyes sparkling like she’d had three energy drinks. She dropped onto my couch, pulled out her phone, and shoved it in my face.
“Claire, look,” she said.
“This is the dress I want.”
On her screen was a gown that looked like it had crawled out of a couture magazine—ivory silk, fitted bodice, delicate lace, dramatic train.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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