But I was frustrated too. My brow furrowed at that realization. And at the realization that those texts with Dex this morning, as innocuous as they were, had been the best part of my day. They’d been a glimpse at another life, and now they were gone, and my regular life faded back to gray. I felt the bars of that golden cage closing in on me. Again.

I had no one to blame but myself. Hadn’t I chosen this cage? Willingly walked into it and locked the door behind me? I didn’t know what it would take to finally break out of it.

But that wasn’t worth thinking about now. Not after a day like this. My parents needed me, so golden cage it was. At least for a while.

Nine

Now that Dex and I had added texting to our communications, our relationship had leveled up. Every notification was a hit of adrenaline to my system. Every ping on my phone felt like a kiss.

As winter melted into spring, I tried telling myself it was no big deal. The relationship was still just words on the screen, no matter the format. It didn’t get me a date on Friday nights, or someone to kiss on Valentine’s Day. So really, how much of an impact were these conversations having on my life?

Those more rational thoughts still didn’t stop me from clinging to my phone like a lifeline, my heart thrilling with every text notification. But it wasn’t a problem. I kept my phone on silent and in my purse while I was at work, because my job was boring enough and the temptation would be too great. Outside work, I was discreet. I didn’t check my phone too much, and hardly anyone noticed.

At least, that’s what I thought.

At the bridal shop, while April and I waited for Emily to try on another dress, I slid my phone out of my backpack, even though it was ten thirty in the morning and I’d already read the late-night email Dex had sent the night before. The nights were for emails—longer and more introspective, sometimes a little sexy—while the daytime was for quick text messages. He hadn’t texted yet today, and while he sometimes checked in with me between shows, the weekends were his busier time, so I usually didn’t hear from him until the evening. Nothing wrong with a quick peek, though, just to make sure . . .

“Okay, that’s it.” April plucked the phone out of my hand.

“Gimme that.” I reached for it, but she leaned back in her chair, stretching her arm as far away from me as possible.

“Nope. This is an intervention.”

I scowled and crossed my arms over my chest. “I don’t need an intervention. I need my phone back.” My hands already felt empty, as if I were missing a couple fingers. Tension twitched along the back of my neck. What if there was a text? What if he’d just sent me a text and it was on the screen right now, and I couldn’t see it? I wanted my phone back. I needed my phone back.

Huh. Maybe April had a point.

I huffed out a breath and adjusted the scarf around my ponytail. My hair had turned out weird today. I’d been nervous while I was getting ready, and every section I hit with the curling iron fell at the wrong angle. So I’d caught the whole thing back into a low pony and tied a filmy scarf around it, so it all looked like it had been done on purpose.

The nervous feeling had only increased when we got to the shop. Emily had picked out options, both for her and for us, and we were there to see the finalists for her wedding dress. The shop had hooked us up: we were settled in a private alcove in comfortable chairs, drinking fizzy water with lime slices while Emily fiddled around in the dressing room. Super relaxing. Except I felt like a bundle of live wires. Hence the crazy phone checking. Just knowing that Dex was out there thinking about me made me feel better. More centered.

But he wasn’t going to text me anytime soon. Saturdays were performance days, and I had more important things to think about anyway.

“Fine.” I opened my backpack and held it out to her. “Consider me reformed. No more phone, I promise.” April dropped my phone into my bag, and I cinched it shut.

“Is everything okay?” She peered at me with concern in her eyes.

“I don’t know.” I blew out a breath and looked toward the dressing room. “I haven’t felt good about any of these dresses that Em’s showing us, so I’m a little worried about . . .”

“No, I mean, is everything okay with you?” April tilted her head. “Just . . . you’re checking your phone a lot lately. I’ve noticed it at book club, and just now too. Even back on New Year’s Eve. Is something up? Something with your mom? I know she’s been sick . . .”

Maybe I hadn’t been as discreet as I thought. “No,” I said. “Mom’s fine. Everything’s fine. Just, you know, social media.” I waved a hand in what I hoped was an unconcerned gesture, pasting my bright smile back on my face. “Can’t stop checking my notifications. It’s a sickness.”

“Pfft. You kids and your Instagram.” She took a sip of her fizzy water and shot me a crooked smile and I relaxed, glad to be off the hook.

Just then, Emily came out in dress number three.

The first dress she’d showed us had made her look like a ballerina in a child’s jewelry box, and not in a good way. She’d been swallowed up by all the tulle, and the whole thing had been Too Much. The second dress had been the opposite extreme: sleek and fitted. It looked fantastic on her, but she didn’t look like a bride. She looked like someone on the way to an overly formal business meeting.

But dress number three, much like Goldilocks and Baby Bear’s chair, was Just Right.

I remembered that first day when Emily, April, and I had talked dresses. Passing Emily’s tablet back and forth over brunch, pulling up photos of ideas. The dress Emily wore now was the perfect amalgam of our thoughts that first mimosa-fueled morning. The top was halter style, fitted and embroidered with transparent sequins that caught the light perfectly. The skirt was made up of layers of tulle and lace, but she didn’t disappear into them the way she had in the first dress. This skirt poofed out just enough, falling in soft points around her legs, giving the appearance of a full-length dress without the weight of fabric or bulkiness that would normally come from so many layers. She looked perfect for an outdoor wedding at a Renaissance faire.

April obviously agreed with me. “Yes!” She surged out of her chair, still holding on to her glass of fizzy water. “Oh, yeah, kiddo. This is the one!” She paced a slow circle around her sister, and Emily’s eyebrows rose at me in a question while April was behind her.

“You think?” Her question was a response to April, but she directed the words toward me.

“Absolutely!” I said. “I love it. In fact, I’m pretty sure now that you were trolling us with those first two dresses.”

“Oh, yeah, Emily. Those other two were shit. Just shit.”

Emily barked out a laugh. “No, go ahead, April. Tell me what you really think.” She shot me a wide-eyed look, but I couldn’t back her up.

“Sorry, Em. But I agree with your sister on this one. This is obviously the winner. The other two were just awful.”

“Fine.” She threw up her hands and tried to look annoyed, but her wide smile gave her away. She ran her hands over the bodice of the dress, down to her waist, fluffing the tulle in the skirt. When she looked back up at me, her eyes were shot through with worry. “I really do like this. You think Simon will . . . ?”

“Simon’s gonna swallow his tongue when he sees you in this.” I nodded solemnly.

“For real,” April echoed.

Emily flushed pink, and when her smile turned slightly wicked, I knew she was already thinking ahead to her wedding day. Maybe even the wedding night. Nope. I wasn’t going there.

She twirled for us one more time, then went back into the dressing room, emerging a few minutes later in her jeans and T-shirt. Fashion show was over, apparently.

“Next!” She clapped her hands together while, behind her, our assigned shop attendant cleared the dressing room of rejected wedding gowns. “April, your dress is in there. The green. Stacey, you’re after April.”

I kept a smile on my face while my anxiety spiked. This was exactly what I was nervous about. I wasn’t terribly self-conscious about my body. It was mine and it was healthy, even if it was a little rounder than the glossy women’s magazines said it should be. I knew how to dress myself, and I knew what looked good on me.

But that didn’t mean Emily knew. She was tiny. She was thin. In her wedding dress, once we put a crown of flowers on her head, she would look like a fairy princess. Her sister was built much the same, so Emily wouldn’t have any problem finding something that would work on her. But on my completely different body type? This could be a disaster. Sure, I’d given her input on dress ideas—our shared Pinterest board was impressive. But I hadn’t seen any of her real choices before today. Those first two wedding gowns had been garbage, so I didn’t trust her taste anymore. What was she making us wear?

Sure enough, a few minutes later April came out of the dressing room looking like a model. Well, a model who was a foot too short to actually walk a runway, with no shoes on, and still wearing the baseball cap she’d worn to the shop.

“Seriously?” Emily plucked the hat from her sister’s head, and April snatched it back.