“I’m not wearing it in the wedding, calm down.” She stuffed her hair back inside her hat, threading it through the back, then smoothed her hands down the dress. “This works. I mean, we have to take it in, but they’ll do that, right?”

Take it in. I’d never had that problem. I tried not to roll my eyes while I surveyed April’s dress. Then I pursed my lips and turned to Emily. “You were trolling us with those first two dresses. I knew it.” April’s dress was a riff on Emily’s gown: simpler lines and in pastel green, but the same lacy handkerchief hem, this time with a sleeveless, high-necked bodice that called attention to April’s well-toned arms.

Emily grinned. “Okay, maybe a little. But I wanted to be sure, you know?” She nudged me. “Your dress is in there too. The pink. Go try it on; I can’t wait to see.”

I didn’t want to. April’s dress looked perfect on her, but if I wore it I’d look like a sausage in a too-small casing. My boobs would distort the lace, and the high-neck sleeveless cut would make my very not-toned arms look like Christmas hams. But I trudged into the dressing room anyway, because that was what you did for best friends. You wore awful dresses and your biggest smile while they got married.

Inside the dress was waiting for me. A perfect soft pink, but I couldn’t tell much about the shape of it from how it draped off the hanger. I stepped into the dress and pulled it up over my hips. It cleared them, and I blew out a sigh of relief. One hurdle down. One to go: getting it zipped up.

As I stuck my arms through the sleeve holes, I realized there was far too much fabric for this to be a high-necked dress like April’s, or a halter-top like Emily’s. I got the dress settled on my shoulders and reached behind me for the zipper. It went up a little more than halfway but stopped under my shoulder blades. No amount of jumping around the dressing room and stretching my arms behind me would get it to go up the rest of the way. Finally I gave up and turned back to the full-length mirror.

I looked amazing. Well, there was still the issue of the dress not zipping up all the way, so it distorted the way the neckline fell, but otherwise it looked like it was made for me. The draped neck was both revealing and modest all at once, and the dress was topped off with fluttery cap sleeves. The pale pink was the perfect shade: warm against my skin, it made me look brighter somehow, the way a good blush brings dimension to your cheeks. My dress was different from the others, but it looked the same too: all three dresses had the coordinating handkerchief hem. Modern dresses with almost period detail. Appropriate.

I was in love with this dress. If only it fit. My emotions were all over the place as I joined the other two outside, where Emily and April both proceeded to coo over my dress.

“But it doesn’t fit.” I turned around to show them how it was only zipped halfway up.

“You just can’t reach it. Here . . .” April stepped up behind me to try the zipper, but it only went up another inch or two. Embarrassment rushed through me in a hot wave, and my insides clenched in a full-body cringe. I opened my mouth to apologize, but Emily dismissed it with an impatient wave.

“Bridal dress sizes are bullshit. We’ll order it bigger and have them take it in at the waist.”

“Exactly,” April said. “They’re gonna have to alter mine too, so it’s no big deal.”

My cringe eased at not only her words, but her nonchalant attitude about it. Like fog disappearing when the sun came out, my discomfort dissolved. They were right. Dresses got altered all the time. There was no shame in ordering a few sizes up and making it fit. I was so used to the inconvenience of being plus-sized that apologizing for it was second nature. But like April said, it wasn’t a big deal. I’d been the one building it up inside my head, and that was all on me.

I turned back to the mirror and looked at the three of us. Emily back in her civilian clothes, April in her bridesmaid dress and baseball cap, and me in my dress that barely held me in. But I put those things aside and saw how April and I coordinated. I pictured Emily’s dress in the mix. The three of us outdoors, in the woods at twilight. We’d look like a maypole. We’d look like summertime. It was going to be a gorgeous wedding.

* * *

  • • •

I was practiced in the art of the mirror selfie. And “art” was absolutely the word to describe it. There was a specific technique to holding the phone, so you both got yourself completely in-frame and didn’t block anything important. Don’t look at the phone with a furrowed brow or a did-I-get-the-shot expression. Look relaxed, smile confidently into the mirror, and just delete and try again if the shot didn’t work out. I’d deleted a lot of shots when I’d first started taking pics. But now, jokes about my Instagram addiction aside, it had made me really good at the mirror selfie.

So, back in the dressing room, before I took off the bridesmaid’s dress I snapped a couple pics, and when I got home I contemplated putting them up on Instagram. I hadn’t posted a selfie in a while, and maybe the people who followed my feed would like a break from pictures of my cat. But would it spoil the surprise? What if Simon happened upon the photo? He’d have a clue to what Emily would look like, and that wouldn’t be good at all. No, I should keep the selfie off social media.

But what was the point of taking a selfie if you didn’t share it with anyone? Besides, there was only one person whose reaction I was after. I pulled up my text chain with Dex and sent him the pic.

I saw his response a half hour later, after I put together a salad for dinner. Very nice. New work outfit?

Ha, I wrote back, though I blinked back disappointment as I did so. I wanted him to lose his mind when he saw me in that dress, the way I pictured Simon would when he saw Emily. Bridesmaid dress for this summer.

Are you sure you wanna wear that?

The bottom dropped out of my stomach. I scrolled back up to look at the picture again. I’d made an effort to arrange the neck so the draped fabric fell perfectly, the way it would when it fit and I could zip it up all the way. I loved that dress. I looked nice in it. Or I would, once it fit. What’s wrong with it?

Seems rude, outshining the bride. That’s all.

Oh, he was good.

Before I could respond, he sent another text. This must be the year for weddings. My old college roommate is getting married in June. Not too long before we head back in your direction.

Then you’ll be going to two weddings this summer, I replied. If you want to, that is. This one’s happening at Faire.

Oh, I want to. You think I’d miss seeing you looking like that in person?

A grin crawled up my face, and I pressed one hand to my cheek, which had gotten awfully warm.

He texted again. You don’t know what I’d give for the chance to dance with you in that dress.

My grin dipped a little. It was a nice sentiment, but it seemed so . . . pessimistic. As though he thought the chance of actually getting that dance was unlikely. You think I’d turn you down? You have to know I’m a pretty sure thing here.

He took a long time to reply. Longer than he really should have. LOL of course.

He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t ask him to. Something about his “LOL” rang false. I couldn’t explain how I understood that via text, but I did. Dex had never been an LOL kind of guy, so to use it now felt like a brush-off.

I’d always known, of course, that when Faire rolled around and we saw each other face-to-face and in the flesh again, things might change a little. We knew each other so much better than we had last summer, but we hadn’t talked. Hadn’t touched. We would have to reconcile all the things we’d said via email and text with seeing each other in the flesh. Would all this flirting translate into a real relationship once he came back to town? Or would the sensitive, intellectual Dex I’d gotten to know over the past few months be subsumed by the swaggering hottie I’d hooked up with the two previous summers? Even after all this time, it was hard to believe that they were the same man.

My finger hovered over his number, and not for the first time I thought about calling him. It would be so simple. One tap, and I could hear his voice. But I didn’t. I’d never taken that step, and neither had he. We were keeping that final bit of distance between us, no matter how intimate our conversations.

So I clicked my phone off without calling him. Summer was almost here. Almost time for Faire sign-ups, and for the cast of the Willow Creek Renaissance Faire to be assembled once again. Before I knew it, it would be July. Faire would open, and Emily and Simon would get married.

And I’d see Dex again. For better or for worse.

Ten

My phone dinged with a text one Tuesday night in April while I was unloading the dishwasher, and I dove for it with embarrassing eagerness. I was disappointed to see that the text was from Simon Graham and not from Dex, and then I was disappointed in myself for being disappointed.

Sign-ups for Faire are Saturday at 10. Can I count on you to help out as usual?

Of course, I texted back immediately. Wouldn’t miss it!

Thank you. You’re great at recruiting the adults.

I know. I couldn’t hide my smirk as I tapped out my reply. I got Emily on board a couple years ago, after all. I’d been the one to shove a clipboard in her hands and gently break it to her that if her niece Caitlin wanted to be in the cast, then Emily had to be too. The rule was barely enforced, but to my surprise Emily hadn’t dropped out, as most well-meaning parents did. She’d been dedicated, and after some initial clashes of personality with Simon, she’d become pretty dedicated to him too.