He said, "Let me take a few opening photos with Marie first. It won't take long."
I looked at the dress on Marie James.
The crabapple embroidery at the collar—I had chosen it myself.
That dress was my toasting gown.
My voice went tight.
"Where did the clothes she's wearing come from?"
Irvin paused.
"That toasting gown of yours—I lent it to her for a while. You lent her my wedding outfit so she could take photos?"
"It was only taken in a little. We'll let it back out after."
Taken in. I stood where I was, and the cold crept through me inch by inch.
I'd tried seven shops before I settled on that dress.
I had no mother to help me pick out a wedding gown, no family to fill the room on my behalf, so I treasured it all the more.
It was the dignity I'd given myself.
And now Marie was wearing it, standing in front of the camera.
Irvin said, "Clothes are dead, favors are alive. Marie's opening photos can't go wrong today."
I let out a small laugh. That line again.
The rules are dead, the clothes are dead, and only my grievance is something I deserve.
Marie came over, her face full of apology.
"Kayla, don't blame Irvin. I told him I couldn't find anything suitable on short notice, and that's when he thought of you."
She touched the crabapple at the collar.
"Though the photographer did say this dress really suits me."
Irvin cut her off quietly. "Marie."
She fell silent, but the smugness in her eyes didn't quite hide.
I asked Irvin, "Did I agree to this?"
He said, "You wouldn't refuse."
I went still. So in his eyes, refusing wasn't even a possibility for me.
The photographer called out, "Miss James, let's do this set by the door first."
Marie looked at Irvin. "Should I go over, then?"
Irvin nodded. He waited until she was far enough away, then lowered his voice. "Don't embarrass her in front of everyone."
I asked, "And me?"
"What?"
"My fiancé gave my wedding dress to another woman to wear. Where does that leave me?"
He was quiet for a moment.
"No one knows it's yours."
That was worse than being cursed at. No one knows, so I can be sacrificed whenever it's convenient.
I turned and went to the bridal shop. The clerk saw me and looked a little awkward.
The clerk said, "Mr. Weiss says the wedding might have to be downsized."
I asked, "Why?"
"He said the bride's side has few family members, and an elaborate ceremony would just feel empty."
The bride's side has few family members. That meant me.
My father died young, my mother rarely contacted me after she remarried, and the only person who ever loved me, my grandmother, was in a nursing home in the small county town.
I was afraid the Weisses would think I had no family behind me, so I asked for no bride price, no procession, no three pieces of gold jewelry.
I thought that was me being considerate. It turned out to be their excuse to trim me down.
My phone chimed. Marie had sent a photo.
She stood in my toasting gown in front of the tearoom.
Irvin was steadying the frog buttons at her waist for her, his touch very gentle.
The caption read: "Kayla, you have such good taste. Lending me the dress to start things off well—don't be upset, okay?"
I looked at the photo, then looked at the hand cream in my bag.
He remembered that my hands crack. But he also remembered that Marie was short one good dress for her opening.
What he gave me was a few dollars' worth of comfort.
What he gave her was my dignity at my own wedding.
I dropped the hand cream into the trash.
Back at the Weiss house, Phyllis was sitting on the sofa, flipping through an almanac.
"The wedding gets pushed back three months."
I stood in the doorway.
"Why?"
"Marie's tearoom just opened. Irvin needs to help her more. There's no rush for the two of you."
Agatha rolled her eyes.
"Besides, after the scene you made yesterday, getting married now would just be bad luck."
