I climb the two steps that lead to the platform and smooth the chiffon skirt before I take in my reflection.
For some reason, I’ve never pictured my wedding. Never imagined what it might look like to get married. Not the dress I would wear, much less the guy waiting at the end of the aisle. Right now, I can picture the dress. It’s this one—floor-length, A-line, lace detailing, ruffled hem.
And if I’m being honest with myself, I can picture the guy too.
I can also see Ellie gnawing on her bottom lip in the corner of the reflection.
“It’s a beautiful dress, Meredith.”
“It looks so good on you!” she replies, clasping her hands together in front of her chest.
I smile at her, allowing one final lingering look at my reflection before stepping down and heading back behind the curtain.
After I’ve changed back into my jeans and hoodie, Ellie tries on two more dresses. By the time we leave Meredith’s store, it’s nearly one p.m. My stomach growls as I pause on the bustling sidewalk to tuck the piece of paper Meredith wrote her email address on into a pocket of my oversize tote bag.
“So…lunch?” I suggest.
That was our original plan, but Ellie has been mostly silent since I tried on the wedding dress in the midst of her fashion show. I know she thinks I steal the spotlight from her, and that was just another example. The reality is, I’ve never tried to, and the irony is, she felt that way long before I ever had an actual spotlight trained on me. If not for Meredith’s doe eyes, I would have kept drinking champagne and hiding yawns. Our interactions already tend to be awkward and strained. This one already feels that way, and I haven’t even mentioned Teddy’s name yet.
“Yeah. Sure.”
“I have a car here?” I say the statement like a question even though I know I do.
“We should probably take it instead of the tube. Don’t want to get mobbed.” She says it a little sarcastically.
“Right,” I agree sincerely.
“Where’s your car?”
“Uh…” I try to recall where Greg said he was going to park and wait.
“I’m surprised you don’t have your own driver.”
I pull out my phone. The first notification on the screen is from my dad, just a series of ten numbers. No one would ever describe David Everett as an oversharer. I ignore the way my stomach swoops, then sinks and move on to the next message—from Greg, telling me to let him know when I’m ready to leave. I reply, letting him know I am, then put my phone away.
“I do. He’s on his way.”
Ellie laughs and shakes her head. “Of course you do.”
Greg appears a couple of minutes later, smoothly pulling over to the curb and jumping out to open the back door for us. “Sorry for the delay, Miss Everett.”
“No problem at all,” I reply.
Ellie climbs into the backseat first, and I follow. The SUV is chilly and quiet after the hectic street, that new-car scent swirling in the cooled air as the vents blast in an attempt to combat the heat outside.
“Where to, Miss Everett?” Greg asks me as he climbs back into the driver’s seat.
I automatically look to the left before remembering the different seating configuration in Britain.
“Back to the hotel?”
“No, we’re getting lunch first.” I glance at Ellie. “Any suggestions? You’re the local.”
Ellie lifts a hand and smooths her hair before answering, “Uh, there’s a great dumpling place in Chinatown—Bao Bao.”
I’m surprised by the suggestion. Ellie tends to prefer eating at establishments with white tablecloths and multiple forks.
“That sounds great. Did you hear that, Greg?”