Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“Oh my goodness! Oh Dex, that’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you!” My throat grew tight, and my eyes blurred with tears.
“Thanks. So listen, I had the girls help me pick out some possible rings, but I could really use a grown-up’s opinion, preferably someone who knows Winnie like you do.”
“I’d be happy to help,” I said, even more excited. “What works best?”
“Would it be possible for you to meet me at the jeweler’s tomorrow? It’s my day off, so any time works.”
“Of course. I’m off on Mondays too, so why don’t we say eleven? Just text me the name of the store and I’ll be there.”
“Great. Thanks, Millie. And if Felicity wants to come too, that’s okay with me. I just didn’t have her number.”
“I’ll let her know, and don’t worry—she can keep a secret too.”
“I appreciate it. It’s hard enough to make sure the girls don’t let it slip.”
I smiled. “They must be so excited.”
“They are. They’ve been begging me to marry Winnie since practically the day we moved in next door to her.”
“That was quite a day,” I teased, recalling the story Winnie had told later that evening—the steam from her shower had set off the smoke detector in her bedroom. She was standing on a suitcase in her birthday suit attempting to disconnect it when Dex burst in, worried that there was an actual emergency, his daughters right behind him. “I’m sure they’ll never forget it.”
“I won’t either.” He laughed. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Bye, Dex.” I ended the call and leaned back, the smile still lingering on my lips. Winnie was going to be so happy. I wondered when they’d get married, if Win would choose Cloverleigh Farms where she’d grown up, or Abelard Vineyards where she worked, or somewhere totally different.
I glanced at my laptop on the coffee table, still open to the website of a shop in Maryland that boasted sample sizes up to 32W and gowns to fit almost any budget. Testimonials from happy brides were moving tributes to the owner and staff, who made full-figured women feel welcome and beautiful, women who’d been “laughed at” in other salons when they requested a size 16 dress.
And those stories were not unique—I came across many such personal narratives, reviews and blog posts and quotes full of praise for shops that treated plus-sized brides like queens after they’d been disappointed and stressed out by traditional salons that made them feel unwelcome and unworthy.
There were photos of gorgeous, curvy brides on their wedding days glowing with happiness, stunning in their gowns. Brides of all skin colors and body types. Brides with pink hair, blue hair, rainbow hair. Brides wearing their glasses, showing off their tattoos, lifting their dresses to reveal sneakers or cowboy boots or bare feet on the sand. Brides marrying other brides, also dressed in beautiful gowns—or sometimes dressed in suits. Grooms who gazed at the women they’d just married with looks of pure joy and thrilling disbelief, as if they couldn’t believe their good fortune.
More than once, I’d teared up scanning the pictures and reading about their experiences, which often included details about how far they’d traveled just to have the kind of luxurious, personalized service they’d dreamed of since they were small.
There was only one such shop in Michigan, and it was down near Detroit. I’d left a voicemail message for the owner, Alison, explaining who I was and asking if I might chat with her about her business.
More and more, I was feeling in my gut that a career change was the right thing to do.
Closing my laptop, I went upstairs and took a shower, loath to wash away the night before, but reluctant to show up at my parents’ house for Sunday dinner with the scent of sex on my skin. It was going to be hard enough hiding the truth from my sisters—I didn’t often keep secrets from them.
But this felt like one I might tuck away for myself.
When I arrived at my parents’ house, Winnie, Felicity and Hutton were already there. After offering to help Frannie and Felicity in the kitchen and being shooed away, I poured a glass of wine and went into the family room, where my dad and Hutton sat on the couch discussing the hockey game on TV, the twins were lying on the floor looking at their phones, and Winnie was curled up in an easy chair, glancing at a photo album.
“What’s that?” I asked, taking a seat on the ottoman in front of her.
“Dad and Frannie’s wedding pictures,” she said wistfully, turning another page.
I sipped my wine to hide my smile. “Seems like yesterday.”
“It does.” Then she giggled. “Those stupid shoes hurt so bad, remember?”
“Yes.” I leaned over to peek at the photos and saw Winnie, Felicity and me grinning at the camera in our matching pink dresses and gold sequined shoes. “But we insisted on them.”