Karma Kameleon. Stephanie Haefner

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      The waiter arrived with our salads–a momentary distraction. I dug in, thankful to put something in my stomach.

      “How’s yours?” Amanda asked.

      “Good. Now spill.”

      “Um.” She shoveled in another forkful of arugula. “It’s nobody. I’m not sure if it’s even going anywhere, so there’s no point telling you all about him.”

      “You ditched your longtime boyfriend for him. He has to be somewhat special.”

      “Yeah, but I don’t want to jinx it.”

      Now Amanda was the one being weird. I let it go. We talked about wedding stuff and I bitched some more about Rich. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to unwind and vent. The past few weeks had been such a roller coaster of emotion and I just wanted my life to get back to normal. And normal included mind-blowing orgasms performed by my soon-to-be husband.

      * * * *

      The next two weeks, I threw myself into work and stayed on my side of the bed. I stopped asking Rich for answers and masturbated in the shower when necessary. I didn’t know what else to do. My questions turned into arguments, and that wasn’t helping any.

      But the book took my mind off our issues in the bedroom. I focused on my character Melinda’s problems instead. And hers seemed much easier to deal with, probably because I’d made them up and solved them. She did what I said and if she started to talk back, I simply hit Delete and started again.

      What I wouldn’t give for a Delete button for my life. If I could, I’d erase the last few weeks–I’d still be pregnant and Rich would still make sense to me.

      I finished the first draft of the story, even a couple read-throughs, and still got it on Sheila’s desk a day early. I managed to pull her away for lunch, and on the way back to the office, we walked past a bridal shop. I glanced in the window, a feeling washing over me, completely different from how I’d felt when I shopped with Abby for her wedding. The only description was giddiness, staring at the dress I knew I had to have.

      “I’m going in here,” I said to Sheila. “You coming?”

      “You want me to go in a bridal shop with you?”

      “Not if you don’t want to.”

      She stared at me. “I have nothing better to do at the moment.”

      We stepped inside and I don’t know–the smell of the fabric, maybe the sparkle of rhinestone-encrusted tiaras–something in there turned me into a bubbly bride. My gaze moved from one silk-covered corner to the other, in awe, like the tourists we made fun of every day in Times Square.

      “Can I help you?” asked a petite blonde, snapping me out of my bridal coma.

      “Yes. I need to try on that dress in the window.”

      “Do you have an appointment?”

      “Well, no. Is that a problem?”

      “I’m sorry, but you need an appointment.” All my wedding gown dreams faded.

      “Oh, okay. Can I–”

      “What are you doing right now?” Sheila butted in. “This place is like a mausoleum. You can’t tell me every person here is busy.”

      “Um, no. But you still need an appointment.”

      “Are you taking care of someone right now?” Sheila persisted.

      “Well, no. But–”

      “Then you shouldn’t have a problem getting the dress for her to try on.”

      The girl turned and saw there was no one around to rescue her from Sheila’s tyranny. “O-okay. Let me set you up in a fitting room.”

      On the way, she asked my bra size and grabbed a strapless from a drawer. She pulled a crinoline from a rack and took that with us, too. After handing the pile of undergarments to me, she opened the curtain of a small changing room.

      “Your mother can sit there.” She pointed at a couch near the round pedestal in the center of the room.

      My eyes met Sheila’s and we burst out laughing. The girl gave a half smile and excused herself from the room. She came back a few minutes later to help me into the dress.

      “This is silk razmir with an embellished tulle overlay bodice.”

      She tugged it down around my body and zipped the back. Its deep lacy v-neck showed off a healthy set of breasts and even with the small mirror in the tiny dressing room, I could tell the dropped waist gave my hips the perfect amount of va-va-voom.

      “It has an asymmetrical, floral-embroidered, peplum skirt,” she said as she motioned to it.

      I had no clue what any of that meant, but I loved the flowy skirt with its ruffled white flowers, something I never would have thought I’d like.

      “It’s a piece from Monique Lhuillier’s fall collection.”

      Now that was a name I knew.

      She opened the curtain and I followed her to the pedestal. Sheila sat on the couch on her cellphone, ending the call when I appeared.

      “Wow. You look like a bride.”

      “That is the point.”

      I turned and caught my reflection in the giant mirror–all of it. The dress girl, Misty, dimmed the lights and flipped on some special ones, making every bead and crystal sparkle. She set a tiara and tulle veil on my head and stepped back.

      “What do you think?”

      For the first time, maybe ever in my life, there were no words.

      “I’ll give you a few minutes.”

      She left and I stared at myself. This was the dress I would be wearing when I married Rich, the love of my life, the only man who had ever completed my world. I remembered our beginning and the moment I knew I loved him. And the moment I knew I couldn’t live without him.

      I blinked a few times to clear tears before turning and facing Sheila again. “I’m gonna get this dress. What do you think?”

      “It’s pretty. Too fru-fru for my liking, but it suits you.”

      “Thanks for bullying the salesgirl into letting me try it on.”

      “Eh, no problem.”

      All of a sudden a strange feeling came over me and I had to spit out my thoughts before I lost the nerve. “You wanna be a bridesmaid?”

      “Why?”

      “I don’t know. Seems like a good idea.”

      She took a second before answering. “Sure. But don’t even think about dressing СКАЧАТЬ