by Jill Knapp
Once we were alone, I let out a small grunt. This was supposed to be a wonderful moment, and my mother was nearly ruining it.
“You’re mom’s kind of a handful,” Amalia muttered with wide eyes. Her phone buzzed in her jean pocket, but she ignored it.
“Do you need to get that?” I answered as she helped me out of the first dress. I took a step back and admired the perfect gown I was about to try on and allowed myself to do a little dance in my bra and underwear.
Amalia laughed. “Nice moves. But you should save it for your honeymoon. And, no, I don’t need to get it, it’s probably Michael. He knows I’m with you, maid-of-honor duties and all. I’m having dinner with him later.”
“So this is really happening, then?” I asked as I held my arms over my head so she could help me into the dress. “You and Michael are officially dating?”
Amalia stood on the tiny stool in the dressing room and helped pull the gown over my head, after which she motioned for me to turn around so she could get started on the exuberant amount of buttons.
“Leave it the girl in the wedding gown to ask me if Michael and I were really happening!” she rolled her eyes. “I think your wedding is a much bigger deal than me and Michael going out to dinner.”
“It’s a big deal!” I teased. “While I may be getting married at the age of twenty-five, I still find the idea of you and Michael having a genuine relationship more shocking.”
“Well, don’t die of shock just yet,” she started. “We were taking things very slowly the past few months. Only seeing each other once a week, if that. Now we are up to twice a week, so it’s a bit of an improvement. We didn’t want to dive right into anything, especially after the heartbreak I put Hayden through.”
I nodded, holding the top of the dress up in my hands as she continued to button. “You mean, after you literally ran away from him?”
“Yeah, I’d prefer not to relive that brief act of insanity,” she looked down at the floor for a moment, her eyes threatening to tear. I wondered if any part of her still had feelings for Hayden. Or if she possibly loved him and just couldn’t admit it to herself. I put a hand on her shoulder and she shook her head while offering me a small laugh. She smoothed out her black, cable-knit sweater and held her head up higher. “Anyway, won’t you be twenty-six by the time you tie the knot? That’s not too young. Plenty of people get married when they’re even younger than that. Just not here in New York.”
“I guess not,” I shrugged. “I wonder what it’s like out there in the real world.” I tried to imagine getting married in my home town in Rhode Island, and how different it would be. I would most likely be having an outdoor wedding, not in a five-star hotel.
“You mean outside of New York?” she raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” I played with my hair, twisting it around in my fingers. “I’ll bet it’s so much easier.”
“What’s easier?” she chuckled while cocking her head to the side.
“Everything,” I mumbled. I let go of my hair and let out a sigh. “It’s too bad I love living here too much to ever find out. I wouldn’t even consider applying for doctoral programs outside of a thirty-mile radius.”
Amalia nodded and then diverted her eyes to the ceiling. She offered me a small smile. I could tell she wanted me to be happier. I was standing in a bridal boutique surrounded by champagne and wedding gowns. But my mother’s presence weighed on me too much to truly enjoy the moment.
“But back to Michael,” she began with a heavy breath. “More than enough time has passed and he and I are ready to give this a real shot. Which means our first nice dinner together tonight at Café Grazie,” I could hear the smile in her voice without even turning around. “Now I just have to figure out what to wear.”
The more I thought about the idea of her and Michael dating, the more I disliked it. I knew I had to be a good friend and keep my mouth shut. Especially if I wanted her to continue helping me with my wedding-planning. Coyly, I kept the conversation about him going to hide my disdain.
“Oh, well maybe we can find you something here! I’m envisioning something in the magenta family,” I shot her a look.
“That’s a great idea!” she answered, with mock enthusiasm. “But no tacky bridesmaid dress. I’m going to go all-out! When he shows up, I’ll just open the door to my apartment in a wedding gown.” She cleared her throat and then starting talking in a robotic voice. “Michael, marry me. Beep.”
“And then I will officially know two people who have literally run away from their significant other,” I shook my head.
“Three if you count yourself, Miss NYU alumni mixer.”
“Wow, you’re right,” I twisted my neck around to look at her. “What’s wrong with us?”
“Living in New York City has ensorcelled us into becoming detached automatons all the while sundering us from the life we used to live. In short, we no longer act like normal people,” she uttered flatly.
“Amen to that.” I could feel Amalia on my back, struggling with each button. I made a mental note to leave a lot of extra time to put on this dress on the day of the wedding. She was taking forever and I was getting anxious. There were no mirrors in the dressing room, so I had no idea how I looked until I was able to step outside.
“Finished!” Amalia announced. “Turn around. Let me get a look at you.”
I slowly turned around and let out a sound that sounded somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “So?” I smoothed the dress down over my legs, “How does it look?”
“Immaculate,” she said softly. “Alex is going to love it.” She pulled me in for a hug and whispered in my ear, “Olivia, listen to me. Don’t let your mother ruin this for you. You only get to do this once. If you’re lucky, at least.” She backed away, still holding onto my shoulders, and smiled warmly.
I felt tears threaten to pour out behind my eyes. She really was a great friend and here I was bashing the guy she liked, in my mind.
“Okay, missy. Now let’s get out there so you can see how incredible you look.”
The gown’s train was short enough that I didn’t need her to hold it behind me. I made my way out of the dressing room and walked into the main room with the podium. I carefully slid on the two-inch heels I had brought with me, to get an idea of how the dress would look with my wedding shoes on, and the nice brunette sales associate, whose name-tag read Jenna, offered me a veil. It was elegant with just a touch of lace. No glitter of any kind. I bent down so she could fasten it to my hair.
I took a deep breath and finally turned around to face the mirrors. I hardly recognized myself as I brought my hands to cover my mouth. The whiteness of the sheer veil created a deep contrast with my brown hair. The dress fit like a dream. Apart from the length, it would hardly need any alteration at all. My eyes welled with tears and I allowed myself to envision walking down the aisle, holding a bouquet of deep- pink peonies, my father on my arm, as I slowly made my way to Alex, who always looked amazing.
I gently held onto the bottom of my dress and turned to face my mother, who was looking at me disapprovingly. I braced myself for what she was about to say. “What do you think, Mom?” I asked in a small voice.
She stood up and took a step back, taking the dress in. “Honestly? I think it’s a bit bland, Olivia.” My mother grimaced, her green eyes glazing over in a look that resembled sheer boredom.
“I happen to think that it’s lovely,” Amalia shot back at her. I pushed out a heavy breath. Leave it to Amalia to always speak her mind, no matter who was on the receiving end of it. I grinned widely and raised my eyes brows in triumph. Turning back to the mirror I stood up a little straighter, remembering Amalia’s words in the dressing room. This dress was the one, just like Alex was the one. It was settled. This was the gown I was getting.
“Alright, then,” I called over my shoulder to Jenna. “I’ll have this one”
A few moments later, three other sales associates came darting over with small bells and began ringing them
. A few of the other patrons in the store began to clap and I couldn’t stop my face from turning at least three different shades of red. Amalia and I were instantly handed flutes of champagne, which we promptly clinked together. I took a small sip, careful not to spill any on the dress.
“To my friend, Olivia,” Amalia cheered loudly. I laughed nervously and she grabbed my hand and pulled it up as I received the applause. To be fair, the associates were probably happier that I was spending two thousand dollars in their store than the fact that I had found the dress of my dreams.
I looked over to my mother one last time. Her attention was currently being held by her cell phone. I felt a pang of sadness. Even with all of the support around me, not having my mother’s approval was painful. I shook my head and took another sip of my champagne, trying to ignore her callousness. She looked up at me one last time, a strange look in her eye.
For a moment there, it felt like pity.
Amalia turned to me and gave me a tight-lipped look that conveyed she had to leave.
“Go!” I laughed. “Have fun on your date with Michael and I’ll see you on Monday.”
Amalia rolled her eyes. “Right, for work-study with Dr. Pain In the Ass.” She scratched her head.
“We have summer in a week,” I offered. “It’s already the last week of May.”
“Don’t you know?” she scrunched her face. “I’m working for him all summer,” she grunted, while synchronously rolling her blue eyes. She always did have a flare for dramatics. “I don’t have much of a choice. I really need the money. Oh well.”
I offered her a small sympathetic smile and she made a beeline for the door. Even through the annoyance of having to work with Dr. Greenfield, her spirits were still high because of Michael. I wanted to be happy for her, but if it was up to me, I would have preferred her to continue seeing Hayden.
I turned and gave my dress a final once-over. It really was gorgeous, just like my fiancé. I couldn’t ask for more. Screw everyone else! I was marrying the love of my life. Now I just needed to set a date.
Three – Amalia
As I pulled my jacket tighter around my chest on this particularly chilly May evening, I had a thought. Dating in New York City is not like dating in the rest of America. Or at least, how I imagine it is from the movies and television shows I’ve watched. If you live in, say, Virginia, and you are going on a date with a guy, he will most likely drive to your house, ring your door bell, and then walk you to his car, where he will open the passenger door for you and tell you how pretty you look. You’ll smile as he closes the door, careful not to accidentally hit you with it, and you use the two seconds that it takes him to walk from one side of the car to the other to subtly run your fingers over your hair, because, man, that walk down the driveway really could have messed it up. Then the two of you will drive off to your destination, most likely The Cheesecake Factory, chatting the whole way there about what kind of music you like to listen to while you drive, and whether or not you still use your GPS to get to the mall.
When you live in Manhattan it’s a little different. For one, no one is picking you up. Unless you live right near each other, which almost never happens, in which case you’ll do one of the following together, you are responsible for your own transportation to and from the location that he most likely chose. So what are your choices? There are really only three options. Unless you have a lot of money to spend on a private car (such as an Uber cab), you are either walking, taking a cab, or taking the subway. All of these choices almost guarantee that you will look nothing like how you did when you left your apartment for this date. If you went down into the grody abyss that is the subway, your make-up has most likely melted off and been replaced with soot. There is no avoiding this. Even if you are only taking the train for one stop, you will be dirty when you exit the station. Another choice is walking. This can be nice if your date falls on one of the five days out of the whole year when the weather is bearable and you have on very comfortable shoes. But, you’re going on a date, so why would you be wearing comfortable shoes? So the safest choice is probably to take a cab. Just make sure to account for the copious amounts of traffic in the city. For me, my date was at seven o’clock. Coming from Murray Hill I decided to give myself forty-five minutes to get to the Upper East Side to meet Michael for our dinner at Café Grazie.
I sat in the cab for exactly thirty minutes and made it to my destination with fifteen to spare. Now here’s my trick. After being a gross cab for half an hour, I got on my phone and tried to find the closest Sephora to refresh myself before meeting with my date. You figure it’s been over an hour since I last so much as looked in a mirror, so I need to use these fifteen minutes wisely.
As I follow the map on my phone to the store, a text from Michael comes in. I feel a rush of excitement as I click on the message icon.
On my way ;-)
That was all he wrote, but it was enough for my heart to skip a beat. Olivia was right. This was a big deal. Anything Michael and I had ever done before was in secret. Now we were going out to dinner on a bona fide date. I felt a fresh batch of nerves hit me as I entered the store and caught sight of myself in a mirror.
Damn it, New York, why are you so dirty?
I spent exactly ten minutes in there, applying some vanilla-scented cream to my hands, which were dryer than a mouth of sand from ever-present New York wind. Sad to say it, but it still felt like winter to me in April. I then made my way over to the make-up section, where I unashamedly swept a generous amount of forty-dollar blush on my cheekbones. While utilizing the mirror, I ran my fingers through my curls, trying to get them to resemble something less Bride of Frankenstein and more Carrie Bradshaw. I scanned the store, deliberately avoiding eye contact with anyone who worked there, and found the perfume wall. Now for the final touch. I picked up a Marc Jacobs perfume that I had been mulling over buying for some time now, and spritzed a small amount on my wrists.
I breathed a sigh of relief and turned on my heel to leave the store. That’s when I saw her.
Cassandra.
The two of us hadn’t spoken since Olivia’s engagement party nearly six months ago. I watched as she gingerly made her way around the lip-gloss section, picking up two very similar shades of pink and studying them in the light. I wanted to go over to her and say something. I hated that we weren’t speaking. I wanted to tell her I was going on a date with Michael. That I was a mental case who ran away from Hayden. I wanted to tell her about what a bitch Olivia’s mom was being, and how overwhelmed I was with school. And I wanted to know all about what was going on with her too. Who was she dating? How was work going for her? Did she miss me?
I took a step forward and then I stopped myself. I had a tiny fantasy play out in my mind. One where I walk over to her, and she greets me with the same cold indifference she had for the better part of last year. I felt a pang of humiliation just thinking about it, and I had waited too long for a real shot with Michael to let anything put me in a sour mood tonight.
So I did what I had to do. I glided sideways out of the store and walked back the two blocks to the restaurant, where Michael was already waiting for me.
“I’ll have the steak, medium rare,” Michael uttered, squinting at the drinks menu. “And an old-fashioned.” He subtly chewed on his bottom lip, momentarily distracting me.
The waitress smiled at him, her blue eyes lingering on him a little longer than necessary. They caught eyes as he handed her his menu, and he gave her a polite smile. I felt an instant pang of jealousy.
I smoothed my skirt out, careful not to accidentally hit my tights with a fingernail, and cleared my throat in an attempt to get the pretty waitress’s attention. She turned her gaze to me and offered me a fake smile. “And for you, miss?”
“Penne in vodka sauce, with a side of steamed spinach, I beamed back. She could stare at him all she wanted. The fact was, he was out on a date with me. “And I’ll also have a glass of cabernet. Thank you.” I held out my menu with a
triumphant smirk.
The waitress collected our menus and darted off to put our orders in. The restaurant was crowded, not unusual for a Saturday night. Michael caught eyes with me and I immediately melted. I wondered if he could hear my breathing get heavier whenever he was around. His dark hair was perfectly in place, and I wondered if he had gotten a haircut just for our date. He reached across the table for my hand, and I slowly slid mine over to his, scared that if I moved too quickly he’d pull it away in jest.
But he didn’t pull away. He held my hand gently as we sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, gently easing into casual conversation.
“How was the wedding-gown search?” he asked, as the waitress dropped off our drinks. “Did Olivia find the dress of her dreams?”
“She did,” I uttered through a wide smile. I must have looked like such a fool, but I didn’t care. Even being here, now, across the table from Michael as he held my hand and asked me about my day, felt so surreal. Like any moment my alarm clock would go off and I’d wake up to find out that this was all just a cruel dream. That he had gotten back together with his ex-girlfriend, Marge, and I had broken things off with Hayden for nothing.
“What does it look like?” he asked, now smiling himself. For our first official date, Michael looked as extraordinary as ever, donning a dark-blue button-down, grey dress slacks, and black patent-leather shoes. I tried to hide a hard swallow as I thought about us going back to his apartment to be alone when dinner was over. I shook my head to clear my thoughts and tried to focus on the question he had asked me.
“What? I’m not telling you what her dress looks like!” I laughed, and then paused to sip my wine.
Michael’s index finger drew small circles over my open palm on the table. Damn it, I’d give away government secrets if he kept that up!
“Why won’t you tell me?” he asked, finally letting go of my grasp to take a sip of his drink. I felt a little disappointed that the touching had stopped.