Page 169 - In Five Years

Chapter Thirty-One

“It’s really a question of eggshell or white,” the woman says.
I am standing in the middle of Mark Ingram, a bridal salon on the Upper East
Side, an untouched flute of champagne on a glass coffee table, alone.

My mother was supposed to come in, but the University called a last-minute
staff meeting to discuss a confidential matter, re: donations for next year, and
she’s stuck in Philadelphia. I’m supposed to send her pictures.

It’s now mid-November and Bella hasn’t spoken to me in two weeks. She’s
finishing her second round of chemo on Saturday, and David tells me not to
bother her until it’s over. I’ve heeded his advice, impossibly. It’s excruciating,

not being there. Not knowing.
The wedding invitations have gone out, we’re receiving RSVPs. The menu is
set. The flowers are ordered. All that is left is getting a dress, so here I am,

standing in it.
“Like I said, with this time frame it’s really off-the-rack, so it’s pretty much

only the dresses hanging here.” The saleslady gestures to the three dresses to our
right—one eggshell, two white. She crosses her arms, checks her watch. She
seems to think I’m wasting her time. But doesn’t she know? This is a sure sale. I
have to leave with a dress today.

“This one seems fine,” I say. It’s the first one I’ve tried on.
I was never one of those girls who dreamed about her wedding. That was

always Bella. I remember her standing in front of my mirror with a pillowcase
over her head, reciting vows to the glass. She knew exactly what the dress would
look like— silk organza with spools of unfolding tulle. A long lace veil. She
dreamed of the flowers: white calla lilies, puffy peonies, and tiny tea candles.

There would be a harpist. Everyone would ooh and ahh when she stepped out of