Page 170 - In Five Years

the shadows and into the aisle. They’d stand. She’d float down to the faceless,
nameless man. The one who made her feel like the entire universe was
conspiring for her love, and hers alone.
I knew I’d get married in the way you know you’ll get older, and that

Saturday comes after Friday. I didn’t think that much about it. And then I met
David and everything fit and I knew it was what I had been looking for, that we

were meant to unfold these chapters together, side by side. But I never thought
about the wedding. I never thought about the dress. I never pictured myself in
this moment, standing here now. And if I had, I never would have seen this.
The dress I wear is silk and lace. It has a string of buttons down the back. The

bodice fits poorly. I don’t fill it out properly. I shake my arms, and the
saleswoman races into frame. She pinches the back of the dress with a giant

clothespin.
“We can fix that,” she says. She looks at me in the mirror. Her face betrays
sympathy. Who comes here alone and buys the first dress they try on? “We’ll

have to rush it, but we can do that.”
“Thank you,” I say.
I feel like I might cry, and I do not want these tears being misinterpreted as

nuptial joy. I do not want to hear her delighted squeals, or see her knowing
glance: so in love. I turn swiftly to the side. “I’ll take it.”
Her face registers confusion, and then brightens. She’s just made a sale. Three

thousand dollars in thirteen minutes. Must be some kind of record. Maybe I’m
pregnant. She probably thinks I’m pregnant.
“Wonderful,” she says. “I love this neckline on you, it’s so flattering. Let’s

just take some measurements.”
She pins me. The curve of my waist and the length of the hem. The lay of the
shoulders.

When she leaves, I look at myself in the mirror. The neckline is high. She is
wrong, of course. It does not flatter me at all. It does nothing to show off my
collarbones, the slope of my neck. For a brief, wondrous moment I think about

calling David. Telling him we need to postpone the wedding. We’ll get married
next year, at The Plaza, or upstate at The Wheatleigh. I’ll get a ridiculous dress
you have to custom order, the Oscar de la Renta one with the brocade flowers.

We’ll have the top florist, the best band. We’ll dance to “The Way You Look