Becky looked confused. “But, this dress . . .”
Emma held up a hand. “I love this one, but I want to be certain.”
Becky shrugged. “Let me go pull it.”
Tennyson stepped in front of Becky. “No. Wait. Emma, the one you’re wearing is perfect. I mean, I have never seen a dress be more you than that one, and I can tell you love it. When you came in, it was like magic.”
Melanie nodded. “She’s right. The one you’re wearing is the one. Emma, it’s perfect. It was your dress the moment you put it on.”
Emma gave them another smile. “So you both are once again agreeing? This is the dress?”
Tennyson and Melanie looked at each other. No one liked to be manipulated by a twenty-two-year-old who thought she was smarter than them combined. Melanie ripped her gaze away.
“Yes. We agree. The one you’re wearing is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen on you. I can’t imagine another dress, even one with pockets, overshadowing the sheer beauty and rightness of this dress,” Melanie said.
Emma’s grin was triumphant.
“We’ve been played.” Tennyson sucked in a deep breath and then flounced back to her seat, wishing she’d seen through Emma’s machinations earlier.
“Sorry,” Emma said, her grin not disappearing. “I just needed to make sure the last time you agreed wasn’t an aberration. Try to do that more. Now, let’s see what works for my hair. I’m thinking a low gathering of my hair into . . . well, let me show you.”
Emma pulled out her phone, ignoring both Melanie and Tennyson as she showed Becky and Lisa something no doubt on a Pinterest board. After a few minutes of checking her email and scanning Facebook, Tennyson rose. “I’m going to look for a dress for myself.”
Melanie set the phone she was using to take pictures of Emma in the dress on the table and nodded.
“You want to come look, too?” Tennyson asked.
She could tell that Melanie wanted to go with her. Melanie had never been good at waiting. By nature she liked to move and have purpose. “I don’t know. Emma may need me.”
“Em?” Tennyson called to the girl still tapping, scrolling, and mulling over a myriad of hairstyles. “Can you narrow it down to two or three possibilities while your mother and I take a look at the cocktail dresses?”
“Sure,” Emma said with a wave of her hand.
Tennyson looked at Melanie. “Come on. I saw a royal-blue Lanvin that might work for you.”
Melanie exhaled, dropping her phone into her purse. “Okay. Fine.”
Fifteen minutes later Tennyson had Melanie inside the dressing room with six different options to try, the silk Lanvin with the sheer cape one of the final selections. Melanie came out wearing a Carolina Herrera tulle dress in a flattering shade of watermelon. It was strapless and sexy. And it looked good on Melanie.
“That one is nice,” Tennyson said, hanging a bright-red Akris Punto jersey dress back on the hanger. “Good color on you.”
“I don’t know. It shows a lot of skin,” Melanie said, tugging the bodice up.
“You have good skin. You always have. Go out by the pool and let the sun kiss your shoulders. They’ll be perfect.”
“I don’t have a pool.”
Tennyson almost said come use mine before she caught herself. Besides, even if she’d blundered into that invitation, Melanie wouldn’t be caught dead poolside at Tennyson’s house. “It might not be a good mother-of-the-bride dress, but it would be perfect for the bridal shower. In fact, it looks very romantic and Italian. You might get laid in that dress, Mel.”
Melanie made a moue in the mirror, tilting her head, trying to decide if she liked it enough. “Teeny . . . I mean, Tennyson, don’t be ridiculous.”
But Tennyson had caught the old nickname and the knowledge that, for a few seconds, Melanie had forgotten she was supposed to hate Tennyson.
“I’m just saying. It might be worth the price tag.” Tennyson disappeared into the dressing room, taking a short, sequined, retrofete wrap dress that was appropriately called “unicorn.” The fun vibe might work for the shower, especially if she paired it with platform sandals and wore her hair swept up with large chandelier earrings.
“Well, it is on sale, and it’s sort of timeless,” Melanie said.
“As all Carolina Herrera dresses are,” Tennyson called back, shrugging into the dress. She liked that it dipped to frame her décolletage. Maybe she could talk Officer Rhett, a.k.a. Hot Cop, into coming by and peeling the dress off her. She smiled at herself in the mirror.
They’d been texting and Snapchatting each other, and gradually those Snapchats had gotten a bit . . . well, titillating. She’d never realized a gal could practice foreplay with her phone. Of course, flirting with sexting was one thing, but actually going there . . . well, she wanted to do that, too.
Definitely.
Next, she pulled on a David Koma one-shoulder dress in a bright green. There were tiny round reflective mirrors sewn in swaths that swirled around the dress. It was a statement dress, sophisticated but somewhat daring, and it looked nice against her sun-kissed skin. Because some people had a pool and used it.
Tennyson walked out of the dressing room. “What do you think?”
Melanie was still clad in the strapless dress, swirling and most likely talking herself out of buying it. She turned and looked at Tennyson. “That looks incredible on you. Fits you perfectly, and while it’s sexy, it doesn’t look like you’re about to go clubbing.”
“So you’re saying the unicorn sequin was too young for me?” Tennyson asked, heavy on the sarcasm, as she tried to tug up the zipper.
“Here,” Melanie said, spinning her around and shoving her hair out of the way. She zipped the dress and then stepped back, narrowing her eyes. “You might want to take it up under the arms. It gapes slightly here . . . and here.”
Melanie had reached under her arms and pinched the fabric together. Nostalgia hit Tennyson so hard she nearly stumbled. They’d done this countless times, slipping into dressing rooms, chatting about boys, and trying on things they shouldn’t or couldn’t buy. She’d zipped Melanie up hundreds of times, seen her bare-assed naked, and knew she couldn’t wear peplums or too many ruffles. So this situation was almost too familiar, and something about remembering how they had both once been silly girls who loved each other and made sure each bought the exact right dress for the occasion made her wish she hadn’t been the hotheaded, foul-tempered jealous bitch she’d been back in college. Because if she’d just accepted that Melanie and Kit were together, then maybe they wouldn’t be so damned far away from each other.
But the Tennyson of the past hadn’t realized the waves she created would still be rippling around her. Of course, she also hadn’t known her son would go to her father’s alma mater, sit beside a pretty brunette, and fall in love with Melanie and Kit’s daughter.
But that was the way of life, right? A gal had to live with the decisions she’d made—both good and bad—and try, try to find some peace.
Yet she wasn’t sure it would ever be possible after what she’d done at Melanie and Kit’s wedding reception. But as her mother loved to say, “If wishes were fishes, we’d all be throwing nets.”