I emerged from the dressing room about to say I looked fly except the words died on my lips.
Mason looked absolutely magnificent, and I suddenly remembered getting fitted for our own wedding—the excitement, and joy and abandon of it, of letting ourselves become wrapped up in the whole thing.
“You look great,” he said, holding a hand out to me. “C’mere.”
I let him pull me into a hug, shocked by how moved I was seeing him in a suit, wearing one myself. “Jesus, I just had the strongest memory.”
“Me too. I think we’ve aged well, don’t you?”
We turned to the mirror, still one-arm-hugging. We both looked freaking hot.
“I know everything went to hell, but it was...really nice thinking I was gonna marry you, Mase.”
His reflection smiled. “Yeah, it was wild, wasn’t it? It feels like two lifetimes ago.”
And it did. Usually. When we weren’t in wedding suits. Or when I wasn’t contemplating a relationship with someone. “Yeah, but also like maybe it was last week. God.”
“Don’t tell me you’re having regrets, Dec. No offense or anything, but I’ve sort of moved on.”
I elbowed him. “Shush. I’m not having regrets, I’m having a moment. If you don’t mind.” A moment of...doubt, maybe. A moment of reliving the worst thing I’d ever done and having no idea if I could promise I wouldn’t do it again.
He kissed my cheek. “You look super hot. You know. In your moment. You have to let me take a picture for Sidney. I feel certain they’d want to see you in this suit, Dec.”
“I’m not sure that’s—”
“It is, shut up.” He stepped back and made me shift until he liked whatever was behind me. “There. Done. And sent.”
I rolled my eyes as if I was annoyed when I kind of wanted Sidney to see me all dressed up.
“Too bad about your hair though,” he said.
I fake-karate-chopped him to the gut and he humored me by doubling over. “You’re such a jerkface.”
“Poor you.”
Oscar’s voice came from the dressing room. “I look like a marshmallow.”
Mase and I exchanged glances. “Not even possible,” I said. “You’re not sweet enough to be a marshmallow.” Mason punched me and made a face. “I mean, I’m sure you don’t.”
“Why cream? I look better in black.”
“Just come out!” Mase called.
“But I look like a marshmallow.” Still, the door pushed slowly open.
“Oh my god, you look fantastic, dummy.” I went up to where he was lingering out of range of the three available full-length mirrors and straightened his tie.
“No, you guys look fantastic. I look like I’ve never been to the gym and eat too many donuts.”
We used to try to convince him he looked good. Now we skip that step. I got all up close behind him and Mase shimmied against him face-to-face, both of us feeling him up. “Mmm, daddy, you’re so sexy,” I whispered.
“You turn me onnnnnnn,” Mason whispered in his other ear.
Oscar held out for maybe seven seconds before laughing and shoving us away. “Go to hell, both of you.”
“Ahem.” A discreet throat-clearing drew our attention to Fitting Attendant Dude.
“Please excuse my friends,” Oscar said, blushing dark.
FAD was obviously used to ignoring the antics of his customers. “Are any further alterations necessary?”
Mase ran both hands up his torso. “Not here, honey.”
I had the distinct impression FAD wanted to sigh. He turned to me and I decided to let him off the hook. “My suit fits perfectly, thank you. Oscar?”
He grimaced at his reflection, turning to the side. “Do you have some magical way to make me look less like a marshmallow?”
FAD stepped forward, assessing the situation with a professional eye. “Will the groom be wearing a cummerbund or vest?”
“No groom,” I said.
“Two brides,” Oscar added.
“Ah.” Pause. “Are either of them wearing a suit?”
“No.”
He nodded. “Would they object to a cummerbund in their groomsmen? That may help some, if I understand your...dissatisfaction correctly.”
“Wouldn’t that just draw attention to—” Oscar gestured at his midsection.
“No, sir. The cummerbund, when worn correctly—and I will show you how—makes one look taller. Longer.”
He didn’t say thinner but we were all thinking it. I’d never considered the tight rope you’d walk at a place like this, trying to address people’s insecurities without confirming them.
Oscar turned to Mason and I. “Am I being stupid?”
Mase reached for his hands. “You don’t look like a marshmallow. But if wearing a cummerbund will make you feel better, then let’s do it.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Sweetheart, I know you don’t think a cummerbund can detract from my personal charisma.”
Smiling weakly, Oscar looked at me. “You don’t mind, Dec?”
“Hell no. Cummerbunds are kinda sexy in a weird way.”
FAD nodded. “I’ll be back shortly.”
We only waited a little while. More measurements were taken and we made another appointment for the following Friday to pick everything up, including cummerbunds in the same shade of lavender (who knew?).
Before we left Mase held out his phone open to a message from Sidney. To his picture of me in a suit, they’d replied with a Golden Girls GIF of Blanche Devereaux spritzing herself with water as if something was too hot to handle.
I tried not to blush but it’s hard to fool old friends.
“That is so stinkin’ cute.” He kissed my cheek. “You still look damn good in a suit, babe.”
I should have said Thank you or something equally innocuous. Instead I said, “You look better than you used to.”
He kissed my other cheek. “See you.”
“Yeah, see you.”
Watching Mason walk away hurt me somehow, a deep ache that went all the way into my marrow. There had been a time in our lives when I’d loved him more than life, and yet I’d left him standing in front of everyone we cared about, left him to make all the apologies while he was still devastated, confused, angry.