Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 101168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
“I can’t wait to see these dresses.” They looked around, trying to remember the names of Emma’s many friends, but didn’t see them. In fact, they didn’t see anyone familiar. Jamie had imagined a scene like in a movie, where Emma came out it progressively larger dresses, and when she found the right one, they’d all cheer for her and toast with champagne. But apparently that was just in the movies.
“Is Mom not coming?”
It wouldn’t be unusual for their mother to have cancelled last-minute, pulled into this or that work crisis, but given Blythe’s excitement when they’d met for breakfast, Jamie thought family would’ve trumped work on a day like today.
Emma shook her head. “She’s already seen them.”
Jamie was confused. Had the cheering and champagne toasting already happened without them?
“So this is…just to show me?”
“You said you wanted to see!” Emma sounded exasperated, and Jamie already regretted driving across town on their lunch break.
“Emma, I do want to see the dresses. I just thought other people were going to be here. It’s not a problem.”
Emma’s irritation turned to excitement, and she grabbed their hand. “Okay, be right back.”
She rushed off down a hallway marked Brides.
Jamie pulled out their phone and flopped onto a fluffy-looking couch, wincing when it was harder than it had looked.
Amelia: Dude, what about the abandoned Six Flags?
Amelia’s text was followed by a sheaf of photographs that presented a tangle of nostalgia, rot, and impish reclamation. Graffiti decorated the SpongeBob SquarePants ride; a purple, green, and yellow carousel had been relieved of its horses; the skeleton of a roller coaster stood against the summer blue sky, weeds taller than Amelia’s head choking the structure.
Absolutely perfect!, Jamie texted back.
They zoomed in on the photograph to see the details of the graffiti.
“Excuse me.” The woman who’d spoken wore all black and stood with her hands clasped behind her back like a docent.
“Hi,” Jamie said.
“If you’d like to come with me, I can take your measurements while you wait for your sister.”
Her voice had the lulling, unflappable quality that Jamie associated with post-op nurses and childcare professionals. It said, I am very good at making sure everyone remains calm. It filled Jamie with anxiety.
“Oh, I’m not getting a dress, so I don’t need to be measured,” Jamie said in the case-closed-thanks-bye voice they’d perfected for moments such as these.
“Of course, yes. I will be measuring you for your suit. Your sister explained everything.”
Jamie fumed. This was why Emma had invited them for this special private viewing. It wasn’t her desire to share this moment with Jamie, nor was it because she valued their opinion. It was an ambush. Emma and their mother wanted them in a woman’s suit—the kind bridal boutiques made out of taffeta for mothers of the bride, in iridescent fabrics called shit like “perfect pearl” or “evening solitude.”
Jamie would rather don a hair shirt.
They managed a “No, thank you” through gritted teeth.
“I’ll let you and your sister discuss it,” the woman said and faded silently into the background.
Emma swanned down the hallway, grinning, and for a moment, Jamie remembered her wrapped in their mother’s wedding dress when they played dress-up as children. She had always wanted to be the bride.
Her smile faltered when she saw Jamie’s face. Her eyes cut to the woman who’d approached Jamie, and guilt flickered in her expression. She opened her mouth and shut it again, chewing on her words. Jamie waited.
“I just thought it would be easier for you,” Emma said finally. “You always say how busy you are, so I thought you could kill two birds with one stone.”
“And did you also think that when I told you I’d get a suit in the color you requested, I was planning on getting fitted for it at a wedding dress store?” Jamie kept their voice low, not wanting to attract attention. “I’m pretty sure you didn’t think that, Em.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Why do you care who makes your suit?”
“I care,” Jamie said, voice quietly poisonous, “because the suit that they’ll make at a place like this will be a woman’s suit, and I do not want a woman’s suit. Obviously.”
“They’re very good at what they do,” Emma sniffed. “I’m sure it will fit you excellently.”
“It’s not about that, and you know it. What the hell is wrong with you, Emma? I told you I’d take care of it, and it would be in the color you requested.” Jamie hissed. “Why do you care who makes my suit?”
They’d meant it as a rhetorical question because Emma was being intentionally thick, but then Emma bit her lip.
“Wait, why do you care?”
Emma’s shoulders slumped. “Fine. Mom suggested that we have the shop make you a dress in addition to the suit in case you’d change your mind and wear it.”
“Mom suggested,” Jamie echoed.