Work Text:
Standing before the semi-circle of floor to ceiling mirrors, you gave a little twirl; the voluminous fabric swishing as you spun. You felt like a princess.
“What’s the verdict on this one, kiddo?”
Missy squinted and tapped her chin in contemplation, taking her duty as your dress shopping assistant very seriously.
“Hmmm…Nope! Not the one.”
You glanced down at the flowing white gown with a slight frown. Darn, you’d actually kind of liked this one.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Not grand enough,” Missy proclaimed, leaping from her seat and walking over to the wrack of gowns.
“A special lady like you needs a gown just as special.”
The maturity and practicality coming from a girl her age never failed to make you laugh.
“Well, as I told you, Missy, selecting and purchasing the dress is only half the fun. What’ll make it truly special comes later,” you promised with a wink.
You selected another dress from the rack, yet another that Missy immediately declined.
“Nope. No mermaid dresses. We’re going for big and extravagant, remember?”
“Just exploring my options,” you replied with a laugh.
***
In the span of an hour you must have tried on at least twenty dresses, none of which were to Missy’s satisfaction.
Sweetheart necklines are so cliche.
Too much lace. You look like a doily.
Puff sleeves? Some girl in the 1980’s wants her prom dress back.
“You’re killing me here, kiddo!”
“Do you want a fairytale wedding or not? I’m not settling for anything less than a gown that makes you look like royalty.”
Again your mind flitted back to that first dress and it’s storybook feel. Your eyes scanned the rack for an item in a similar style. Your options were dwindling. Missy, as stubborn as she was, was right. None of these dresses had succeeded in striking any particular chord within you.
Missy got up to help you rifle through the last few dresses and as you skimmed through the final options, you found the two of you reaching for the same gown. You liberated the garment from the rack and took in the fluffy fullness of its lower half. The bodice was also eye catching: a bustier style corset with an intricate off the shoulder lace trim. You were catching some serious modern Cinderella vibes.
“This,” Missy breathed, her eyes taking on a wild glimmer, “looks promising.”
You hugged the dress tightly to your chest, as if you could just phase yourself into the fabric.
“Then what are we waiting for?”
You scampered to the fitting room with Missy hot on your heels. You tore off your clothes and shimmied into the dress in what had to have been record time. You’d just managed to zip up the back when you heard Missy call out, “the suspense is killing me, Y/N!”
Better not keep your adoring public waiting.
Throwing back the curtain, you sashayed your way out of the small cubicle and smack dab to the center of the wall of mirrors. One look at the woman, the bride-to-be staring back at you, and you felt it. That spark.
“Woooooooow,” Missy gasped. “You look just like Charlotte.”
You turned to her with one eyebrow raised. “Who?”
“Charlotte. Tiana’s best friend from ‘The Princess and the Frog’. She had a big, poofy gown like this. Remember?”
Remember? How could you forget? Charlotte La Bouff was no Disney princess, but she was as good as royalty in your eyes. And one hell of a great sidekick. You locked eyes with Missy and you both smiled at the same time.
“Travis!” The two of you quoted in unison, and quite dramatically. “When a woman says ‘later’, she really means ‘not ever’!”
Your waves of laughter were probably disturbing other soon to be brides in the throes of making their own once in a lifetime selections.
Oh, yes, this was definitely the dress.
“Hmmm.” Missy gazed at the dress quizzically, taking up handfuls of the plentiful tulle. “I wonder if this comes in pink.”
***
“Okay, seriously, I was joking about the whole pink thing,” Missy said as she watched you plop bottle after bottle of dye into the cart. “Wedding dresses are supposed to be white for a reason, aren’t they?”
“Sure,” you shrugged, selecting a shade of cerulean blue and adding it to your assortment of purchases. “If you buy into all that traditional stuff. When have you ever known me to be the traditional type, Missy?”
“I guess.” You could see the worry in her eyes. You’ve never known her to shy away from one of your art projects. Then again, this was no ordinary art project.
“What’s on your mind, kiddo?”
“It’s just….what if you mess it up? That dress was really expensive. You won’t be able to fix it or replace it.”
You took her face in your hands and stooped to her level. “I’m not going to mess it up, Missy. Because you’re going to help me.”
Your attempt to be endearing only succeeded in freaking her out more.
“What if I mess it up?!”
“That’s the beauty of art, Missy. You can’t mess it up. Accidents or mishaps only add to the creation. It’s still art.”
At last, that earned you one of Missy’s brilliant, beautiful smiles. “Well, I do have a great teacher.”
***
“Okay, your Abuela’s agreed to let us stash the dress at her place while we make our alterations. We can’t let your dad see it until the big day. Comprendes?”
Missy offered you a thumbs up. “Comprendo, mama-to-be.”
Speak of the devil (the handsome devil), you heard the front door open and shut, followed by the familiar sound of Marcus’s footsteps.
“Where are my gals at?”
“Kitchen, dad!” Missy responded.
Your future groom came sauntering in with a cardboard box that looked greasy but smelled absolutely divine.
“You two picked the perfect place to conspire. Grab some plates, because I’ve come bearing pizza!”
“We weren’t ‘conspiring’ anything,” you snorted, grabbing a stack of plates from the pantry and a handful of napkins.
“Oh, really?” Marcus asked with a quirk of his brow. Now you see where Missy had picked up the little gesture. “Then what was all that I heard on my way in about not letting dad see something?”
“Oh, that was just nunya, dad,” Missy shrugged, pulling a melty slice of pizza from the rest of the pie and depositing it onto her plate.
“Nunya?”
“Yep. Nunya business!” Proudly smirking, she skipped off to the living room with her dinner.
Marcus smacked his forehead in annoyance. “She pulls that line on me all the time and I still manage to fall for it.”
“Don’t beat yourself up about it, honey,” you said, pressing your smiling lips against his prickly cheek. “It’s not important anyway.”
He served you each up a slice, offering you first dibs at the remaining pieces of the pie, gentleman that he is.
“So, how was dress hunting with the pickiest shopper known to mankind?” he asked, a string of melted mozzarella dangling from the corner of his lip. “Did you find a winner?”
You waggled your eyebrows in a “oh, wouldn’t you like to know” fashion. And he would like to know. He really would.
“Oh, come on. Don’t keep me in suspense!”
You dabbed the grease from your mouth primly to hide your smile.
“Oh, I’m keeping you in suspense. Right up until the ‘I Do’s’, mister.”
As you greedily reached for another slice, Marcus snatched you by the wrist and pulled you swiftly against his chest, capturing your laugh with his lips.
“Sometimes,” he sighed. “I don’t know who’s the bigger bully. You or my daughter.”