Always The Wedding Planner, Never The Bride Part 32

Sherilyn flicked her with two fingers, and Emma giggled. The small room hurt her eyes a little as they entered. Cream walls and ceiling, cream carpet on the floor, and several mirrors to magnify the creaminess. Mr. Forrester, as noted on the rectangular tag on his lapel, led the way to a black vinyl bag hanging on one of several hooks on the far wall. He unzipped it and yanked it from the bottom, revealing a full-length gown. Even against the creamy white room, the white dress made them both gasp when they saw it.

"Oh, Sher."

A fitted princess bodice, boned and beaded, with thick tulle straps. Layers upon layers of white tulle over satin, scattered with tiny pearl and crystal flowers.

"There's no way that's going to fit me."

"We offer alteration services," their host remarked. "I'll leave you here to try it on."

The instant the door closed behind him, they both sprang toward the dress. Checking the label, Emma gasped again.

"What?"

"Sher. It's Dior."

"You're joking."

"Vintage Christian Dior!"

Sherilyn felt her heart drop a little, then a little more. "What size is it?"

"I'm looking."

Emma ruffled the dress until she found a tag sewn into the side seam, and she turned the skirt inside out.

"No size on it. Just care instructions."

"Crud."

"Try it on."

"I'm not trying it on."

"Try. It. On."

"Have you seen Vanessa, Emma? It's probably a six or an eight. It's never going to fit me."

"Don't make me tackle you and pin you down," she threatened. "Try this dress on right now." Sherilyn reluctantly kicked off her shoes and stepped out of her clothes. She held her breath as Emma gathered the tulle skirt and lifted it over Sherilyn's head.

"It's not going to zip."

"Hus.h.!.+"

Emma tugged at the opening in the back and zipped the dress part of the way up.

"Suck it in," she said softly, tugging it together one more time as Sherilyn clamped shut her eyes and drew air into her lungs.

At last, the zzzzh! of the zipper told Sherilyn what she needed to know. It was tighter than tight, but she had fit into that dress! She eased her eyes open slowly, one at a time, and peered at herself in the mirror.

The boning drew her in at the waist and pushed her up at the bust. Emma spread the thick tulle straps so that they formed a cup over her shoulder, and she fluffed the full-length skirt until it formed a bell-shaped cloud around Sherilyn from waist to floor. Hundreds of beads, crystals, and pearls glistened beneath the overhead fluorescent light.

"Oh, Sher," Emma said, and Sherilyn gazed at her friend through the mirror's reflection. "You look like a ballerina bride."

"You think so?"

"I do," Emma told her. "And you know, there's a little bit of room in the side seams. I think it could be let out a little, in case you want to breathe or anything."

Sherilyn's mouth quivered as she smiled, but she didn't say a word.

"This is it," Emma whispered. "Everything in life happens for a purpose, Sher. Everything you went through-"

"Em."

"Let me just say this: all along, you were meant to wear his mom's dress when you marry Andy, Sher."

Sherilyn's eyes glimmered with tears.

"You look so beautiful. It's just-"

"Magic," Sherilyn finished for her.

"It is. It's magic."

Choosing the Right Wedding Dress for Your Body Type For the Pear-Shaped Body: Choose an A-line silhouette with a skirt that gradually flares out from the waist to the floor. This will highlight a more narrow midsection and camouflage larger hips, behind, and thighs.

For the Apple-Shaped Body: Choose a bodice with a lot of texture to it, such as ruching, creating a corset effect. A V-shaped neckline will also draw the eyes downward.

For the Straight-Lined Body: Choose a sheath dress, cut on the bias. The curved side seams will enhance your silhouette while making the most of a slender figure.

19.

Jackson had invited Andy to join him at Miguel's men's group on two different occasions, but both times his schedule conflicted with their meeting time. It wasn't that he didn't want to meet with a group of Christian men particularly, but he hadn't been too disappointed to turn down the invitation either. This time, however, when Jackson called to say that the group planned to shoot hoops at the rec center and dine on chicken wings and burgers afterward, Andy adjusted his schedule in order to join them.

He flew home after work just long enough to stuff a change of clothes appropriate for dinner into his Blackhawks duffle. He quickly changed into gray sweats, a black t-s.h.i.+rt, and he laced up the Nikes he hadn't worn since leaving Chicago. Jackson waited outside the hotel, chatting with the bellman, when Andy pulled up out front.

"Thanks for the ride, man."

"Any time. How do I get there?"

"Down to the street and make a right."

Jackson clicked his seatbelt into place and leaned back into the seat with a groan. "What a day. I'm looking forward to blowing off a little steam."

"I used to shoot hoops or get out on the ice with my buddy Jeff a couple of times a month back in Chicago. I appreciate the invite tonight."

"You play hockey? You should talk to Miguel. He's part of an amateur league."

"You're joking."

"Nah. Talk to him about it."

"I will. Thanks."

The guys in Miguel's group couldn't have been more welcoming, and they split into two teams of four, placing Jackson and Andy as opposition. Miguel tossed him a neon orange necktie to knot around his bicep.

"You're one of ours, slim!" he said with a smirk as he looked up at Andy. "You got the height to play forward."

"That works."

"Good. Let's see whatcha got." And with that, Miguel jogged toward the far end of the court, dribbling.

Jackson and his three teammates distributed bright turquoise ties, strapping them around their arms on the way, and the two teams warmed up on opposite ends of the court. Once they got started, Andy wasn't quite sure why, but Miguel's abilities surprised him. Mickey Rayburn and Cris Padilla rounded out their contingent, and less than an hour later, Orange declared a victory over Blue by twenty-six points.

To his embarra.s.sment, Andy collapsed first on the floor when they broke, and he leaned back against the cool wall to catch his breath. Cris grabbed two bottles of water from the cooler Miguel brought along, and he handed one to Andy before taking a seat on the floor beside him.

"Thanks," Andy said as he twisted off the cap. "I haven't played in a while."

"You showed your skills, old man," Cris teased him. "That's what counts."

Andy grinned as he tilted back his head and poured water straight down his throat.

"Miguel says you're in from Chicago."

"Yeah. Lived there for five years before moving back."

"Oh, you're from Atlanta then."

"Yeah. Born and raised. You?"

"Born in Mexico," Cris replied, "but my family moved to San Antonio when I was a kid. Later here to Atlanta. Been here since I was a teen."

"You go to Miguel's church?"

"Yeah, for a couple of months now. You should come and visit some Sunday. It's a great place."

"I might just do that."

The guys used the rec center men's room to clean up and change before heading off to Gilly's in Dunwoody. Once they were seated and an appropriate amount of chicken wings and beverages had been ordered, Andy leaned over and tapped Miguel on the arm.

"Jackson tells me you like to get out on the ice."

"I do. You?"

"I'm fairly pa.s.sionate about it. I was hoping to hear more about your league."

"Strictly amateur stuff," Miguel told him as he tossed a tortilla chip into his mouth and crunched it. "The league's just seven teams strong, but it's made up of guys all over the Atlanta area who love to put it out on the ice. We have a practice next Thursday, if you'd like to come and check it out."

"I would. Thanks."

Conversation flowed over red hot wings, chips and salsa, and baskets of peel-and-eat shrimp. Andy spent most of his time chatting with Cris about everything from the Blackhawks and the Lakers to his Mexican heritage and large family. He liked the guy. A lot. He was sorry to hear he wasn't married or even involved with anyone so that they could socialize a bit with him and Sherilyn. But Jackson solved that problem when he invited Cris to join a group of guys on Sunday at his place for the Thrashers game.

"Can you make it?" he asked Andy from down the table.

"I'll check," he said with a grin. "But yeah, I think I can." The night was jam-packed with what Sherilyn called "boy bonding," and Andy thanked Jackson emphatically for including him before dropping him off in the hotel parking lot behind his car.

"No need to thank me," Jackson told him. "But you could have shown your grat.i.tude a little on the court. You all wiped the floor with us."

"I had some making up to do," Andy replied. "For my Blackhawks."

"Oh, don't go around trying to make up for that sorry bunch."

"Hey! Hey!" he warned him good-naturedly. "If we're going to be friends now, you'll have to stop trash-talking my boys."

"Yeah, whatever," Jackson groaned, and he closed the door and shot Andy a grin and a wave. "Later."

"A movie's just not a movie without popcorn and chocolate, Emma Rae."

"Sher?" Emma asked.

"She had me at chocolate!"

Sherilyn helped Emma's Aunt Sophie off with her coat and got her settled inside the theater while Emma made the trek back to the concession stand. Once they were seated, Sophie slipped her arm through Sherilyn's and grinned like a schoolgirl.

"I love this movie!"

"I haven't seen it since I was a teenager," Sherilyn told her. She didn't include the information that going to a retro theater in Chicago that looked a lot like this one was one of very few vivid memories she had of her mother.

"Oh, it's a gem. Julie Andrews and that exquisite voice of hers. And Christopher Plummer; he's such a fox."

Sherilyn chuckled. "I haven't heard anyone called a fox in a long time."

"Well, he is one. Yessiree Bob!" Sherilyn glanced around at the refurbished 1920s theater with its velvet curtains and ornate crystal chandelier. When Emma had invited her to join them to celebrate Sophie's birthday, she'd expected a quiet afternoon tea or possibly an early dinner. What a lovely and unexpected surprise to accompany them to an afternoon matinee of The Sound of Music!

"How old is she?" Sherilyn had asked Emma.

"Oh, we don't keep track anymore," she explained. "Aunt Soph is timeless."

Sherilyn looked over at her. Sophie had her hands clasped beneath her chin, and she rocked slightly to a song playing somewhere in her memory, her gray-blue eyes glistening with antic.i.p.ation.

Without a moment's warning ,Sophie burst into song.

"Let's start at the very beginning," she sang out. And on the second part of the lyric, Emma appeared, laden with drinks, popcorn, and boxes of candy, joining her aunt in song.