Free How I Planned Your Wedding by Susan Wiggs Page A

Molly.
    Bridget took the back in with industrial-sized clamps. Turns out that at most bridal salons, where you’re not expected to be built like a twig, the sample dresses are typically size 10 to 14 to work for any body type. I already felt better about myself. We didn’t need any Wiggs-sized crowbars to shove me into this gown.
    I stepped out of the dressing room, arms held out slightly to accommodate the wide skirt that fell from my hips, and looked at my mom and Molly.
    I’m sure you’ve already guessed what happened.
    This time, both of their eyes filled with tears, and I knew they were the good kind.
    I stepped up to the trifold mirror and peered at myself.
    Would you believe it—this dress was friggin’ better than the one I’d tried on that morning. It had a more classic line and hit my hips exactly below their natural curve, making me appear as deliciously feminine as any Disney princess. The bodice was covered with silver crystals and embroidery, which, seen from a few steps back, made me shimmer. And my boobs! They looked great! Perky, a little larger than they naturally are, but not like giant melons or anything (I’ll take whatever I can get). The skirt was made from layer upon layer of ivory tulle, forming a wide, swishy circle that swirled around my feet as I moved. A chapel-length train floated on the floor behind me, the top layer embroidered with tiny flowers.
    It was the dress of my dreams. It was too good to be true.
    I gulped. “Okay, how much does it cost?”
    “This one is $750.”
    “Seven hundred fifty…dollars?” I asked, gaping.
    I looked at my mom, who was managing to keep herself together. She gave me a small, firm nod. Sha zam .
    On my wedding day more than a year later, people couldn’t stop complimenting me on the dress, I felt glorious about myself and Dave needed CPR the minute he saw me.
    My mom, I’m forced to tell you, knew I Do Bridal was a good karma shop as soon as we went to the front of the store to purchase the dress: at the main counter, writing up orders with calm efficiency, was a woman who shared a story about her own daughter’s wedding gown. She was a mother, too. And when there’s a mom in charge, you can’t go wrong.
    SUSAN
    When Elizabeth found the dress I was thrilled—but not a bit surprised. The moment I saw it, I thought, “Of course.”
    Why? Because I’d known what the dress would look like since she was five years old. She started drawing pictures of herself as a bride back then, and in every picture she drew, she was wearing this exact dress, practically down to the last detail. There was always a crystal-encrusted bodice surrounded by yards and yards of sparkling tulle, a veil worthy of Maria in The Sound of Music and high-heeled dancing shoes.
    The most important attribute of the dress, as any little girl will tell you, is that it must bell out gracefully when she spins around. Every time Elizabeth tried on a dress or even a nightgown, she would spin like a dervish. “It swirls,” she would say. “It swirls!” If the swirl factor was not present, the garment would go straight back to the rack.
    The dress she found had swirl. It had crystals. Beading, tulle, you name it. When she spun around, that sucker swirled clear to Cincinnati. It was, for sure, The One.
    The only missing detail was the groom. As a tiny girl, she wasn’t picky. In fact, for the longest time, she thought the word was broom and decided it was a perfectly good dance partner. The groom might be a large plush toy with button eyes, or our aging Golden Retriever. Sometimes she’d rope in an actual kid. I remember a boy she called Stinkypants in preschool who was willing to stand there like Bambi in the headlights while she twirled around him.
    The one thing that never changed was that dress. Twenty years later, the vision came to life in a tiny bridal shop in Seattle, and it was well worth the wait.
    It passed the spin test. It swirled .
    So that’s the good news. The bad