Free The Marriage Pact by Dinah McLeod Page B

you seriously think she let her bridesmaids pick their dresses when she married my dad?”
    “Doubtful. Very doubtful.”
    “Exactly. Well, six of the seamstresses she works with volunteered to put in overtime to get the dresses done.”
    “You mean she volunteered them.”
    “Most likely, knowing Mom. She’s a steamroller.”
    I pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t offer any comment on the apple not falling far from the tree.
    “And anyway, she’s right, it will look better than anything we could get off the rack.”
    “So you’re going to do what? Buy one?”
    “Unnecessary,” she said, holding up her iPhone 5 with a grin.
    “Got it. Well, I guess I should—” I was turning to go when Becky grabbed my arm.
    “Uh-uh. You stay with me.”
    “What? Don’t I need to find a—”
    “No, you do not.”
    “Oh, really? Why is that?”
    “Why do you think, doof? Because I, the best of friends who has ever lived, have already picked one for you.”
    I rolled my eyes. “Oh, yes. You are the friend others aspire to be.”
    “Thank you,” she replied primly. “Now, sit.”
    With a shake of my head, I did just that. “So, how many are there?”
    “Eight,” she replied with a wince. “Cindy Lou, Janice, Laura, Emily, Patrice, you… oh, hell, I can’t even remember the other two.”
    “Tsk, tsk. Seriously, though, I don’t get your mom. Do you even see these people more than once a year?”
    “Hardly. But you know Mom thinks she’s Emily Post—you can not argue with her about wedding etiquette. Not if you want her to foot the bill, anyway.”
    Just then, Emily came ambling back with three dresses in hand. “Hey, Becky,” she gasped, clearly out of breath.
    “Hey yourself. Whatcha got for me?” Emily held them out, one after another for inspection, but each time Becky shook her head. “Say it with me: pastel green.”
    With a dejected sigh, Emily did an about-face and ambled off.
    “That last one wasn’t bad,” I commented.
    My friend grinned evilly. “I know, but if they have to be in my wedding, I’m going to make the puppets dance.”
    “You’re terrible!”
    Cindy Lou was the next girl to come back and she’d taken the liberty of going to the changing room first. “Well?” she asked expectantly, turning from side to side as though she was walking a model runway. “What do you think?” Before Becky could reply, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and grimaced. “Wait, does this make my butt look big?”
    “ Everything makes your butt look big!” Janice snickered as she approached.
    Cindy cut her a dirty look and stomped off toward the changing room. On and on it went. Finally, nearly three hours later we had narrowed it down. Not that that meant everyone was in agreement—not by a long shot. In fact, the last twenty minutes had consisted of a catfight that grew louder by the minute.
    Becky had finally pulled out her trump card—I’d wondered why she’d waited so long to use it in the first place—shouting, “Shut up, idiots! I’m the bride!”
    There was some grumbling after that, but slowly, the crowd started to thin as the girls filed out to get into their cars. Becky sure knew how to handle a crowd.
    “Family reunions must be fun ,” I observed drily.
    “Tell me about it. Right now I just want to elope.”
    “What about those three-hundred-dollar shoes they’ve already bought?”
    She grinned, that same maniacal grin. “Oops!”
    “You are prime evil, girl.”
    Her grin only widened. “Save the compliments for when you see your dress.”
    I cut my eyes at her, suddenly feeling a little nauseous; in all the chaos, I’d almost forgotten! “Where is it?”
    “They’re holding it.”
    “Well, I should go ahead and get in line to—”
    “Relax, worrywart. I already took care of it.”
    “What do you mean you already took care of it? Becky, you’re not supposed to be buying my dress, I—”
    “Chill, Shan, seriously. You can make it up to me with an a-