Page 30 of Bridesmaid to Bride

“Trust me, P, you look fantastic.” I sigh. “Remember when we were teenagers? You managed to shimmy out of Marisa Harrison’s leather slutwear? This is easy compared to that.”

“That was bad.”

“Paige,” West cuts in, bar of soap in hand. “I’ve got a master’s degree in stuck zippers.”

“From where, Harvard?” Paige says.

“Close. My parents’ sex shop. Those mannequins are unyielding bastards, but I always get them dressed.” The corner of his mouth twitches up.

“Impressive.” Paige’s tone is dry. “But we’re talking about a bridal gown here, not some PVC nurse outfit.”

“Trust me, they’re not different when it comes to zippers.” West crosses his arms over his tee.

A beat passes, then another. Finally, a shaky sigh filters through the door. “Maybe.”

“Paige,” Skye says before the silence stretches out too long, her voice hitting a pitch that could alert dogs. “If you don’t let us in, the owner is gonna call the fuzz. And wouldn’t that be a story? Bride Arrested for Dress Store Disturbance.”

I shoot Skye a look, and she shakes her head.

Behind the door, there’s a rustle then a pause. “You’re shitting me.”

“Would I lie?” Skye says, innocence lacing every syllable.

Paige’s sigh is long. “Fine.”

The lock clicks, and the door swings open. She stands there, mascara streaked and cheeks flushed, looking like a runaway bride. Her gown clings to her curves like a lovesick octopus, and she’s glaring at us as if we each sewed her into this nightmare.

She rushes up to me, pulling me into a hug. She squeezes tight, whispering, “Mom would’ve been able to fix this, Eves.”

My heart wrenches as I rub her back. “Yes, she would’ve.” Mom was an amazing seamstress, and now all this makes sense. “I’m sorry, sis.”

She sobs into my arms, and it brings me right back to those days after Mom died. The ones that live as a permanent fog in my head. When Paige was so fragile, I had to be with her every waking minute to talk her through each step of the day. Dad was grieving, and looking back, I realize now I was so busy taking care of both of them that I couldn’t grieve myself. It was impossibly hard, and sometimes, I wonder how we all made it through. But we did, and I couldn’t be more grateful and proud of us.

After I pull away, I wipe her tears. “Mom’s not here, but we are. And we’re gonna fix this, okay?”

She nods, sniffling.

“Ready to do my best work,” West says, stepping into the fray.

“Yes. Let West show off his obscure talent,” I mumble.

“I’m full of them.”

After running the bar along the zipper, West says, “Okay on three, I need you to inhale, Paige.” He has a bomb-defusing kind of concentration.

After he gives it several tugs, Paige’s shoulders hitch up around her ears and the damn thing still won’t budge—a zipper possessed, apparently.

“It’s like it’s welded shut!” West’s fingers slip off the zipper for the umpteenth time, almost poking Paige’s back. “Alright, new plan.” He steps back, eyeing the room, landing on an ice bucket with a frosted Champagne bottle in it. “We’re not thinking clearly. We need to calm our nerves. Champagne, anyone?”

“Right. Getting tipsy is always the solution,” Skye says, and I know for a fact that she’s being serious. So does West, and he fills the glasses.

“Thanks, West. Liquid problem-solving,” I say, snatching one from his hand. “Come on, Paige. It’ll make you care less about being sewn into your dress forever.”

“God, fine.” She grabs it from my hand and downs it faster than a freshman at a frat party.

“Cheers to zippers that unzip,” Skye toasts, tipping back her own drink.

West’s gaze fixates on a wire hanger discarded on a nearby vanity. “I have an idea.”

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