Page 121 of 10 Days to Surrender

The boutique is nothing like I imagined when I used to daydream about dress shopping in New York. No stark white walls or intimidating mirrors. Completely devoid of rail-thin attendants giving judgmental side-eye to my expanding waistline. Instead, the space feels lived-in, loved. Vintage photographs cover the walls—brides from decades past, their joy preserved in sepia tones. Dried flowers hang from exposed wooden beams.

Maria disappears behind a heavy velvet curtain, still talking to herself in Italian. I catch maybe one word in twenty, but her enthusiasm needs no translation.

“This is perfect,” Mama whispers, squeezing my hand. Her eyes are already glistening again. She’s a leaky faucet today. It’s contagious.

Before I can agree, Maria bursts back through the curtain with an armful of ivory silk. “For you, for you! Special dresses for a special mama bride.”

She lays them out one by one on a worn chaise lounge, handling each gown like it’s made of spun sugar. These aren’t the restrictive meringues I feared—they’re fluid things, designed to celebrate my body, not constrain it.

“See?” Maria points out the clever panels and elegant draping. “We make you feel like a queen, not a penguin.”

I laugh. The fabric feels like water between my fingers. “They’re beautiful.”

“Si, si! Beauty for beauty!” She pats my cheek like a doting grandmother. “Now, we try. Show thesebambinihow Mama sparkles,no?”

Looking around this cozy shop, at these perfectly imperfect dresses, at the women I love most gathered close, I feel tears threatening again.

But this time, they’re the good kind.

This is exactly how finding my wedding dress should feel. Not in some sterile Manhattan showroom, but here, in this little slice of Italian heaven, surrounded by love and history and the smell of dried roses.

As I start to try them on, everyone plays exactly the role I would’ve expected from them.

Lora on Dress #1: “Oh my gawd, you’re like a beautiful marshmallow!”

Mama on Dress #2: “Perhaps a bit… old-fashioned, sweetheart. But still gorgeous!”

Gina on Dress #3: “Your curves arecurving,lady!”

I frown at Gee. “In a Dolly Parton kind of way, or are we talking more like the Michelin Man?”

Her lack of an answer tells me everything I need to know.

When I emerge from behind the velvet curtain in Dress #4, Gina immediately whips out her phone, circling me like a fashion photographer on speed. “Work it, girl! Give me angles! No, wait—that’s your bad side. Other way. Yesss, perfect!”

“Every side is my bad side right now,” I laugh, trying to twist despite my belly. “I’m the size of a planet.”

“Nonsense!” Lora is already dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “You look like an angel. A glowing, pregnant angel.”

“You said that about the last two dresses,” Gina points out, not unkindly.

“Because they were all beautiful!” Lora sniffles harder.

Mama flutters around me, adjusting the fall of silk across my shoulders, smoothing invisible wrinkles. Her hands are gentle but insistent as she fusses with the train. “Maybe if we pinned this part here…” she murmurs, more to herself than to me. “Yes, yes, yes.”

I’m about to turn to look at my reflection—when I notice Jasmine.

She’s been quiet through the whole process, watching from her perch on the vintage settee. Unlike the others, she doesn’t rush to comment on each dress. She waits, observes, only speaking when she has something real to say.

But now…

Now, she’s staring at me with tears in her eyes.

“Jas?” I whisper.

She stands slowly, one hand pressed to her mouth. For a moment, I think she won’t speak at all. Then her voice comes out rough, like she’s fighting past something stuck in her throat.

“You look like Mama on her wedding day.”

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