Page 63 of Pregnant in Plaid
Tessa comes around to my side and links her arm through mine. "Ready to find you a dress that makes you feel gorgeous?"
"I'd settle for finding a dress that doesn't make me look like I swallowed a planet."
"You don't look like you swallowed a planet."
"Tessa. I'm enormous."
"You're pregnant," she corrects. "There's a difference."
"Is there though?"
She just laughs and pullsme toward the shop.
The bridal boutique is one of those places that smells like expensive fabric and broken dreams. Everything is white or ivory or champagne or some other shade that basically means white but costs more. There are mirrors everywhere, which feels like a personal attack.
A saleswoman materializes the second we walk in. She's tall, impossibly thin, and wearing a smile so bright it could guide ships to shore.
"Welcome! Are we shopping for a wedding dress today?"
"She isn’t," I say, pointing at Tessa. "I'm shopping for something that will allow me to attend a wedding without looking like I robbed a tent factory."
The saleswoman's smile doesn't falter. "Maternity formal wear! How exciting! When are you due?"
"February."
"Oh, so you're—" She does quick math in her head. "Seven months?"
"Almost eight, actually. The wedding's this week."
"Well, you're glowing!"
I lean closer to Tessa. "That's sweat. I'm always sweating now. It's one of pregnancy's many delightful gifts."
Tessa snorts, and the saleswoman pretends not to hear.
"Let me show you our maternity section," the saleswoman says, leading us toward the back of the store. "We have some beautiful options for formal occasions."
The maternity section is exactly three racks. Three. Meanwhile, the regular wedding dresses take up the entire front half of the store like a fluffy white army.
"This is it?" I ask.
"We have a carefully curated selection," the saleswoman says, which I'm pretty sure is retail speak for we didn't order much because pregnant women are an afterthought.
Tessa immediately starts pulling dresses. "Okay, what about this one? It's got an empire waist."
I hold it up. It's navy blue with long sleeves and looks like something a Victorian governess would wear to a funeral.
"Next."
"This one?" She holds up a burgundy dress with a plunging neckline.
"Tessa. My boobs are already trying to escape. That neckline would give them a formal invitation."
"Valid point." She puts it back and pulls out another one. "Ooh, this one's pretty. Forest green, flowy, very elegant."
I take it from her and head to the dressing room, which is less a room and more a glorified closet with a curtain that doesn't quite close all the way. Getting the dress on turns out to be an Olympic event. I'm sweating by the time I manage to zip it up, and when I look in the mirror, I?—
Oh no.
