Page 98 of One Bride for Three Single Dads

Emily looks at me with tears in her eyes.

“Is it all right? What do you think? You can tell me honestly!”

Okay, we all know that that is definitely a lie. If I had something less than complimentary to say, I definitely could not tell her honestly.

Luckily, it’s not a problem.

“You look amazing, Emily!” I gasp. “Unbelievable! Beautiful!”

She takes a deep breath and twirls again in front of the mirror. The long, billowing white skirts whoosh around her ankles, which are not very swollen today. That’s a blessing.

The seamstress did an amazing job estimating Emily’s measurements in advance. Seems like she gets bigger every day.

The silvery white satin drapes beautifully over her swelling belly. I love it that she chose the daring sweetheart neckline, too. Those boobs are, frankly, amazing right now.

She stares at herself in the mirror, running her palms thoughtfully over her abdomen. I know she prays. She’s probably talking to her baby right now, letting the little one know what an important day this is.

So much has changed for Emily. Apparently, even more than I knew. I never would’ve suspected that premarital sex was her bag… not to mention, getting knocked up? Well, will wonders never cease.

But, hey, who am I to judge? Everybody’s life is their own private business.

This purple dress feels like some kind of revenge, though. I squint over her shoulder in the triple mirror, seeing myself as a cartoon character. Emily picked out the dress, of course. It has puffy sleeves the size of basketballs. The collar comes right up to my throat, lined with scratchy lace. Feels like some kind of medieval torture chamber, if I am being honest.

And of course it goes right down to the floor, too. Sort of makes me wonder if her direction to the bridal shop was “Do you have anything that looks like a shopping bag for grapes? But, like, full-size? All the way to the floor?”

Whatever. It is her day.

The wedding planner knocks gently at the door and opens it a crack. She pops her head in, staring over her half-moon glasses with a professional smile.

“You about ready, hon?” she asks in her deep Southern accent. “Everybody’s waiting for you!”

Emily gives herself a hard stare.

“You’re ready!” I call out encouragingly before she can wander into any mental thickets of self-doubt. “You’re beautiful! Let’s do this!”

“I need a minute!” she complains, her cheeks pink. “Can I just have another minute?”

The wedding planner smiles ingratiatingly. “You can have ten minutes, hon,” she simpers. “You’re the star. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Oh, thank you!” Emily gasps.

She really does seem relieved. Maybe ten minutes will do it? Sometimes it is hard to tell when you need to pull somebody and when you need to push somebody.

I hear a small sound from the doorway and twist around, trying not to move my feet so I can’t trip over my purple garbage bag dress.

“Psssst!”

Harrison glares at me from a two-inch crack. I try to wave him away with my hand.

“PPPPSSSSSSTTTTT!!”

Realizing that he is just going to get louder and more obnoxious, I slap a big plastic smile on my face.

“Hey, since we have a few minutes, I’m just going to go to the ladies’ room? Okay?”

Emily barely hears me. She waves me off with her fingertips and stares at her wedding dress a little bit more.

Just to be safe, I walk backward to the door, holding my skirts in my fists so I don’t fall on my ass. Emily doesn’t turn around, so I am safe.

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