The Bridesmaid

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It was bad enough that the dress was a poufy plantation ball gown number, complete with a sash and apron in a disturbing shade of peach, but it also wouldn’t fit in Kate’s suitcase. Which meant she was going to have to carry it on the plane. Which she had explained to Lisa when they’d shopped for the bridesmaid gowns six months ago.

“But I love it!” Lisa had said, and had made Kate turn around one more time on the little pedestal in the bridal salon.

It was puzzling to Kate. Lisa was her cousin and her best friend. She was pretty and so very stylish. Kate had always wished she were as stylish as Lisa. She’d always admired the way Lisa went after things she wanted, her generosity and kindness, her fabulous sense of humor. But Kate did not care for the way Lisa tended to flip out at the first sign of pressure, or the way she’d latched on to a vision for her wedding that defied logic.

Lisa wanted a plantation wedding. In Seattle. And of course Lisa had bought a slinky mermaid wedding gown for herself. But for her sister Lori, and Kate, her maid of honor, she’d insisted on the peach monstrosities, with clunky platform shoes. Plus, she had the most appalling idea that Kate and Lori would wear their hair in French twists from which peach ribbons would cascade. “Like morning mist,” Lisa had said dreamily.

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