Page 29 of My Killer Blind Date

Yoga pants, tank and flannel shirt it is.

*

I burst into the bridal shop ten minutes late, my still-damp hair pulled into a top knot.

‘Hi, hi, sorry, I’m late for my fitting—’ I say to the chic woman whose name I suddenly can’t remember – ah yes, Siobhan – when a bright voice cries my name.

‘Margot! You’re here!’ It’s George, rushing toward me in a cloud of blinding white satin and tulle.

‘Hi – oof—’ I say as she slams into me in the most ferocious hug of all time. She holds me tight, then jerks me from side to side with a rhythmic ‘mmm-mm-mmm’ sound.

‘Be careful!’ I laugh to cover my sudden surge of emotion. ‘Your dress!’ We pull back, hands linked, and I take her in. ‘George – just, wow. You look so beautiful.’

The dress is stunning, with a smooth, strapless bodice perfectly contoured to her torso, an exuberant princess-style skirt, and a glammed-out rhinestone-and-pearl belt circling her slim waist. But it’s not just the stunning dress that’s making me emotional. It’s the radiant halo of happiness that surrounds her. Love looks good on her.

‘Margot? I have your dress waiting in the fitting area,’ says Siobhan.

Five minutes later, I’m in the pea soup monstrosity, standing in front of a three-way mirror while Siobhan pins and measures. George has too good of a heart to have made us all look this bad on purpose, but oof. The shade of green seems to have been expressly designed to make me look like my skin died months prior and only continues to be draped across my bones as a courtesy. I should know. I work with dead people.

‘We’ll have to take it in quite a bit,’ Siobhan says with a frown as she pins the sides.

‘Oh … OK.’ I don’t remember it being this loose on me – I guess I’ve lost weight since I ordered this size. It seems a little silly to try to go to the trouble and expense of altering it when it’s going to look bad no matter what, but I sense that Siobhan – not to mention George – might not agree.

Siobhan finishes up and I change back into my clothes, emerging from the dressing room just as George is also coming out of hers, back in her normal clothes – an A-line summer dress in a bold hot pink print with a little yellow cardigan on top.

‘We’ll have this ready for pickup next week!’ says Siobhan, whisking my dress toward the front of the store. ‘The big day is almost here!’

‘Crazy,’ says George.

I do some quick mental math and realize to my shock that the wedding is in four weeks, meaning that the upcoming gender-blended bachelor-bachelorette party is two weeks from yesterday. That party alone has a budget that probably blows my lifetime earnings out of the water and then some.

Part of me is, of course, so happy for George and Arjun. The world is a bitch so much of the time – it’s nice when there are over-the-top pockets of happiness for deserving people like them. But the other part of me is definitely feeling the pressure to act happy and prove not just to George but to all her friends that I’m not the party pooper they’ve all branded me as, which … ugh. Sounds exhausting.

In the store entrance, I turn to George for a hug. ‘So … see you in two weeks? At the bachelor-bachelorette party?’

‘Not so fast!’ Instead of hugging me, she grabs my arm like she’s afraid if she doesn’t have a physical hold on me, I might bolt. ‘You haven’t told me anything about Liam. You don’t have lunch plans, do you?’

‘I mean …’ I had planned on cramming in a few more self-defense videos before heading down to Navy Pier. But I can’t exactly use that as an excuse. ‘Not exactly?’

‘Good. This might be our last chance to hang, just you and me, before the wedding takes over my life. I mean, who am I kidding, it’s dominated the past six months.’ She squints. ‘Fine. The last year … and a half. And that’s not counting the wedding we’re doing in India next year! But I feel like the bachelor-bachelorette party is the starting line of the final race, you know? And then it’s a hundred miles an hour until we crash at the end.’ She heaves a deep sigh. ‘I still have so much to finalize for the party … did I mention the ice sculptor backed out at the last minute? I have literally called every ice sculpting business within a hundred-mile radius, and no one has availability that day. The live ice sculpture of us getting engaged was supposed to be the main feature of the party!’

I make a sympathetic sound, and then it hits me. ‘Zoe had a sculptor friend. Colby! I don’t know if she does ice sculpting specifically, but I can share her contact info?’

‘Oh my God, yes, please!’ We get busy with our phones for a sec, then George sighs. ‘Hopefully it works out. But I swear there are, like, a dozen other problems.’

I feel a stab of guilt for not helping George more with all these plans. I was going to be the maid of honor, but after Zoe disappeared, George graciously let me off the hook and assigned Bix.

As George talks about her wedding troubles, I remind myself I’m being a good friend to Zoe, and it’s OK that’s taken up all the space in my life. I can’t do it all. Still, it sucks to let people down.

‘… so if Aunt Susan and Aunt Diane refuse to get along, I’ve decided that’s not my problem! The seating chart is done! Right? Is that reasonable? Or am I being a total bitch?’

‘Totally reasonable! And you couldn’t be a bitch if you tried.’

George cackles. ‘We both know that’s not true. But thanks for listening, babe. I’m extremely aware that these are first-world problems.’

Now it’s my turn to squeeze George’s arm. ‘Hey. Weddings are stressful. You’re doing great. Honestly.’

‘No more whining for today. Promise. Lunch? My treat.’