Page 66 of Escape Girl
Her fingers flew over the keyboard. “What do you want to name it?”
I closed my eyes, pushed past the embarrassment. “Three Times I Could Have Saved Us.”
“Oh!” Andie peeped and sniffled. I caught her blowing her nose in a tissue, and she gave me a teary, forgiving smile. “I’m so glad you’re going to try this. Bobby is still the sweetest dude I’ve ever met, but he’s changed. He’s lost his spark. He’s so kind, but he laughs so much less. He’s notsillyanymore.”
If my heart hadn’t already been broken, that might have done it. If I could have, I would have offered the entire world an apology for changing one ounce of Bobby. In lieu of a global apology, I offered one to Andie. “I’m sorry. I was broken and I didn’t know how to heal. In my flailing, I broke him too.”
Andie met my eyes, and I suddenly saw a maturity on her face that was concealed most of the time by her exuberance and youth. “I hate to paraphrase Hemingway, because that dude is problematic, but I do believe that we’re stronger in the places that we’ve been broken.”
She shook off the somber and bounced in her chair. “I’ll get started!”
I sent her the photos that evening, and she worked quickly. By the following night, she’d sent me a file with rough mock-ups of the rooms. “You can work on your recordings now,” she said. “I’ll put it all together once you’re happy with the audio.”
The first room was the exclusive bridal salon where I’d bought my wedding dress.
Bobby would remember this day well, I was sure of it. My wedding planner had reserved a two-hour appointment for me in which I’d be the only customer in the store. Because my wedding was coming up so quickly, there were only a dozen gowns to choose from that could be altered to fit me in the weeks remaining. Those twelve gowns had been lined up in theenormous dressing room. My wedding planner and the three women working at the bridal boutique waited for me to emerge in each dress, to step on a platform in front of an enormous mirror and be judged.
I had dreaded this appointment from the moment it was scheduled. At the time, I couldn’t name the reason for the dread. I’d only known that even thinking about trying on a wedding dress filled my chest with pressure and made me feel sick to my stomach.
Somehow, Bobby knew. Because he’d shown up at the salon unexpectedly, much to the annoyance of my wedding planner who was convinced that if he saw “the dress” ahead of time, that would ruin the “authenticity” of the “big reveal” for the wedding photos.
Bobby ignored her irritation and brought me a glass of champagne to the dressing room. He stayed with me until I’d drank the entire thing, and then kissed me until I barely remembered how to pull a zipper.
As I examined Andie’s work from the various photos I sent, I was pleased to see she’d captured all the items I’d requested: the dressing room, bursting at the seams with fat white dresses, the bucket of champagne, the outer room with the platform and the mirror.
Most importantly, two particular dresses.
The first ten dresses I’d tried on were fine. Mostly strapless, some A-line, all expensive. I’d dutifully paraded each one out to the various opinions of the wedding planner and staff.
When I’d walked out in the eleventh dress, though, the staff and wedding planner went giddy. It was an extreme princess look, dramatic in its femininity. Fit wise, it was flattering. It accentuated my natural hourglass shape, and the shade of ivory was good against my skin. “There she is! That’s my star bride!” my wedding planner announced.
“Hmm,” I said doubtfully. It did look good on me, but comeon. It wasn’t my style at all. It didn’t fit my personality in the slightest.
In the mirror, I’d looked at Bobby’s reflection. He waslaughingat me. “You’re a beautiful cupcake,” he gasped. I giggled so hard that I snorted—which made him double over.
Tears of mirth were streaming down my face when I went back to the dressing room, sure the day was a bust. The only dress remaining in the room was much simpler. I couldn’t even tell what it was supposed to look like until I put it on my body.
When I finally got it zipped and turned to face myself in the mirror, I inhaled sharply. It was an elegant Grecian-style gown. A simple column with no embellishments. Just beautiful, high-quality fabric and a sheen that glowed. I remember wishing hard for my own red hair.
I pushed back my shoulders and lifted my chin, a small, awed smile brightening my face.
That one, Emmy.
My mother’s voice, clear as day in my head.
I stopped breathing. The color fled from my face.
That one, Emmy.
“Emily, are you finished?” the wedding planner called. “Was that the last dress? I think we should take it.”
I ignored her, still staring at my trembling reflection.
Behind me, the curtains to the dressing room parted, and Bobby appeared in the mirror.
His face went starstruck. “Oh. Oh my God, Em.”
Something inside me began to shake. I felt like I was going to come apart, bits and pieces toppling off my outer edges, like a skyscraper in an earthquake.
