@diana-goodwin
When Grace and Caleb had set a wedding date, Grace had gone home that night and, as she lounged in the tub, counted on her phone’s calendar how many days away it was. It felt like every day of her life leading up to it was simply negligible to the day itself; whether they were good days or bad, she knew that it was just part of the journey to getting to what she knew, intuitively, would be one of the happiest days of her life. It served as a sort of temporary finish line to her — if she could just make it until then.
It used to seem so far away.
Part of the day was, of course, the logistics. Grace had allowed Caleb’s stepmother to get involved early, knowing that she and Mr. Ashmore had a clear vision for the wedding and also a better handle on how much they were willing to spend. So when Caleb’s stepmom wanted gardenia, Grace nodded along happily. When she wanted black tie, Grace didn’t bother arguing. She’d narrowed down venues, color schemes, dinner options — all Grace had to do was approve. It was sort of like playing a game of MASH as an adult; none of it really mattered to Grace in the long run. Caleb would get his seed money for his storefront, and they’d be married. The rest of it was just for show.
The one thing Grace retained sole control over — the only thing she expressed sincere interest in — was her wedding gown. She knew that, between Caleb’s stepmom and her own mother, there’d likely be a lot of loud, conflicting opinions. So she’d done most of the shopping on her own, only bringing Diana back when she found the right one to affirm that it was, in fact, the right one. That had been only a couple of months ago, but Grace felt so far removed from her life then as she stood in front of the bag holding her gown now. She felt oddly anxious to face it again, nervous about how tangible it would make the entire thing; the anxiety was only rivaled by her guilt.
She unzipped the bag, admiring the gown as she had when she’d first seen it on the rack, and worked to get into it, noticing her hands didn’t work as well as she’d have liked. She poked her head out of the dressing room curtain, the dress hanging off of her unzipped, and garnered Diana’s attention frantically, slightly frustrated with herself. “Can you help me?” She implored quietly, not wanting to get the attention of the seamstress just yet. “I’m not — I can’t zip this thing.”
