Meet Me In The Hallway

Blue skies

I'm sitting in front of a freestanding glass in my knickers. Knickers is a bit of an understatement, because the rig that I have got myself strapped into may be a feat of engineering. The last time I was here, about to say 'I do', I had looked perfect but felt so hollow inside that I was having a panic attack. Today, it's the opposite. Well, not exactly. I don't feel hollow, of anything, I'm brimming. I'm even up a little because the love weight I'd found when in the neoinfancy of my relationship had stuck around. And I'd somehow been ok with it. Because the love had stuck around too. And so had I.

We have a strict no running policy.

But I'm sitting here practically naked except for white straps, because my mum has insisted on being in charge of my dress. Claiming it was one less thing I needed to be fussed about. I'd agreed, because frankly I've been floating on air through this entire process. But it is a little chilly in this place and I'd really like to get in my dress.

I love my dress, it's slim and sophisticated and high end. It's a dream, but I can't say I don't  think of my perfect dress. How one woman could have had three separate wedding dresses by 26 years old left me scoffing at myself.

"Knock, knock!" I hear my mum's voice call over the click of the door and I laugh out loud.

"Why do people say 'knock knock' instead of actually knocking?" I ask.

"Dunno, I just didn't want to catch you unawares." She looks so healthy and I see her admire herself in the glass.

"Mum, I'm basically naked in here, you are a welcome sight." I smile at her as she hangs my dress on the hook. "You look well fit!" I can't help but compliment. She smiles and looks at her silhouette, glowing. If the second bout of cancer and the resulting mastectomy had yielded anything positive, it was my mum's appreciation of her new boobs. Apparently my dad's too, as she likes to tell me so that I make a face and my dad can say, "Wanda!" Then he smile at her conspiratorially.

I love watching them now, honestly. All the subtle touches and lovely consideration they have for each other is so amazing now that I have their story. Now that I've fictionalized it and gotten it published. I'm in on their secrets and it's such a gift.

"How's it look? All those wrinkles only you could see ironed out?" I stand up to look and my mum stops me.

"Give me a moment, I want to take a picture."

"But you've already seen me in it, Mum?"

She looks weird for a minute, "I know," she stutters, "but I didn't take any pictures of the lovely thing, because I was afraid they'd be seen and spoil it."

I shrug at her reasoning, but let her sift through her teeny bag and get her phone out and up.

"Oh My God! Mum!" I cry as I open the white garment bag and tears spring to my eyes. I'm totally overwhelmed. "Mum! How? How did you find it?" I gasp out as I slip the cover off my dress. The dress, the perfect one, that I tried on and should have taken as a big fate sign from fate. In some ways I did, I suppose.

"I didn't!" She says

"I did." And then I hear Harry's voice come through her phone's speakers.

My first reaction is to run to the phone and see his face. Then I realize I'll spoil the surprise of my undergarments. Then it dawns on me, he's seen my dress. After everything we have been through I don't want to chance fate at all. I can't wear the dress if he has seen it.

"Oh, Harry! Thank you, but I can't wear it now not if you have seen it!" I stamp the heel of my shoe just a bit, though I know it's childish. I really am a little sad I can't have it.