Vodka Espresso

25. wedding

August, 2017

"What is that?"

Edgar frowned at the mass of peach-pink fabric dangling from Ingrid's hands.

"It's my bridesmaid's dress." Wrapped up in a bathrobe, she held the dress up to smooth it out in preparation for putting it on.

"Doesn't look like much of a dress to me." He fingered the uneven, frilly skirt, made out of seemingly random strips of satin.

Ingrid wiggled her eyebrows at him. "Wait until I put it on. Here." She handed it over to him and instructed him to hold it up by the straps.

Edgar had every right to be confused. Ingrid's was a Frankenstein dress, fashioned from leftovers and bits and pieces stolen from the other bridesmaids. It had been Rose's idea to redesign the almost identical dresses into unique creations so that the surplus from each could be upcycled into a matching gown for Ingrid.

The tailors had crafted a high-low skirt from the available satin, attached to a wider swathe of fabric stretching over the chest, with a couple of breast cups sewn in for support. The shallow V-neck at the top continued into two straps over the shoulders, which crossed paths on the back and joined the skirt at the waist. The straps were a few inches wide but that still left her back ninety-percent bare.

Ingrid took off her bathrobe and with Edgar still holding the dress up by the straps, she gingerly picked up the skirt and snaked one arm through, then her head, then the other arm, and pulled it down to her hips with utmost care. She adjusted the cups over her breasts, the straps on her shoulders and asked Edgar to make sure everything looked fine on her back, as well.

He could see nothing wrong and when she turned around... he understood. It was obvious from the whirlwind in his eyes.

"Bloody hell," he muttered.

Ingrid winked. "Told ya."

She went about picking out jewellery and putting on make-up while Edgar watched from her bed. They walked downstairs together afterwards and he held onto her as she put her shoes on.

"Remember," he began, helping Ingrid into her lightweight trenchcoat. She came level with him in her stilettos. "Call me if you need to. At any time. I'll be there to bail you out ASAP."

Ingrid rolled her eyes. "I'll be fine, dad. I'm with my crew. May their deity of choice watch out for whoever will dare to harm a hair on our heads. We look out for each other."

Edgar smiled. "Yeah, well, just in case you don't want to get your hands dirty. I volunteer as tribute."

"Oh, your pop culture reference game is getting stronger. I'm impressed." She leaned in for a kiss, but he hesitated. "It's waterproof," she explained, pointing to her rouged lips. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"See you tomorrow. Take care and have fun."

"I sure fucking plan to," and she swaggered out of the house.

Agata's car had just pulled up across the street. Her doctoral-student boyfriend was driving and he got out to help Ingrid in.

"You must be Tim," Ingrid smiled. "Hi. I'm Ingrid, it's nice to finally meet you."

"Yeah, same. I've been hearing quite a lot about you."

"Not all bad, I hope."

"Not at all, in fact."

*

Despite her best efforts to keep a low profile, Ingrid's bridesmaid duties put her centre stage one too many times and once tipsy, her former Uni classmates swarmed around her. Her unlikely saviour was Tim. He deftly extracted her from a small crowd and reunited her with her best friend.