Page 21 of Tempt
And I was miserable and hungry and exhausted all the time. I hated my body, I hated myself, and I started to hate dance. I spent most of my spare time crying in my bedroom. Finally, I went to my dad and Frannie and I admitted I didn’t want to study ballet anymore—I was tired of the way it made me feel about myself. They understood and told me the choice was mine, and they encouraged me to do what would make me happy. They made me feel loved and appreciated and gave me the reassurance I needed tobemyself andlovemyself.
But Taylor didn’t have that kind of parent.
“You know what,” I said, focusing on the teary-eyed bride-to-be in front of me, “I know a few designers with size-inclusive lines. And they make beautiful, sexy, stunning dresses. I’ll email you their names.”
“Really?” Taylor perked up.
“Yes. Also, I’m hosting a fashion show for curvy brides in early March if you’d like to come. Depending on the wedding date you choose, you might see something there you could get in time for a summer wedding.”
“That sounds amazing.” She smiled. “Thank you so much.”
* * *
Just after five that evening, my sisters and I ducked into Southpaw Brewing Co, a downtown microbrewery with great food, spacious leather booths, and fantastic service. It was owned by Tyler Shaw, a former MLB pitcher who’d married our Aunt April. When he saw us come in, he came over to greet us and led us to a booth in a quieter area toward the back.
“How’s everything going?” he asked. “Did you make it in before the rain?”
“Yes, and I hope we make it out too, because I forgot an umbrella,” I said, sliding in across from Winnie and Felicity.
“Me too.” Winnie unzipped her coat and shivered. “I need a hot toddy. I’m chilled to the bone.”
“Coming right up.” Tyler smiled. He was in his early fifties, broad-chested and handsome in a mature way that reminded me of Zach—dark hair with a hint of gray, brown eyes with tiny lines at the corners, chiseled jaw—although Tyler was clean-shaven where Zach had a beard. The memory of that beard on my cheek, belly, and thighs sent a little shiver up my spine.
“And some menus would be good.” Felicity wriggled out of her jacket. “I’m starving.”
“I’ll send something over right away,” he said.
A few minutes later, we had drinks and an order of onion rings on the table, crispy and hot, coated with batter made from one of Southpaw’s hand-crafted ales. While we sipped and munched and looked over the food menu, I told my sisters about the appointment that afternoon. “I felt so bad for this girl. Her mother was so mean.”
“That’s awful,” said Felicity.
“She said they’d been to three salons and not one of them had a dress she liked in a size that fit,” I said, getting worked up all over again. “Shopping for your wedding dress should be a joyful experience. It shouldn’t make you feel bad about yourself.”
“I’ve heard similar things from brides at Abelard,” Winnie remarked. “This is why your event is going to be such a hit, Mills. Curvy brides will get to see what’s out there.”
“But is that enough? One show won’t change the shopping experience for brides. And shopping in general when you’re plus-sized is not terribly fun.” My sisters had been shopping with me enough times in our lives to know this already, and they nodded sympathetically as I went on. “It sucks to see something cute and be told it doesn’t come in your size or be directed to the back of the store where the clothes are all drab and unshapely. That’s why I end up sewing things I really want. I totally understood where Taylor was coming from.”
“Is she going to come to your show?” asked Felicity.
“I think so, and I told her I’d email her a list of designers I know that do beautiful plus-sized dresses.” I sipped my wine. “She mentioned that her fiancé loves her curves. That made me happy.”
Our server appeared and we put in our orders—vegetarian chili for Felicity, club sandwich for me, black and blue burger for Winnie.
“That reminds me,” said Felicity, “a friend of mine from culinary school who lives in Kansas literally flew to another state to shop for her wedding dress at a bridal salon that specializes in gowns for curvy women. I think she went to Georgia.”
“Really?” Winnie looked at Felicity and then at me. “A whole store that specializes in plus-sized wedding dresses? Is there one of those near us? Or even in this state?”
“If there is,” I said, “I haven’t heard of it.”
Winnie picked up an onion ring and bit into it. “Mills, I could seeyouopening a shop like that, with your design background and all your wedding planning experience. I mean,” she went on after swallowing the bite in her mouth, “if you ever wanted to do something different.”
“That would be a pretty giant career change,” I said. But something about the idea intrigued me.
“Not really,” Felicity countered. “You’d still be helping people experience their dream wedding. I mean, what’s more important to a bride than her dress?”
“The groom?”
She rolled her eyes and pushed her glasses up her nose. “Okay, besides the groom, the dress is always what the bride most wants to love, and it’s probably the thing she’s been thinking about since before she even liked boys or girls or whoever she’s marrying.”
