The Truth

Elle nods and picks up a fry. “Okay. Seriously, Dad, I’m so happy for you two. And a baby, too? Sweet as.”

“Sweet as what?”

Elle shrugs. “Don’t know. It’s just something I picked up. It’s a thing, look it up.”

“And definitely no heart attacks. What would I do on my lonely nights in bed alone then?” I blink innocently, and Elle gags.

“Nope, don’t need to see that.”

I look back to my best friend, smiling happily.

“Oh! Neve is going to have a cousin to play with. Wait . . . cousin? Or sibling? I mean, we’re not actually sisters because that would be extra weird now.” She points from me to Daniel. “But we’ve always said we felt like it, and that’s why Neve calls you Aunt Tiffy. And with that, our kids would be like cousins. But if Dad’s having a kid, then it’s my half-sibling. So sib-sin? Or cous-ling?”

She’s rambling, her eyes flicking left and right as her brain tries to make sense of it. I’ve missed this and am about to reel her back in when Daniel reaches out and puts a hand on his daughter’s shoulder.

“Or maybe just family?” Daniel offers.

Elle blinks, shaken back to reality. “Good plan. And congrats, guys. I really am happy for you both.”

We wrap up lunch, and in the parking lot Elle shoos Daniel toward his car. “Hey, workaholic, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you need to go back to the office. I’m kidnapping my bestie to go dress shopping today.”

“Ah, Elle, you know I—”

“And you shut up,” she tells me with a smirk. “I dare you to go get a wedding dress with me right now.”

I glance to Daniel, who waves me off. “I’ll explain to Megan and Stephanie. I’m sure they’ll understand . . . if you bring in muffins tomorrow.”

“He does understand us,” Elle says with a mocking faint voice. We watch Daniel leave, and Elle herds me over toward her rental, making sure I’m inside before climbing behind the wheel. For a moment, it’s like the old days.

We’re partners in crime again, and the only thing that’s out of place is that we should be behind the wheel of Cammie. But the rental works well, and when we pull up at the same wedding dress place Harper used, we’re both laughing.

“Now promise me, none of the no eating or passing out stuff again,” Elle says as we go inside.

“Deal,” I reply, and Elle nods. “So, what should we look at?”

The staff is surprised to see me again so quickly, but when we reveal the reason, they’re more than happy to assist us. Of course, my tastes are far different from Harper’s, and so it takes us a lot of ‘nevers’ before we reach any ‘maybes’.

“Oh, I have to see you in this,” Elle says as we look at a dress that looks like someone’s fairy godmother threw up lace and flowers all over it. “It’s so you!”

“You must be smoking something,” I reply, and Elle raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you even!”

“Got to,” Elle says. “I dare you.”

Sighing, I call the attendant over and go to get changed. And somehow . . . it’s magical. I can’t believe it, turning this way and that, amazed.

Elle smiles. “How much?”

“Five thousand,” the shop attendant says almost automatically. “Obviously, a rental is much less.”

I blink, stunned. “Does this thing carry me down the aisle itself?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Elle says. “We’ll take it. Can you get it rush-fitted?”

“Wait,” I declare, pulling Elle aside. “Elle, don’t you dare.”

“Girl, I’ve got piss off amounts of money now. And I want to do this for my best friend. My sister.”

“You mean your semi-evil stepmother?” I tease, and Elle rolls her eyes. I swallow back the tears and nod. “Thank you.”

We hug, and when Elle steps back she’s on the verge of tears too. “You’d just better give me a cute sibling, bitch. Or else I’m sticking it back in your oven until it’s right!”

“Hey, blame the baker who put his cream in my egg,” I quip, looking her up and down. “His past results aren’t all that impressive.”

“Ooh, bitch . . . just for that, you’re getting a geriatric stripper for the reception.”

“Oh, God, the reception,” I breathe, stunned. “We’ve gotta get stuff popping!”

Thankfully, Elle’s work and management skills have improved as much as mine have, and the rest of the afternoon is a flurry of phone calls and visits. We work with machine-like efficiency, booking flowers, a cake, and a decorator to come to Daniel’s apartment and set everything up for the ceremony and reception.

“And with the cleaners coming in on Friday . . . I think that’s everything,” I tell her, glancing down at the list on my phone. “What do you say?”

“I say if we ever want to go into business for ourselves, we’d slay the wedding planner industry,” Elle says. “Wedding in a day, who’d have thought that was possible?”