What He's Been Missing

“Pink?” Krista confirmed my vision.

“It’s rose.” Scarlet’s smile evaporated and her face looked more like mine and Krista’s. She looked at me with her shoulders ready to slump. “You like it?”

“What . . . ? Why . . . ?” I was at a loss for words. It was the same ML from the picture she’d sent, but it was a new color. And Scarlet really did look beautiful in it, but colorful wedding dresses just never went over well.

“It’s my signature color. My favorite,” Scarlet whined and I had the sense that if someone didn’t say something nice fast, she’d run out of the store in the dress and right into traffic. The fragile girl in front of me needed me to approve.

“Beautiful! Molto bello!” The little Italian woman must’ve sensed it, too. She kissed her fingers.

Krista and I gave her a “butt-out” glower and she stepped out of the fitting area apologetically.

“You hate it?” Scarlet’s eyes were already red.

“But you sent me a picture of a white dress,” I said, avoiding answering the question. I got up and walked over to her. She looked so desperate standing in front of the couch alone.

“I had it dyed. Ian loves this color on me.”

“Well, it’s your wedding. It’s not necessary to wear your favorite color at your wedding,” I said, feeling ridiculous for having to point that out and afraid that if I mentioned white, Scarlet would go into some speech about “purity” and “male domination”—only pink (rose) wasn’t any better than white. She looked like a girl going to her first dance. The quaint yet elegant event I’d planned was about to look like a 1980s prom.

Living up to her nickname, Scarlet tried to stand her ground. She put her hands on her hips defiantly. “This is what I want! There’s nothing wrong with it.” She sounded like she was about to have a tantrum.

Krista and I looked at each other.

“We’re not saying there’s anything wrong with it,” Krista said carefully. “It’s just that in our history, most times when we see colored wedding dresses, it doesn’t come off quite as beautiful as the bride intended. We don’t want you to go for this and then be disappointed on your wedding day.”

“But it’s my day!” Scarlet cried and ran back into the fitting room.

“What the hell?” Krista said. “Did Angela Davis just have a breakdown over a pink wedding dress?”

The attendant came back in and headed to help Scarlet out of her dress.

I stopped her. “Let me get her,” I said.

I knocked on the door. “Can I come in?”

“It’s open.”

I opened the door. Scarlet was still in the dress and sitting on a dressing stool with her elbows on her knees.

“You might want to stop crying. Don’t want to damage your ML,” I said, trying to get her to laugh. I’d been in this position so many times. Weddings are emotional events. And women are emotional beings. For most weddings, I was more of a clinical psychologist than a wedding planner. Scarlet just needed a human touch. A reminder of what the wedding was all about and who she was. The only problem was that this wasn’t just any wedding and any bride. After my epiphany, I’d been going on pure instinct, maneuvering the wedding planning for Ian. But was I capable of talking his fiancée into not freaking out and becoming the Goliath of all monster brides? A more conniving and diabolical person would take advantage of the situation and use Scarlet’s mania to her benefit. Maybe push her over the ledge and make Ian see her for who she really was: a little girl in a pink dress. But . . . I’m a professional and I was raised better than that.

“I thought it would be pretty. Different,” Scarlet cried, ignoring my comment about stains. “Ian likes it when I’m different.”

I sat down on the floor in front of the mirror Scarlet was facing.

“I think you look pretty,” I offered.

“You do?” Scarlet looked at me.

“Your skin . . . the rose does compliment it,” I said. “It’s just different. And what we fear, what Krista was explaining, is that if you wear something different, people will be so busy looking at your dress, they won’t notice you.”

“I only care what Ian thinks.”

“And if you like it and he loves it, then I say go for it.”

“You think so?”

“Mama Dupree won’t be happy about it, but like you said, this is your wedding. If you choose this dress, Krista and I will make sure every detail, from the lighting to the candles, complements it. We’ll make it work.”