Page 46 of Infidelity Rules

Dezi emerges from the bridal salon dressing room looking like a princess cupcake decorated with too much frosting. The kind that looks much too sweet to eat.

The look on her face says, “Kill me now.”

“Don’t you dare laugh,” she says, heaving herself and the dress over to a platform facing a three-way mirror.

“Oh Dezi, that is terrible,” I say, giggling.

“I know. I’m too small for a ballgown. I tried to tell my mother this, but she insisted I at least try one on and take pictures. So here it is.”

“Due diligence,” I say, snapping a bunch of photos with my phone. “I can’t even see you under all that fluff. All I see is dress.”

“Exactly. It would be lovely on somebody tall, like you. But I can barely move in this mess.”

“Take it off. It’s hideous. Let’s get to the real stuff. Something you might actually wear.”

One bridal attendant helps Dezi out of the acres and acres of white froth, while another brings a selection more suited to Dezi’s slight frame and personal style.

I fully intend to enjoy the forthcoming fashion show as I relax on a pale pink velvet sofa with a glass of Champagne.

I have yet to tell Dezi about Marcus leaving Juliette and moving to D.C.

, but hopefully, I will find the opportunity today.

I wanted to see her well before the dress shopping started, but our schedules just never lined up.

Perhaps later this afternoon I can broach the subject, but right now, the woman needs to focus on finding her wedding dress.

And it’s my job to help her do just that.

The bridal attendant knows her stuff because every gown that follows Big Froth looks beautiful on Dezi.

They are all simple, sleek and form-fitting gowns in different shades of ivory, white or cream.

Some have bits of crystals or beading, others lace and others still are unadorned, allowing Dezi to shine as the jewel.

It’s a parade of gowns, one more lovely than the next.

I shake my head and grin as she emerges in yet another winner. This one is cream-colored silk with long lace sleeves as the only embellishment.

“What?” asks Dezi, as she turns around on the pedestal to get a look at the back of the gown.

“I don’t know how you’re going to choose,” I say, taking a sip of my Champagne. “You are beautiful in all of them.”

“You are sweet, thank you,” she sighs. “I think I need a break.”

At that, the bridal attendant sweeps over, gives Dezi a cozy robe to change into and sets her up next to me on the sofa with a glass of bubbly and a stack of bridal magazines to peruse.

“Wow, now that’s what I call service,” I say. “You need to go wedding dress shopping more often.”

“It’s exhausting,’’ she says, sinking into the plush sofa. “But definitely fun. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I wouldn’t miss this for anything. And I got a ton of photos so you can send as many as you’d like to your mom.”

Dezi nods as she flips through the magazines. “I think just a picture of the poof ball dress will be enough. At least she’ll know I tried.”

“Okay.” I know Dezi and her mom are not exceptionally close.

She vanished when Dezi was sixteen and resurfaced in Florida a year later, leaving Dezi and her father to fend for themselves.

She remarried at some point and popped out a few more kids and has tried to reconnect with Dezi with little success.

Dezi is cordial with her and manages a weekly dutiful phone call, but that’s about the extent of it.

I don’t think Dezi has ever forgiven her for walking out on them when she was a teenager.

I can’t even remember when Dezi last saw her mom.

And I have only met her once, when she crashed Dezi’s grad school graduation day.

“So, do you have any wedding plans yet or are you just focusing on the dress?” I ask.

“Just the dress. No date. No venue. Nothing. We are both so overwhelmed by all the choices I figured I’d start with the dress and maybe work backwards.”

“Not a bad idea. A few of these dresses would work at the beach or outdoors, the rest scream fancy. You have all your options.”

Dezi tosses the magazine she was flipping through onto the sofa. “Come on, let’s get out of here. My dress doesn’t live here.”

“Wait. Are you serious? We’re just getting started.”

Dezi’s face splits open into what I now deem her “Elliot Grin” as she pulls me up off the sofa. Quite a feat for such a tiny person.

“I’ve tried on enough. I know the dress I want,” she says, her blue eyes sparkling like sunshine on water. “Follow me.”

We leave the bridal salon and burst out into the icy but brilliant sunny afternoon.

“Lunch first,” she says, leading me to a small cafe around the corner. “And then we’ll visit my dress.”

I am torn between food and really, really wanting to see this dress. Like now. But the bride-to-be wants lunch, so that’s what we’re doing.

“No questions about the dress,” says Dezi as we slide into a booth. “You’ll see it soon enough.”

“Okay, okay. I’m very excited to see this thing. But why did we bother with that bridal shop?”

“Because you can’t just buy the first dress you see. Who does that? I wanted to make sure,” she says, still grinning at me. “And now I am.”

Our waitress stops by and we both order steaming bowls of soup — beef and barley for me, chicken noodle for Dezi.

“You must know what type of wedding you’re shooting for then, right?” I ask, nibbling on a sourdough roll.

“Ah. No questions. No hints. But yes, at least I have an idea now. Sort of.”

“What does Elliot want?”

“He wants whatever I want. Isn’t that what they always say? It’s sweet, of course, but not super helpful.”

“Well, you have me. Just tell me what you need and I’m on it.”

“I’m sorry you can’t be my maid of honor,” Dezi says quietly. “You’re the only one I want.”

Tears spring to my eyes. I have let down my dearest friend. How did I get so off track? I am the opposite of honor and integrity. I am not the kind of person you’d want as part of your wedding ceremony. I have been the enemy to married women everywhere.

“Hey, Quinn, don’t cry,” says Dezi, noticing my tears. “It’s just a stupid title.”

“It’s not that. I’m just so sorry for disappointing you. For putting you in the middle. And for not being the kind of friend you need. I’m sorry for it all, Dezi.”

“I know,” she says, squeezing my hand. “It’s okay. And I’m sorry for not doing more to help you address your past and your pain.”

“Oh Dezi. That was never your job. And you did do that for me. Gently, which I appreciate.”

“Quinn, you have been a good friend. You bring me joy and laughter. And I know, no matter what, you have my back. Your love life may be screwy, but you lift me up in a way that’s rare in female friendships. There’s no competition. No jealousy.”

I slide over to Dezi’s side of the booth and envelop her in a hug.

“Thank you for that,” I whisper.

We sit in companionable silence for a beat.

“I do have some news,” I say. “About Marcus.”

Dezi raises her eyebrows and waits.

I tell her that Marcus left Juliette and moved near me. That I’ve been wanting to tell her in person and just haven’t had the chance. That he’s met my parents who adore him. And that he wants to file for divorce.

I even showed her the note with the poem, which I’ve been carrying around with me ever since.

I watch Dezi’s blue eyes grow wider and wider with each confession. She now almost looks like a cartoon version of herself.

“So that’s my news,” I say, blowing out a sigh. “I didn’t want to spoil your wedding dress day.”

It’s Dezi’s turn now to squeal with delight.

“Are you kidding me? This is great news. On so many levels.”

I nod. “That’s essentially what Alex said.”

“You are finally dating an available man. You are opening yourself up again to the possibility of a genuine relationship. Real love, Quinn. This is good. So good.”

“I’m happy,” I say, smiling at Dezi. “Terrified at times, but mostly happy.”

“Just take it one day at a time, Quinn. Remember, you’re just dating right now. You’re not signing up for a lifetime commitment.”

I nod. “You’re right. You are absolutely right. But you are. So, take me to your dress.”

.....

Dezi emerges in what is clearly HER wedding gown and I am speechless. Now, my friend is a beautiful woman. But in this dress, she is breathtaking. I put my hands over my mouth and just stare. Several other women in the store come over and just stare.

That’s all we can do. She is stunning.

Dezi is wearing a curve-hugging, floor-length, silky mermaid gown. It’s the exact color of the deep, deep ocean. It’s the blue of the waves that roll by when you’re on a ship with no land in sight.

“Oh Dezi,” I say, my eyes pricking with tears.

“Do you like it? I know it’s an unusual color choice,” she says, looking down at the silky satin that skims over her curves in a way that’s somehow both elegant and sexy.

I nod. “You are stunning. I have never seen anything like it. Elliot may faint before you make it down the aisle.”

She beams at me and then turns to step onto the pedestal.

“Wow, you are going to make quite the entrance and the exit,” I say, now staring at the back of the dress.

The gown is sleeveless with a draping, cowl neck back.

There’s a back slit up the skirt that’s lined with deep blue tulle embellished with rows of tiny, shimmering crystals.

It looks like twinkling stars against a midnight sky when she walks.

“What do you think of the back?” Dezi asks, peering at the dusting of sparkle peeking out. “Too much?”

“Are you kidding? The back is gorgeous and the sparkle is incredibly subtle. You sort of have to look for it.”

“Good,” she says, smiling.

“It’s a knock-out. It’s so simple and clean in the front and just a hint of a party in the back. It’s perfect, Dezi. Just perfect.”

“I’m glad you like it. I knew it was my dress the moment I saw it.”

“Veil?” I ask.

Dezi shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so. But I am considering opera-length gloves and maybe something in my hair.”

A bridal attendant comes bustling over and helps Dezi slide on a pair of matching blue satin gloves. She then tucks the tiniest of tiaras into Dezi’s pale blonde hair. Once again, it’s subtle and gently catches the light when she turns her head.

“Well?” asks Dezi, turning around to give me the full view.

I smile at her and nod, tears starting to roll. Other people in the salon actually start to cheer and clap.

“You’re done,” I say. “You’ve found the magic combination. I don’t think a more beautiful bride exists.”