Dream Dress

“This one is it…this is my dream dress!” My client began to do a little happy dance on the dress platform. Her entire bridal party began cheering and taking more pictures than you could ever imagine. I ducked out of the changing room and grabbed the champagne glasses I have ready for all of my clients.

“Congrats Maggie…this is YOUR day! Cherish it and never forget it! I’m so incredibly happy for you.” I say as I hand each of the women in the room their glass of champagne. She shed a tear as she stared into the full-sized mirror, imagining herself as a beautiful bride.

I used to absolutely adore my job. I would get all giddy when I got to try on brand new wedding dresses we get in from countries all over the world. I would spend my work days thinking about what kind of dress I would want for my own wedding. I would get so excited when my client told me that I helped her find her dream dress. I used to really mean it when I said that I was happy for them.

I do not love my job anymore, and I am not happy for them. Ever since my long term relationship ended and I flunked out of graduate school, this job has weighed on me more than I ever could have imagined. I’d rather be scanning groceries at a grocery store. I’d rather be a receptionist at a dentist office. I’d probably rather be one of those people who flip those advertisement signs around on the side of the road in the blazing heat. But I make pretty decent money at the bridal shop, and these graduate school loans sure aren’t going to pay themselves. To get through each day, I’ve just decided to give up believing in love.

It’s a slow day at the shop. I’m stuck in the backroom organizing backstock and steaming dresses until we get another client. This is actually the most tolerable task at my job now because I don’t have to deal with anyone actually looking for a dress. The receptionist peeked her head into the backroom.

“Hey Grace, we have a walk-in client. Can you take her?” I’m not sure if I was able to hide my disappointment, but I quickly put on a smile and put down my steamer.

“Absolutely, I can take care of her. How many people does she have with her?” I dread large bridal parties. Too many people. Too much happiness.

“Um…she’s by herself. It’s just the bride.” That’s odd. It’s quite rare to have a bride shop for her wedding dress by herself. If a bride didn’t have her mother or sister, she would at least bring a girlfriend or even her fiance. I walked out of the backroom, and there was a plain-looking woman standing at the front of the store. She looked about my age. She was wearing some old worn out blue jeans, a racerback tank top, and had some flip flops on. Interesting choices for dress shopping. I introduced myself and then took her back to our smallest dressing room in the far corner of the shop. I began to ask her the same questions that I ask all of my clients.

“So, what kind of dress are you looking for today? Do you have any pictures of dresses you like? Are you looking for any specific brand?” I’d never seen a woman shopping for a wedding dress look so…sad.

“Well, I suppose I hadn’t gotten that far.” There was definitely something off about this woman. I began to get the feeling that she wasn’t looking for a dress. “My fiance’s memorial was a week ago today. My family finally went back home, so today is the first day I’ve been alone…in a very long time. I just want to know what I would have looked like as his bride.”

As she spoke, I began to notice all of her subtle signs of grief. Her unsuccessful attempt at using concealer to cover up the dark circles under her eyes. Her nails being bit down to the nubs. Her hair likely three or four days overdue for a wash. She was still wearing her engagement ring. It was a simple but breathtaking ring. It was an elegant blend of a vintage and modern setting, with a unique rose gold band.

“I’ll be right back,” I gave a quick smile and exited the dressing room. I wanted her to be able to try on three very different kinds of dresses. I grabbed a showy ball gown, a tasteful slip dress, and a classic A-line dress. When I brought them all back to her, I finally saw her smile for the first time. She grabbed a large handful of tulle on the ball gown. She slid her hand up and down the silky slip dress. She examined the detailed floral patterns on the A-line dress. I helped her put each one on, and made sure I clipped it in the back to make it look as flattering as possible. I saw a couple tears make their way to the floor once she saw herself in the first dress…who wouldn’t cry seeing themselves in a wedding dress for the first time? Or was she crying because she knew she wouldn’t be able to wear it down the aisle? After she tried on all three of the dresses I had brought her, she immediately asked me which ones we could try on next. I once again told her I would be right back.

I excitedly hurried over to the racks and began fervently grabbing dresses. I was happy at my job for the first time in a very long time. I picked the dress with the longest train in the store. I picked the sleaziest dress I could find. I picked the ugliest dress I could get my hands on. I picked the most beautiful dress we had available. I picked the sparkliest dress I could find. I picked the dress that had been sitting on the rack for the longest time. I picked the dress that had just been put up for sale for the first time this morning. I picked the most expensive dress in the entire store. I picked the dress I thought I was going to wear on my wedding day. We were giggling so hard as she tried each one on. I took so many photos of her on her phone. I gave her a little bouquet to hold, and made sure to bring in a large variety of veils for her to try on too. By the end of the day, we had tried on at least ten different dresses. She wasn’t a plain-looking woman anymore. She was radiant. She was crestfallen. She was resilient.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me today. I haven’t smiled this much since I lost him. These dresses were all so gorgeous, and I think each one would have made me a lovely bride.” She shed a tear as she stared into the full-sized mirror, imagining herself as a beautiful bride. “But don’t think I’m ever going to wear a wedding dress again. I just don’t know if I can believe in love anymore. Do you believe in love?” She began to nervously twist around her engagement ring on her ring finger.

“I do.”