Sophia
Six months pregnant and three weeks from the wedding, I stood in front of a fitting room mirror watching a seamstress pin fabric around a belly that seemed to grow more each time I looked at it, and tried very hard not to cry over how different this dress fitting felt from the one Mia had dragged me to over a year ago.
"You look beautiful," Mia said from the chair beside the mirror, though she'd said some version of that at every appointment for the last month, watching the dress get let out again and again to accommodate a bump that had its own timeline entirely separate from the wedding planning calendar.
"I look like a very elegant tent," I said, though I was laughing, turning slightly to see the dress from another angle. The seamstress had done remarkable work, an empire wais
