Bee has a legitimate point. The gorgeous, strapless Vera Wang gown hangsoff the back of the walk-in closet’s door. The seams have been taken out atthe waist for the sake of her fake pregnancy and the dress has a sad,deflated look to it now, like a wrinkled balloon with all the air sucked out.
“You’re still gonna look beautiful,” I insist.
My comfort is lost on her. She tosses the huge prosthetic stomach onto thebed and sinks onto the carpeted floor. “This sucks. It totally freakingsucks!”
I join her on the floor and take both her hands. “Is this about the dress or isthis about the fact that you’re marrying a man you’re not in love with?”
“It’s both!” she pouts. “Also, it’s about marrying a man, period. It goesagainst my principles, Wren!”
I bite my
