THE DRESS SHOP IS SO PRETTY; shabby chic, shades of whites and grey, gilded mirrors and white gauze. And dresses, dresses, dresses — wedding dresses, and bridesmaid dresses. There are also veils, shoes, purses, pashminas and jewelry.

It’s Thursday, and thankfully it’s very quiet — we have the place to ourselves. Maeve has the day off, and Kayla is free until later this afternoon. Corrie and I, are ‘women of leisure’ as we like to say.

Hand on hip, foot playfully askew, Corrie studies her reflection in front of the full-length mirror, the kind of mirror found in fairy tales — and she looks amazing. If she weren’t one of my best friends, I’d hate her a little. With her tiny frame, blonde locks and shiny blue eyes, she’s pretty much the envy of every woman who meets her. The bustier top, A-line skirt style of the dress looks fabulous on her. Although I have to say, the color doesn’t really suit her.

Butter yellow. I don’t hate it, but Corrie does. Maeve is having a late summer September wedding and she’s settled on a white, yellow and light blue color scheme. I think it suits her perfectly — it’s sweet like her. She’s already picked out her flowers; blue and white hydrangeas, thistles, dahlias, and baby’s breath.

“You look so pretty,” Maeve says encouragingly, a smile as wide as her face — her enthusiasm is contagious.

“I’m up next,” Kayla chimes in as she untangles herself from the pink velvet curtain of the changing stall. She looks pretty fabulous too. Unlike Corrie, the yellow works really nice with her dark hair and light complexion. And she has that yoga body; lean muscles and perfect posture.

“Perfect,” Maeve says.

“Not too shabby,” Kayla replies. A smirk traces her lips as she turns to me. “Your turn, Gabbie. Your dress is waiting for you.”

Ugh.

I really don’t want to try the dress, but I don’t have much of a choice, do I?

I trudge over to the small changing room. I pull the velvet curtain closed behind me, shoulders slumped. I catch my reflection in the mirror and stand a little straighter. I think about starting yoga, but just for a second. I grab the silk hanger and study the dress. Pretty, but not quite what I would choose for myself, not the best choice for a curvy woman like me. I’m the curviest of the bunch, and I know I’ll feel absolutely whale-ish next to the three of them. I’m not usually too concerned with my weight… I just try not to focus on it too much. I’m pretty happy about where I’m at. I was a lot heavier when the kids were really small — I’ve lost about thirty pounds and I’m pretty happy. Except when it comes to occasions like these.

I wiggle my body into the flimsy silk, and it does feel really nice on my skin. I reach for the side zipper, silently praying that it fits — I’ve been going a little heavy on the nachos and guacamole lately.

Thankfully, it fits. A little snug, but it fits. I feel like my boobs are going to pop out at any second. But the color looks fantastic on me.

I’m a little shy when I escape from the small room for my big reveal. I throw my arms up in the air for effect. “Ta-dah!”

“Wow,” Maeve says.

“Va-va-voom,” Corrie cheers.

“Gorgeous,” Kayla adds.

I climb up to the podium in front of the large fairy tale mirror.

“That is a perfect fit,” Trudy, the shopkeeper, chimes in. “You’ll just have to be careful… it’s just right.”

I frown at my reflection. Trudy didn’t feel the need to warn Kayla or Corrie to “be careful.” Anyway, I look great, and I’m happy. And even better, I’m officially done with this ‘dress trying on’ business.

I take a seat next to Kayla and Corrie on the pretty Victorian sofa facing the podium and mirror, and cross one leg over the other. We’re all still wearing our dresses —we look like a bunch of canaries. Maeve and Trudy disappear into the change room, and we eagerly await her big reveal! None of us have seen the dress. She went shopping with her mom and refused to show us any pictures. We make idle chit-chat and whip out our phones. I tug the top of my dress.

I absentmindedly click on my phone and check my notifications. My heart practically leaps out of my chest when I see a message from him. I’d given up on him. I’d started to forget him, and here he is. My pulse is racing, and in my head, I say to myself, What the fuck is wrong with you, woman?

I instantly read his message.

And I almost fall off the sofa. I can’t see my reflection in the mirror, but I’m pretty sure my jaw is hanging on the floor.

Holy sweet mother of Jesus, fuck me (pardon my French) but…

There’s a photo of him below the message. He’s sitting on his Vespa, looking sinfully sexy. He’s wearing a black helmet and aviator shades, and this cool army inspired khaki jacket, white tee, and dark jeans. He looks like a Calvin Klein ad.

“Holy fuck,” Corrie blurts. “Who the hell is that?!”

She’s been looking over my shoulder again — there is no such thing as privacy when Corrie is sitting next to you. Kayla leans in over Corrie to sneak a peek.

“Mmmm…” Kayla murmurs.

My heart is beating a mile a minute. I need time to process this. Part of me was hoping he’d look like a grandpa. But somehow, part of me knew he was hot. I don’t know how, but I just had a feeling.

“Seriously... who is that?!” Corrie asks, being her usual nosy self. She just won’t let it go.

“Oh… he’s just this artist I met on Instagram,” I say casually, attempting to downplay the whole thing. “We’ve been chatting a bit.”

“Wow,” Kayla says.

“Uh-huh,” Corrie adds. “You should be careful. There are a lot weirdos on the Internet.”

I know. I know. But somehow, I don’t think Eli is a weirdo.

“He’s probably catfishing you,” she adds. “He’s pretending to be someone else. That can’t be him. He’s too hot.”

“What?!” I hadn’t considered that possibility. Could he be catfishing me? He probably doesn’t even own a Vespa? He probably doesn’t even live in Copenhagen. His name’s probably not even Eli. It’s probably Fred, or Burt, or Harry or something… something less sexy. It’s all a sham!!!

“Oh my god, I’ve been catfished.”

Kayla laughs. “Look at you two, jumping to conclusions again,” she says. “Maybe he’s the real deal.”

I study the photo. I can’t see his eyes behind the shades or the hair hidden under his helmet, but he has a gorgeous smile, and one of those chiseled, angular faces. He seems tall but it’s hard to tell because he’s sitting. And that Vespa is gorgeous. It’s a nice picture, almost too nice — maybe Corrie is right, maybe he is catfishing me.

“Nice bike,” Corrie says. “What is that?! A scooter?”

“Yeah, it’s a scooter,” Kayla chimes in, “but the guy is hot enough to get away with it.”

“How long have you known this guy?” Corrie asks. “You’ve been holding out on us.”

“Well… about—”

Maeve and Trudy finally make their appearance. They’re both smiling from ear to ear. Oh yes… I’d almost forgotten… this day is about Maeve. I tuck my phone in my purse. “Beautiful,” I say. She really is.

“Gorgeous,” Corrie agrees.

“I love the skirt,” Kayla adds.

She really does look like a princess. The dress is embroidered with tiny flowers, they seem to dance as she twirls for us. The white of the dress is striking against her dark skin. The bustier sleeveless top fits her perfectly because she’s small busted. I look over at the girls and down at my own bust. I see why Maeve chose these dresses — they go perfectly with hers. I tug at my top again.

Sigh.