Софи Келли - A Tale Оf Two Kitties

Maggie was standing on the sidewalk outside the small boutique when I got out of my truck. She was wearing a red duffel coat and a red-and-white-striped scarf. “Roma is on her way,” she said.

“What are the chances we’re going to be able to find her a dress?” I asked.

Maggie held out one hand and waggled her fingers from side to side. “Fifty–fifty,” she said.

“This is where Rebecca’s wedding dress came from and it was beautiful,” I said, pulling up the collar of my black peacoat. “I’m going to think positively.”

Roma arrived then, parking at the curb behind my truck. She hugged us both and then studied the display of holiday dresses in the front window of the shop. “Are you sure I’m not too—”

Maggie held up a hand. “If the next word out of your mouth was going to be ‘old’ you might want to rethink what you were going to say.”

Roma closed her mouth, pressing her lips together, but there was an amused sparkle in her dark brown eyes.

We headed inside. Avis, who owned the store, was behind the cash register, her silver-framed glasses slipping down her nose as she waited on a customer. She smiled at us. “Go ahead and look around,” she said. “I’ll be with you in just a minute.”

Maggie led us to the back of the store, where the more formal dresses were displayed. Roma fingered the chiffon overskirt of a petal pink, knee-length gown. “This is pretty,” she said.

Maggie shook her head. She reached for the fabric and draped it over the back of her hand. “Uh-uh,” she said. “That color is too pale for you.” Something on the back wall caught her attention and she moved ahead of us.

“Kathleen, what if I really can’t find a dress I like?” Roma said.

I put my arm around her shoulders. “Then I’ll loan you my big fuzzy bathrobe.”

“Be serious,” she said.

“Who’s saying I’m not?” I retorted. “Look, we want your special day to be, well, special, but if you want to get married in your jeans or my fuzzy bathrobe or a garbage bag held up by duct tape that’s fine with us. We love you no matter what.”

Roma swallowed hard. Then she shook her finger at me. “You better not make me cry. I promised Olivia I’d send her pictures of the dresses and I don’t want my nose to be all red.”

Olivia was Roma’s daughter and I knew Roma wished she could have been with us.

I held up both hands. “I promise not to be nice for the rest of the night.”

Avis joined us then and after a bit of consultation Roma decided she would like to try on a couple of more traditional gowns. The first was a strapless sheath.

Roma disappeared into the dressing room and Avis grabbed her tablet to see if she could order the chiffon wrap that went with the dress. She didn’t have it in stock. She tapped the screen a couple of times and exhaled loudly. “I cannot get used to this new tablet,” she said, her voice edged with frustration. “I just got it yesterday and I’m still figuring out the new software.” She rolled her eyes. “I left my old one too close to the radiator. It turns out heat isn’t good for rechargeable batteries.”

“Neither is vinegar and water,” Maggie offered, slipping off her jacket. “Or so I’ve heard,” she added, cheeks turning pink.

Avis smiled and gestured toward the far wall. “I’m just going to see if I have something else that Roma might like.”

“I’m going to need a roll of double-sided tape to make this dress work,” Roma said when she came out of the dressing room. She put one forearm under the boned and underwired corset bodice of the dress and made a show of hiking up her chest, complete with a grunt for the effort.

I made the mistake of looking at Maggie. We both dissolved in laughter.

The second dress was a strapless mermaid-style gown. Roma looked beautiful but once again Mags and I couldn’t contain our laughter when Roma tried to sit down and discovered she couldn’t, no matter how she contorted her body.

The next dress was a fairy-tale tulle-and-lace creation. When Roma sat down on the bench beside us the skirt puffed out and up with an audible push of air so that Roma was surrounded by a cloud of tulle.

I pressed my hand against my mouth so I wouldn’t laugh.

Maggie frowned and tipped her head to once side. “It’s not that bad,” she said. “The skirt may be a little too poufy.”

Roma looked at Avis. “How do I pee?” she asked.

Avis made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “Oh, that’s no problem,” she said, as a customer carrying two sweaters and a black pencil skirt approached us. “You get one friend to hold up the skirt and the other gets your underwear down.” She headed toward the woman with the sweaters. “I’ll be right back,” she added over her shoulder.

“I call dibs on holding up the skirt,” Maggie said.

She and Roma both looked at me. “If I have to help you get your underwear down so you can pee on your wedding day I am not wearing chartreuse,” I said firmly.

Maggie was struggling not to laugh.

Roma looked down at the froth of fabric, lace and sequins around her. “How do you feel about helping me pee right now?”

In the end none of the dresses Roma tried on worked and after an hour we adjourned to Eric’s Place to figure out what to do next.

“I can just wear a regular dress,” Roma said, dropping two marshmallows into her cup of hot chocolate.

“It was just one store,” Maggie said. “And a special day deserves a special dress.”

I nodded and since no one was looking at me dropped three marshmallows into my cup. “Maggie’s right. As my mother says, how many times do you get married in life? Two, three times, tops.”

Roma smiled.

Ella King was sanding over by the counter, probably waiting for a take-out order. Maggie suddenly said, “Ella.”

“I see her,” I said.

Maggie shook her head. “No, I mean Roma needs Ella.”

“What do you mean I need Ella?” Roma asked.

“She could design a dress for you.”

“Really?” Roma looked uncertain.

Maggie nodded and got to her feet. “I’m going to see if she has a minute.” She walked over to Ella and they spoke for a minute, Maggie’s hands gesturing as she talked, then Ella came back to the table with her.

She smiled hello at us. I stood up and got a chair from a nearby table for her.

“Maggie says you’re having trouble finding a wedding dress,” she said to Roma as she sat down.

Roma nodded. “Yes. I need one I can walk in, pee in and that doesn’t require the use of double-sided tape anywhere on my body.”

Maggie smiled at me across the table.

Ella nodded as though she’d heard that before. “Do you have a particular style that you like?”

Roma picked up a spoon and stirred the marshmallows in her cup. “I’d like something simple and sleek with no lace or tulle—or boning.” She made a face.

Ella pulled a fine-point Pitt pen out of her purse. She grabbed a napkin and quickly sketched something, then she pushed the napkin across the table.

Roma looked at the drawing and a smile stretched across her face. “Yes,” she said. “That’s what I want.”

“I could make it for you,” Ella said, “if you’d like.”

Maggie and I leaned over to look at the sketch. The dress Ella had drawn had a sleek, fitted silhouette with sheer, long sleeves, a draped neckline and a flowing overskirt. The dress was Roma.

Roma looked at us.

“Yes,” Maggie said.

“Yes,” I echoed.

Ella smiled, and a flush of color touched her cheeks. “Call me tomorrow,” she said to Roma. “I’ll do a better sketch and we can get together to talk about fabric.” She got to her feet.

“I will,” Roma said. “Thank you so much.”