By Chance

I’m supposed to be getting married in three months. There is only 85 days until I will be Mrs. Tyler Coleson. I take a sip of the chilled champagne, trying to calm my nerves. The full-length mirror stares back at me, a version of myself I don’t even recognize. My skin looks extra pale next to the too-white gown I’m in, and while it’s a gorgeous dress, I never would have picked this for myself. I stare at the reflection of the floor-length mermaid gown. The skirt is too plain, the fabric just falling limply to the floor in a small circle around me and the sleeves that reach to my wrists wouldn’t be so bad if they weren’t made of this itchy mesh material like the entire back of the gown. The illusion neckline, including the sleeves make me feel too covered and completely naked all at once. Delicate buttons trace my spine, lace appliques reaching for the noticeable seam created by them. I tip back the champagne flute, effectively finishing the glass of champagne and hand the empty glass to the woman with mousy brown hair standing next to me. I fidget with the fabric of the gown for a moment before giving up on it, messing with the small tuft of mesh they’ve mislabelled as a veil instead. I drop my hands to my sides and take another look in the mirror, searching for anything I like about the dress and coming up empty.

“You look very-” My mother pauses, searching my scowling face, “Bridal.” She finishes with a huff. She’s an older copy of me, her thick dark hair hanging in loose curls, framing her light skin, except my mother’s eyes are a cobalt blue color where mine are a bright green. The biggest difference between us is that my hair is naturally this color and her blonde roots are showing through the dye, specks of grey forming in the small band of blonde. That and the wrinkles starting to form; laugh lines and creases on her forehead barely visible. Wrinkles that help measure all the life she’s lived but doing nothing but adding to her beauty.

“Thanks, Mom,” I say, swallowing hard, trying not to take out my frustrations on her. “What do you think, Krista?” I ask my future mother-in-law. Her chin-length blonde hair falls neatly around her face, a large brimmed hat on her head, keeping the hair mostly still. She looks like a stereotype walking, her pursed lips and thin upturned nose, wearing a disinterested look on her face.

“It looks lovely, dear. Just what Ty wanted,” She fakes a smile, her attention fanning across the three women helping me fluff the bottom of the dress.

“You just need a petticoat, hang on,” the older assistant says, already walking away. I’m not sure even a petticoat could help this limp bundle of fabric, but what do I know? I’m just the bride-to-be.

“Alright, honey, I’ve got to get going or your father might send a search party for me,” My mother says, a big smile on her face. “You look beautiful, baby doll. You’d look beautiful if you walked down the aisle in a burlap sack.” She leans in carefully, hugging me before heading for the door. Honestly, if it wouldn’t have hurt my mother’s feelings, I would have brought my father instead. I’d have loved to have him here with me. My two best friends have been silent this whole time, an oddity in itself.

“I’m off as well, I’ll see you in a few weeks, at our monthly Sunday brunch, dear,” Krista announces. Another event I’m less than enthused about. She gives me a peck on the cheek before leaving and I turn my focus back to my friends. The old woman returns with a large ball of tulle. I have to take the dress off to slip the petticoat on and once the dress is back on, I look back at the mirror, feeling almost hopeful. The petticoat helps, the fabric no longer hangs limply at my feet, but it’s still plain, bland, and overall not what I wanted.

“What do you guys think?” I ask, smoothing the fabric. I’m offered another glass of champagne and I gladly take it, glancing back into the mirror with a huff. When Harley and Rocky are side by side like this, I can’t help but notice their differences. I am the only thing that seems to connect these two, their personalities are on opposite ends of a vast spectrum. They even look like they’re opposites; Rocky is dark-featured, her raven hair barely touching her shoulders, a rainbow of colors peeking from underneath, Harley is beautifully blonde, the kind of blonde people pay hundreds of dollars for and her features are light. She almost looks like a porcelain doll. Their personalities and styles are just as opposed. Harley is wearing a pink dress that screams ‘Hi, I’m Barbie’, the pale fabric is dainty and feminine. Rocky sports a black dress tighter than what is appropriate, but that is on point for her.

“I think I hate this dress,” I grumble, feeling a burning start behind my eyes.

“It’s a beautiful dress, Dani” Harley notes, earning a sharp nudge from Rocky. Harley slaps at Rocky’s arm, a scowl on her face.

“If you don’t like it-” Rocky starts, but her sentence quickly falters.

“My wedding is three months away, Rocky. What am I supposed to do?” I ask, trying hard not to cry.

“I thought you liked the dress, if you don’t like it why did you pick it?” She asks.

“I didn’t really have a choice,” I croak out. “Ladies, can we have the room, please,” I ask the two women still puttering around the room. “Ty gets what he wants, he wanted this dress. I didn’t even get the chance to look around the boutique, Ty had already called ahead.” I tell them in whispered tones.

“I really don’t get what you-” Another sharp elbow is thrown, this time from Harley, earning her a dirty look.

“I’m sure he’s just excited. Who wouldn’t be ecstatic if they were marrying you? The dress does look really good on you,” Harley says, her eyes warm as she tries to comfort me.

“I think I need a drink after this,” I say, taking a deep breath. “Help me out of this thing,” I turn my back to them, waiting as a hand undoes the back closure. I’m happy to be out of that thing. I try telling myself the wedding doesn’t matter, the marriage does. Ty is such an amazing guy, and I’m so lucky to have him, so why do I feel like this? I thank the women from the boutique before pushing my way out the door.

“Should we go to Little Gypsy’s?” Rocky suggests, and I’m pretty sure that’s the first good idea I’ve heard all day. I nod eagerly, taking her hand in mine.

“Thank you,” I say, resting my head on her shoulder. “You too,” I grab hold of Harley’s hand too, squeezing both of them.

We catch a cab to the dive bar we discovered back in college, a small place that’s easily overlooked but always seems to have a crowd. We walk in, like we have a thousand times, assuming positions we decided close to six years ago now; I grab a table, one close to the dance floor but in sight of the bar, Rocky makes her way across the room to make friends with the band, and Harley heads to the bar to handle the important part; Drinks. When we meet up again, Harley sets a drink in front of each of us, climbing onto her stool.

Soon enough, I’ve long forgotten the horrid dress and we’ve fallen into easy conversation and all it took was two dances, three drinks, four if you count the one in my hand, and watching Harley eviscerate a man for trying to pick her up. Harley’s always prided herself on her fluidity, but lately she’s been different, she no longer indulges either sex when they approach. Rocky and Harley start arguing, something that happens at least twice every time they’re forced to spend time together. I ignore them, giving them props for lasting this long while I scan the room absent-mindedly, my eyes focusing on a man in a nicely tailored suit leaning against the bar. He looks out of place here, like he belongs in a high end club, not somewhere like Gypsy’s. I watch him take a sip of his drink, his eyes scanning the room. When his eyes meet mine, I’m ensnared. A pair of eyes so green they almost look like they’re glowing under the bar lights. There’s something sinister in the way his eyes graze over me, sending a chill through me. He isn’t who you’d expect to see here and the mystery of him has me caught, my attention locked on him and his dark features, our gazes locking for a split second. A shiver runs down my spine, causing me to fidget in my seat. I feel like I need to get out of here, my fight-or-flight kicking in. The hairs on the back on my neck are standing up, and I can’t seem to shake the feeling.

“Right, Dani?” Rocky’s voice breaks into my mind, pulling my eyes away, just for a second, only to find him gone when I look back. The hairs on the back of my neck tingle, officially unnerving me. I down what’s left of the Malibu Sunset in front of me, motioning to Harley and Rocky to wrap it up.

“You’re already calling it quits?” Rocky teases. I nod, locking eyes with Harley, who I can tell by the way she’s looking at me already knows I’m feeling uncomfortable.

“Point him out, I’ll handle it.” Harley declares, a fire in her eyes. She’s already scanning the room for potential offenders.

“No, no, It was nothing, I just got a little weirded out is all,” I tell them but we’re climbing back into a cab within 15 minutes, only after Rocky insisted on picking up the tab, starting the mandatory second argument of the evening.

“Do you want us to come over?” Harley asks. I shake my head, knowing there’s no real point. I’m so tired I could fall asleep here, I won’t last long once I make it to my bed. When we pull to a stop outside of my apartment, I almost change my mind, but think better of it, instead, waving them off from the front steps of my building. My head feels cloudy and my stomach is a little unsettled, but I manage to find my way into my apartment. “I am the queen of cold feet,” I mutter to myself once I’m safely behind a locked door.

I take a deep breath, listening to the stillness of my apartment. It’s not very big, but it’s comfortable and it feels like home. There’s not much to it, just small versions of a kitchen, living room, bedroom and a bathroom, but I like it. I toss my handbag onto the small square table nestled in my kitchen against the wall and slip my shoes off, heading to my bedroom where I pull my jeans and t-shirt off and leave them where they fall, tugging on my old college t-shirt before crawling under the covers and letting sleep engulf me.