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now, on with the show.

3:50

Comas have a way of clearing your

3:52

social calendar. And life,

3:55

or its abrupt end, has

3:57

a schedule to follow. So

4:01

they buried you, even

4:03

though you wanted to be cremated. The

4:06

service was apparently lovely, a word

4:09

you'd wrinkle your nose at. In

4:13

lieu of flowers, your family asked

4:15

for donations to the Humane Society,

4:18

which I guess is lovely,

4:21

but it's also kind of

4:23

random since you liked animals

4:25

in the general way everyone

4:27

does. But you never had so

4:30

much as a pet gerbil. A

4:34

pastor rhapsodized your travel blog

4:36

and zeal for neighborhood garage

4:39

sales. And

4:41

people brought flowers anyway. Your

4:44

funeral was everything you never wanted, and

4:47

I slept through it all. Beyond

4:51

the archway, I can see the

4:53

dining room, where orderly

4:55

mountain ranges of sandwiches huddle

4:57

next to the coffee urn, various

4:59

wines and a bottle of scotch. Verity

5:04

trills through the stereo. Your

5:07

cousins, aunts, uncles, and friends

5:09

flow through the gravy scented

5:11

rooms in tidal groups. Some

5:15

somber, but most not. This

5:19

is your wake. And

5:21

for everyone else, you've been

5:23

gone a while. I'm the

5:25

one they waited for, and it's

5:27

me that's out of phase. Staring

5:31

at the paisley wallpaper in your

5:33

aunt Doe's sitting room, the one

5:35

no one ever uses, and

5:38

now there are footprints in the carpet,

5:40

and I hate that this weird death

5:42

party is more for me

5:45

than for you. Hey

5:47

sunshine, how are you

5:50

holding up? At

5:52

low octave, everyone uses with

5:54

me, now worms into my

5:56

ear canal, and your

5:58

mom's hand squeezes my ear. my shoulder. I squeeze

6:02

back. My fingers

6:04

slide from Beverly's into my hair.

6:08

Over the stubbled regrowth and the

6:10

barbed wire of stitches. Holding

6:13

up. She doesn't mean

6:15

the sharp shovel of grief excavating

6:17

my figurative guts. I'm

6:20

not well physically. The

6:23

wallpaper breathes. Peacock

6:26

blue teardrops bulge

6:28

threatening to spill onto

6:30

Doe's formerly trackless pile.

6:34

Sunlight flashes through the bay

6:36

window and I

6:38

have a sense of vestibular upset. Only

6:42

vaguely aware of the arrangement of my

6:44

body in the space. Only

6:47

vaguely aware of the chintz

6:49

cushion beneath my ass. The

6:52

ugly slippers on my feet

6:55

and the black sack of a dress

6:57

covering a body still swollen

6:59

from steroids. Ironically

7:03

meant to reduce the size of my ballooning

7:05

brain. No

7:08

one's fault, they said. And

7:10

they're still saying it in

7:12

that weird low voice. An

7:15

accident. Deer in my

7:17

headlights. You're

7:20

dead and I was lucky. So

7:24

lucky. Bev

7:26

is still talking. If

7:29

you need to lay down, just say the

7:31

word. Okay? Uh,

7:33

thanks, Bev. I mutter. I

7:36

just need something to drink. Let me get it for

7:38

you. I'm

7:40

sorry. This was a bad idea.

7:44

Her face corrugates with worry. Your

7:48

mom is beautiful. Like

7:50

crazy pretty. I love

7:52

looking at her and it's only

7:54

because I've been doing it since I was

7:56

five years old that it doesn't creep her

7:58

out. She's still as

8:01

gorgeous as ever, but

8:03

for the first time, she looks

8:05

old. Her skin

8:07

is like hospital toilet paper. Beverly

8:11

departs, and I return

8:13

to my interrogation of the wallpaper. I'm

8:16

going in for a solid zone-out.

8:20

But the music switches to smooth

8:22

jazz, and there goes that

8:24

plan. I hate jazz, but

8:27

I catch myself smiling at the thought

8:29

of you blasting the Lazy Cat playlist

8:32

on Sunday mornings when the

8:34

waffles were ready, the one thing

8:36

guaranteed to get me out of bed. I'd

8:39

shamble into the kitchen, and you'd greet

8:42

me with a showbiz smile and

8:44

fluttering jazz hands. Tight

8:48

voices yank me out of my first

8:50

clear memory in a long time. In

8:54

the china cabinet glass, I see the

8:56

reflection of your mom and sister in

8:59

the foyer. For

9:01

God's sake, Whiz. What? It was

9:03

Grandma. I can't believe you. I

9:06

am not doing this right now. Wait, Mom.

9:09

Heart would want us to have

9:12

it. Your brother would want us

9:14

to support his wife. But they

9:16

weren't married yet. So what? You

9:19

want to yank the ring off her finger

9:21

at his wake? Paris is

9:23

a part of our family. You've

9:26

known each other since you were girls. How

9:29

can you... We

9:31

are not having this conversation. I

9:37

consider my fingers swollen

9:39

fleshy caterpillars, nowhere

9:42

near the size of your family

9:44

heirloom. And I have no

9:46

idea where it is, by the way. Your

9:48

grandmother's ring, a pearl in

9:51

a nest of tiny diamonds. Did

9:53

someone take it off after the accident? They

9:56

do that, don't they? They

9:58

must have. I would have

10:00

lost a finger. Years,

10:03

your. Mom sit up for me.

10:05

It's not that I doubt bad

10:07

sincerity, but I can't help wondering

10:10

if it's just desperation. To

10:12

hold on to any. Scrap of her son

10:14

that remains. Was

10:17

stance les fire weeping

10:19

mother? Offering neither

10:22

comfort nor reproach.

10:24

typical your sister.

10:26

Has good qualities, But

10:28

she can be so fucking. Mean

10:30

without even trying. It Broke

10:32

our friendship when we were

10:34

teenagers. You were the only

10:36

thing we had in common. And

10:40

now that you're gone, it's

10:42

clear whiz is the blade

10:44

severing whatever ties remain between

10:47

me and the only family

10:49

I've ever. Thread

10:51

by thread. And

10:54

I want that to hurt. I

10:56

want. Actually, Lives

11:01

glances at me. And

11:03

our eyes love. Your

11:05

gray eyes stare out of her

11:08

face. I say

11:10

and blankness. Like. I didn't over.

11:12

Here the conversation. Not

11:14

that with would have any differently if

11:16

I'd been standing right in front of

11:18

them. That's

11:21

what makes her the easiest and

11:23

hardest person to be around. I

11:34

don't remember deciding to abandon the way.

11:37

I just walked out with

11:39

everyone staring. All your

11:41

friends and family. Everyone

11:44

who's had a month longer to process

11:46

the use a toll less in their

11:49

lies. No one tried

11:51

to sammy. The

11:53

street slides beneath my see. My

11:57

fingers struggle with the cellophane as

11:59

I unwrapped. the fresh pack of Paul

12:01

malls. Some of it blows

12:03

away and I can't muster

12:05

the will to lumber after it. So

12:08

there's that. I've littered.

12:12

The lighter presents a similar challenge to

12:14

my puffy digits, but I

12:16

get the damn cigarette in my mouth and I

12:19

manage to light it on the fourth try. You

12:26

didn't smoke, but you liked

12:28

to watch me when I did. You

12:31

said it was hot in a filthy sort

12:33

of way. I'm

12:35

probably not supposed to smoke. It's

12:38

likely in bold print in the

12:40

recovery instructions I got from the

12:42

neurologist's office. But

12:44

the nicotine delivers its delicious punch to

12:47

the face, obliterating

12:49

any regrets. I

12:52

take a second drag and hold it

12:54

in my lungs. And

12:57

I exhale in a smoky sob. Fat

13:01

tears cut tracks through the

13:03

heavy makeup that Beverly applied to

13:06

make me look slightly more alive than you. I

13:10

guess we would have been

13:12

married by now. Exhaling

13:15

again, I drag my

13:18

sleeve across my eyes and

13:20

I glance around, wondering

13:22

for the first time where

13:25

the hell I am. Downtown-ish,

13:29

brick buildings with ground level

13:31

storefronts for restaurants, yarn

13:34

shops, coffee shops, book

13:37

shops, and the

13:39

world's tiniest best buy. A

13:42

good way from Aunt Doe's neighborhood. Traffic

13:45

grinds in both directions and

13:48

my fellow pedestrians smear past in a

13:50

hurry, every one

13:52

of them knowing exactly what they want and

13:54

where to get it. A pneumatic

13:58

kiss draws my eye. eye to

14:00

a bus peeling away from the curb. I'll

14:03

need a transit pass. I'm

14:06

not allowed to drive yet, and

14:08

anyway, our car, like its cargo,

14:11

was apparently totaled. I

14:13

was told all of this. I

14:16

had to be told a lot of things. When

14:19

I think about the accident, all

14:21

I see is your wide eyes below

14:23

a majestic set of antlers. My

14:26

brain did that. Mashed

14:29

you and the deer into the same

14:31

beautiful thing. My

14:33

swollen face has finally returned to

14:36

something my phone recognizes, which

14:38

is a relief. I'm

14:40

searching for a rideshare app, and I

14:42

see several missed calls and a text

14:44

from Beverly. I respond,

14:48

summing out the truth. I was

14:51

overwhelmed, but now I'm okay, and I'm

14:53

getting a ride home. I

14:56

promise to call later, and I

14:58

wonder if I'm lying. Mandy,

15:01

in a Honda Civic, pulls up three

15:03

minutes later. I wonder

15:06

if she notices my slippered feet and

15:08

blood webbed eyes. We

15:10

ride in silence down the busy shopping

15:13

district, but then

15:15

she turns down a side street to avoid

15:17

traffic. Wait, can

15:19

you pull over? I say, my

15:21

voice is a rasp. Mandy

15:23

jerks to the curb, begging

15:25

me to not be sick in her car. She's

15:29

clearly confused as she's driven me all

15:31

of three blocks, but

15:33

I tell her sorry and that I'll leave a good

15:35

tip. Before I slam

15:38

the door, I can hear her asking

15:40

if I'm okay. I

15:42

don't have the energy to respond. I'm

15:45

quite aware that my appearance and

15:47

behavior are disturbing, but

15:53

I am disturbed. You

15:57

disturbed me greatly by dying.

16:00

Mandy pulls away and I take a

16:02

closer look at what necessitated cutting my

16:05

trip short. It's

16:07

a house, small and

16:09

old, converted into a shop.

16:12

There's a sign in front, in

16:14

simple font, a

16:17

bridal cure. I

16:19

expect the door to creak, but

16:22

the glass knob turns easily and

16:25

the heavy wood swings open, clanking

16:28

against a bell. Inside,

16:31

soft light reveals a navy carpet,

16:34

dark-paneled walls, and

16:36

a luxuriously sparse gallery of

16:39

mannequin brides. Good

16:41

afternoon. An almost

16:44

aristocratically androgynous individual steps

16:47

onto the floor. They're

16:50

dressed in a fine suit. It's

16:53

a deep shade of plum. I

16:56

am Devo. May I help you?

16:59

My first reaction is

17:01

to wonder if Devo is a man or

17:04

a woman. Then

17:06

my second thought is to scold

17:08

myself for that first thought. And

17:11

my third is to cut myself

17:13

some slack because human brains are

17:15

addicted to their binaries and my

17:18

fiancé just fucking died. Devo's

17:22

smooth forehead creases slightly. Their

17:25

hazel eyes glitter in the flattering

17:27

light, cutting across

17:29

a set of cheekbones snatched

17:31

to the gods. Devo

17:35

is not merely beautiful.

17:38

They're dazzling. Typically

17:41

we are by appointment only,

17:43

though. They

17:46

approach, extending an

17:48

elegant hand, not in

17:50

greeting, I realize, but

17:52

in rescue. In

17:55

my sack of a dress and my slippers,

17:58

gazing vacantly at As I try

18:00

to remember how to interact with another human

18:02

being, I must look like I

18:04

need help. Are you alright?

18:08

Devo asks, their

18:10

hand hovering next to, but not

18:12

actually touching, my elbow. Okay,

18:16

one way or another, I am pulling

18:18

out of this dive. I plaster

18:20

on my best attempt at a smile. I'm

18:24

great. I hope it's okay to

18:26

drop in like this. Devo

18:28

withdraws their hand and

18:31

doesn't smile the way you'd expect of

18:33

a retail worker. But

18:36

the general vibe is affirming. So

18:38

I charge on a head, words tumbling

18:40

out of my mouth. I'm

18:43

getting married in a month. Devo

18:45

arches an eyebrow. Oh,

18:48

a month. And

18:51

I don't have a dress. I

18:53

nod, realizing it's the truth.

18:57

I have no earthly idea what the

18:59

fuck I'm doing right now. But

19:02

I do know that I never did get

19:04

around to the most basic thing you need

19:06

for a wedding. Though

19:08

the reasons why are unavailable to me

19:11

at the moment. I've

19:15

never actually been inside a

19:17

bridal shop before. It's

19:19

an honor to be your first. Come

19:23

in and I'll bring a few things out

19:25

for you, miss. Oh, it's

19:27

Paris. Miss. Paris?

19:30

Just Paris. I know it doesn't

19:33

really suit me, but my mom

19:35

was a romantic. The

19:38

idea of a city of lights was, I don't

19:41

know, some kind of heaven to her.

19:44

She never did go to heaven. I

19:47

don't know why I'm telling them all this. But

19:51

all I get is another arched eyebrow

19:53

as they open a wall panel, revealing

19:55

a cumulus rack of white dresses.

20:00

I'm not this size. I blurred out.

20:02

Why? Why am I here?

20:04

Why am I doing this? Mm-hmm.

20:10

Every bride's cure is... different.

20:14

Ha, uh, you make marriage

20:16

sound like a disease. We

20:18

choose our ills more often

20:21

than not. I

20:23

only help you dress for

20:26

the occasion. While

20:28

they busy themselves amongst the nest of

20:31

white floof, I

20:33

wander to the open door of a fitting room. It's

20:36

not a coffin-sized stall, but

20:40

instead it's a spacious alcove

20:43

with a raised pedestal surrounded

20:46

on all sides by mirrors. On

20:49

the pedestal sits an ornate bronze

20:51

stand and there's a

20:53

dress hanging from it. A

20:56

long-sleeved high neck sheath

20:59

of white lace in

21:01

a woven paisley pattern. It's

21:05

vintage. Their

21:07

sweet breath on the back of my

21:09

neck jerks me to life like

21:12

a marionette called to the stage. And

21:16

it's in excellent condition.

21:20

Not a hint of yellowing. Bevo

21:22

sachets around me and into the

21:25

mirrored fitting room, lifting

21:27

the dress from its stand. White

21:31

is the absence of

21:33

color, you know. They

21:36

give my black dress a once-over

21:38

that is neither derisive nor

21:40

approving. White

21:43

displays every stain a

21:45

life leaves on this world.

21:49

Wearing it is a radical

21:51

expression of vulnerability. Not

21:54

knowing what to

21:56

say, I nod to the dress. held

22:01

like a ghost in their lovely

22:03

hands, white lace

22:06

draped over their skin, soft

22:09

and unblemished. What

22:12

a thing to be

22:14

held the way that Devo

22:16

holds that dress. With

22:19

such care. But

22:22

who am I kidding? Devo

22:25

only touches beautiful things. Devo

22:28

never wastes time with objects that fail

22:31

to please on an aesthetic level. If

22:34

they had a partner, they'd have

22:36

an edgy haircut and pretty

22:38

feet, and they'd wear

22:41

experimental pants and read exclusively

22:43

non-fiction and cook with truffle

22:45

oil and those fancy

22:48

little onions. Damn

22:51

it, what are those called? My

22:53

corrupted memories retrieval system fritzes.

22:56

And then, surprisingly, green

22:59

lights the request. Shallots

23:02

overrated. Devo

23:04

replies as if it weren't a

23:06

random word sputtered from my

23:08

damaged brain. They

23:11

waved me forward. Come

23:13

in my dear. This

23:15

fitting room is a shrunk down

23:18

version of the jewelry box I

23:20

had as a little girl. One

23:23

with a spinning ballerina in the center. All

23:27

of the mirrors create a brilliant

23:29

feathered effect of not

23:32

quite shadow, but

23:34

subtle variations in light. Without

23:38

bus, Devo unzips my black

23:40

dress and pulls it over my head,

23:43

lifting my hair and exposing

23:45

the stubbled patch of scalp

23:47

and sutures. If

23:50

they notice, they don't react. My

23:53

body, in a gray sports bra

23:55

and polka dot panties, is

23:57

on display from every angle. Since

24:01

coming home from the hospital, I've

24:03

pretty much avoided mirrors. I

24:06

can't bear to look at my bloated

24:09

flesh, my bruises,

24:11

scars, thinning hair, and

24:14

the hollow eyes of a stranger.

24:18

Radical expressions of vulnerability, though.

24:21

I sneak a glance, and

24:23

I'm shocked to find that I

24:25

don't look nearly as swollen and

24:28

unfamiliar as I expected. A

24:30

strategic combo of lighting and

24:32

mirror placement, I'm sure, but I'll take

24:34

it. Devo

24:37

holds the unzipped dress at my feet. I

24:40

notice that there's no solid underlay,

24:43

only cleverly layered lace creating

24:45

opacity in the bodice and

24:48

the skirt. In you go,

24:50

love. Two

24:52

unsteady steps, and Devo

24:54

pulls the sheath up the column of my

24:56

body. They feed

24:58

my arms into the sleeves authoritatively,

25:01

like a parent dressing a toddler. With

25:05

a brisk whir, the zipper is

25:07

up, and I'm cinched

25:09

into the dresses embrace. I

25:12

expect the lace to be itchy, but

25:15

it's as supple as flower petals.

25:19

The fit is as close to perfect

25:21

as anything I've ever had on

25:24

my body. The

25:26

bust doesn't bind, the waist sits

25:28

in the exact right spot,

25:31

the shoulders are neither too tight

25:33

nor too loose. Wow,

25:37

I murmur, and Devo

25:39

chuckles. Go on,

25:42

look. Again, I resist

25:45

the urge. Instead,

25:47

I inspect my ringless left

25:49

hand, and I

25:51

wonder if Devo has noticed. Of

25:54

course they have. They're in the

25:56

business of detail. But

25:58

that doesn't mean anything. Not

26:00

all brides wear rings. Not

26:03

all brides are brides. White

26:07

shows all the same. I

26:11

lift my chin to meet my own eyes,

26:15

and they instantly fill with tears. It's

26:19

me, the me I see in

26:21

my mind. Strong

26:24

and healthy, in

26:27

an ethereal confection of a

26:29

dress. Here

26:31

on this pedestal, in this mirrored

26:33

light, creating endless,

26:35

glittering reflection, I am

26:40

the spinning ballerina. Lace

26:43

shifts lightly between my shoulder

26:45

blades, like the fingers

26:47

of a lover, skimming

26:50

down my spine, and along

26:53

my arms, across

26:55

my chest, I

26:58

inhale sharply, and I'm

27:01

aroused. Devo

27:04

steps behind me, eyes on

27:06

my reflection, and

27:09

pulls my hair back off of my

27:11

shoulders. Their

27:14

thumb grazes the line of

27:16

staples, and

27:18

scar tissue thrills at the

27:21

touch. My

27:23

cheeks bloom pink, and

27:25

heat unfurls between my

27:27

legs, like a

27:30

bloody red hibiscus. How

27:33

does it feel? How

27:40

it feels? It's

27:43

like it's breathing

27:47

the lace, lifting,

27:49

and pressing against

27:51

my body in a

27:56

primal rhythm. I

28:02

hear whispers faint

28:04

at first, email

28:07

voices growing

28:09

louder, joined by

28:11

the sound of weeping,

28:14

no sobbing, ugly,

28:18

gut-borne sob, a

28:22

terrible sound, sweat

28:25

slick under my arms

28:27

and formerly soft lace

28:29

begins to itch, scoring

28:32

tender, blue veins on the

28:35

insides of my wrists, and

28:38

the whispers grow into a roar

28:41

of feminine secrets

28:43

and... I'm

28:45

gonna faint, I'm gonna go

28:47

away again, I'm gonna go

28:50

away so far, so far,

28:53

I'll never come back through

28:55

the darkness bleeding in from my

28:58

periphery, from the

29:00

nothing that should have swallowed

29:03

me the first time. Then,

29:07

in a sudden implosion of

29:10

sound, the game

29:12

collapses into the void of

29:15

a single woman. My

29:21

knees surrender and I crumple,

29:25

burying myself alive in a

29:27

shroud of white paisley. Easy,

29:32

easy, relax. Devo

29:37

catches me and sweeps

29:39

the hair off of my sweaty forehead.

29:42

Get me out of this. Please,

29:45

I can't. The

29:48

lace is sandpaper, grinding

29:50

away at my bark, exposing

29:54

the raw grain

29:56

beneath. Get it

29:58

off of me. Devo

30:00

picks me up and begins to

30:03

undress me with all

30:05

the effort of folding a silk scarf.

30:08

The zipper is down, my

30:10

arms pull free of the sleeves, and

30:14

the itching relents. I

30:17

scuttle back to the chair and I

30:19

yank my black shift over my head

30:21

inside out, not giving a

30:23

single fuck for modesty or

30:25

dignity. In

30:28

the time it takes to get to my feet, Devo

30:30

has the dress back on its hanger, as though

30:33

I'd never set foot in it. Perfect.

30:39

Except it's not. A

30:43

shred of lace hangs from the cuff

30:45

of one sleeve. I'm

30:48

so sorry. I must

30:50

have ripped it. I'll pay for it. Devo

30:54

grins, and I

30:56

mean grins. Wolfish

31:00

white teeth too large for

31:02

their tapered jaw. Every

31:06

cure is a story. And

31:11

in that way, the story

31:13

rewrites itself for each bride.

31:17

Romantic, don't you think? It's

31:21

a weird idea. You

31:23

would have loved it. What

31:27

sort of bride does this dress cure? Devo

31:31

cradles my face in their hands,

31:34

fingertips grazing my

31:36

jaw in a way that

31:39

makes me salivate uncomfortably. The

31:42

kind that cures herself,

31:45

Parrish. My

31:47

name slips off of Devo's

31:49

tongue more fluently than

31:51

it's ever stumbled off of mine.

31:55

I stare into their eyes, shimmering

31:59

hazel. to green, to

32:02

blue, and back again in

32:05

the diamond light of the fitting room. Behind

32:09

them, the dress

32:11

hangs empty, damaged,

32:14

a story unwritten, unfinished.

32:19

Those whispers swim in

32:21

my head, willing

32:24

me to see, to remember,

32:28

to face the darkness, without

32:30

blinking. I have

32:33

to go. You did a

32:35

brave thing today. Come

32:37

back when you're ready. Devo

32:40

pulls a card from their jacket pocket,

32:43

and they press it into my hand. The

32:47

Bridal Cure. Devo.

32:50

Sartorial Mythologist. Our

33:02

condo is more or less how you left

33:04

it. Not in a bad

33:06

way. I'm still

33:09

off on disability, but I'm

33:11

not totally isolated. Sure,

33:13

I fall asleep on the couch watching

33:16

Midsummer Murders and eating tacos,

33:19

and I do smoke cigarettes on the

33:21

balcony and flick them into your

33:23

gardenias. But I also shower,

33:25

I do the dishes, and

33:28

I tidy up with the assistance of

33:30

your robot vacuum. I

33:33

function, in other words. But

33:37

I haven't changed anything. I haven't

33:40

packed up your stuff, your

33:43

hiking gear in the closet, your

33:46

books on the shelves, and

33:49

even your glasses on the desk. It

33:52

helps me believe that you

33:54

might walk in the door any second. I

33:57

myself haven't really left the

34:00

house in the past couple weeks with

34:02

the exception of a follow-up with my neurologist.

34:06

I'm halfway through a cup of Earl Grey

34:08

when my phone buzzes, predictably.

34:11

This is also Beverly's tea

34:13

time. Her message

34:15

said, Hi sunshine, just

34:17

checking in. I haven't heard from you

34:20

in a while. We're all

34:22

worried. Sweet

34:24

of her to include everyone in the big cloud

34:26

of worry. Beverly

34:28

always made me feel included. As

34:32

kids, Wiz and I would tumble into

34:34

their house after school, kicking

34:36

off our shoes and tossing our book bags on

34:38

the bench by the door. And

34:41

Bev would be at the kitchen table with a

34:43

fresh pot of tea. And she

34:46

always poured a cup for me. I

34:49

read all the messages she sent over the

34:51

last two weeks. Are

34:54

you doing okay? Just checking

34:56

in. Paris, what the

34:58

fuck? Where are you? That one's

35:00

from Wiz. Sunshine, I'm

35:02

getting worried. Please text me back. Five

35:05

missed calls from Beverly. Hey

35:08

P, I get that you're in hermit mode, but you're

35:10

not the only one who's lost someone. Wiz

35:12

again. Did I

35:15

do something to upset you? Please

35:17

just let me know if you're okay. Two

35:20

missed calls from Beverly. One

35:22

missed call from Wiz. Really?

35:24

The silent treatment? Real

35:27

mature. You

35:31

were a couple grades ahead and

35:33

you didn't get home until closer to dinner. Sometimes

35:37

I stayed. Sometimes I went

35:39

back to the trailer for mac and cheese with

35:41

my mom. I

35:43

never told you much about her, but

35:45

I wish I had. I let

35:47

you believe she was worse than she was. She

35:50

didn't drink or beat me, but

35:54

I disappointed her. I wasn't

35:56

what she expected of motherhood. We're ready.

36:00

related, but we were never

36:02

a family, not like yours.

36:05

I don't think you noticed me

36:07

as anything other than your little

36:10

sister's friends until university. By

36:12

then, Wiz and I weren't so close. The

36:16

blunt edges I'd once found solid

36:18

and grounding had begun to

36:20

feel cold. She was

36:22

a rock incapable of bleeding,

36:25

and she had no patience for

36:27

the soggy emotions of 18 year old

36:29

me. I was lost

36:32

and friendless. You'd

36:35

taken a gap year to travel, which

36:37

turned into two years, much

36:40

to Beverly's chagrin. And

36:42

we found ourselves in the same

36:44

intro to Western philosophy class. The

36:48

cloud of loneliness around me must

36:50

have been palpable. And

36:53

you were kind. You are

36:55

always kind. Of

36:57

all the classes in the world, he

36:59

said grinning as

37:01

he slid into the seat next to mine

37:03

heart. I

37:05

gasped staring at you, not quite

37:08

believing it. Your red

37:10

hair was longer shaggy.

37:13

It needed to be washed and

37:16

unfortunate spider web tattoo wrapped your

37:18

left elbow and a

37:21

salty animal smell wafted off you in

37:23

nostalgic waves. Oh

37:27

my God, classes started two weeks

37:29

ago I said, and

37:31

you are filthy. You

37:34

laughed big and loud

37:36

as ever. And

37:38

just like that, I was

37:41

home walking back into the house I'd always lived

37:43

in, but

37:46

through a door I've never used. Another

37:53

buzz from my phone. I stare into my tea gone gray with

37:55

cold. It's

38:01

Wiz. I

38:03

don't want to bring it up over text, but

38:05

since you've gone dark side of the moon, we

38:08

need to talk about Grandma's ring. Mom

38:11

won't say anything, but Heart would want it to

38:13

stay in the family. I

38:15

feel rage burning in me. What

38:19

does Wiz know about what you want?

38:22

What does she know about anything? I

38:26

dump my tea down the sink. The

38:28

milky scent of bergamot swirling in my

38:30

nose. On a

38:32

whim, I empty my purse

38:35

onto the counter. Tissues,

38:37

receipts, five

38:39

lip glosses, keys, and

38:42

wallet. No ring. But

38:45

amongst the detritus, there's a scrap

38:48

of white lace. It

38:50

catches the edge of my fingernail, and

38:53

I hold it up to the window, letting

38:56

the sunlight filter through the

38:58

delicate shreds of paisley. How

39:01

did this get into my bag? Next,

39:05

I rummage through the duffel Bev brought for me

39:08

at the hospital. No

39:10

ring in there, either. Our

39:13

bedroom hasn't been touched since the last

39:15

day we woke up together. I've

39:19

been sleeping in the guest room. I

39:21

open the door, and immediately your

39:24

scent assaults me. You

39:27

always smelled like a woodland creature, and

39:30

for just a moment, I expect

39:32

you to be there. Leaning

39:35

back in your old jeans against the

39:37

headboard, reading on your

39:39

iPad, my

39:42

eyes blur as I stumble to the dresser,

39:45

bracing myself against it, wincing

39:48

at the pain ratcheting up my skull

39:50

the way that it does every time

39:52

I cry. I

39:55

stare hard at my hands, and

39:58

I see them, not clutching them. the

40:00

edge of the dresser, but

40:02

the steering wheel in a darkened car, street

40:06

lights flickering over my bare fingers.

40:10

At night, the ring

40:12

I'd hardly taken off since he gave it to me.

40:17

I wasn't wearing it. My

40:22

little jewelry box sits atop the dresser,

40:24

where it always has. A

40:27

child's treasure chest, a

40:29

miniature of Devo's dressing room. I

40:33

open the pearly lid, releasing

40:36

a whisper of music and

40:38

exposing a blonde princess in a

40:41

pink dress, molded permanently

40:43

into a mid-twirl. She

40:47

hasn't spun in years. The

40:49

mechanism busted from many overzealous

40:51

crankings by a girl alone

40:54

in her bedroom, streaming

40:56

of a different loss. Between

40:59

two velvet cushions, there

41:02

it is, my ring. Your

41:06

grandma's ring, I guess. I

41:09

pluck it out and slide the slim

41:11

band over my finger. It

41:14

fits again. The pearl

41:16

is lustrous in the late afternoon

41:18

light. We'd

41:21

stood right here, at

41:23

the foot of our bed, arguing.

41:28

What do you mean you don't have a dress? I'm

41:30

sorry, I- You just straight up lied to me, P.

41:33

I know. I didn't mean to.

41:37

But why? I told you

41:39

we could just elope or go to City Hall.

41:41

It doesn't matter to me. It

41:43

still doesn't. You're the one who said

41:45

we had to do this right. Your mom would

41:47

die if we eloped. Put

41:50

this on her. already

42:00

what I hadn't yet dared to

42:02

face. Hurt,

42:05

please. I

42:08

willed you not to say it.

42:12

But then you looked at me with

42:14

the saddest eyes. You

42:18

don't want this, do you? I

42:22

turned the ring on my finger. I

42:25

always wanted you. I

42:28

still do. If

42:30

I could have stitched you into me, I would

42:33

have. My heart

42:36

slams against my sternum, and

42:39

my lips go numb. The

42:41

ringing in my ears rises to

42:44

a piercing volume. I

42:47

clutch the lace tightly, and a

42:49

low chorus of whispers blunts

42:51

the screams of my battered

42:53

brain. The

42:57

women are back. Lace

43:12

winds around my knuckles. Wetly

43:16

alive like fresh hide, a single

43:19

thread snags onto my skin,

43:23

tugging just hard enough to

43:25

sting. The

43:34

shop isn't as obscure as I remember. A

43:37

yellow house, half a block

43:39

from the busy thoroughfare. A

43:42

quaint sign hanging in the yard. Two

43:45

weeks ago, I shambled in from

43:48

my dead fiancé's wake. Now

43:50

I've got my shit together. Slacks

43:53

and a blouse. Shoes that

43:56

are comfy, but actual shoes.

43:59

Business cast. My

44:02

staples are out, leaving only

44:04

a livid line of scar tissue on the back of

44:06

my head. And the

44:10

hair has grown in from prickly stubble to

44:12

soft thighs. My phone buzzes, and

44:16

I guess it's about tea time. I

44:18

shouldn't even look. I know I

44:20

shouldn't. You

44:24

always got after me for having to check

44:26

messages immediately. I

44:29

couldn't help it then, and I

44:31

still can't help it now. But

44:33

it's not Beverly. It's Wiz. Mom

44:37

is losing her mind, P. Proof

44:40

of love, that's all. Please.

44:44

Surely I can do that. I

44:46

mean, I look good right now. A little

44:49

hammered around the eyes, but

44:51

with sunglasses, I am

44:54

a single lady living her best life. Heading

44:57

into a second fitting of her wedding dress,

45:00

even though her fiancé is dead,

45:02

and that's okay, because everyone grieves

45:05

differently. And I

45:07

am definitely grieving in a way that

45:09

is normal, and not

45:11

in a way that is weird. Just

45:14

a selfie. Smile. Peace

45:16

sign. Send. Surely,

45:19

Paris, surely you

45:21

can do that for the woman who has loved

45:23

and cared for you your whole life. It's

45:27

your voice, strong

45:30

and clear and sure

45:32

of yourself. I'm

45:34

paralyzed with missing you, and

45:37

I'm so glad you aren't here to

45:39

see me like this. How

45:42

I really am without you. How I always

45:45

was. The

45:49

bell clanks overhead, hardly

45:51

a magical sound, but

45:54

it grounds me, allowing my heart

45:56

to flow and my whole

45:58

chest to fill with the sun. smell of

46:00

incense. Dragon's blood, I

46:03

think. That's how observant

46:05

I am. Alert and attentive

46:07

in the world. And

46:09

as a result, I

46:12

realize it's not actually

46:14

you I miss right now.

46:17

Not your laugh, your wild

46:19

game smell, or

46:22

your instinctive consideration of others. These

46:25

things made my life easy and

46:28

enjoyable. Sure, but

46:30

what I miss right now is

46:32

blunt, harsh, and

46:34

solid. A

46:36

rude shake demanding my presence in

46:39

the moment. I

46:42

miss Wiz. Paris,

46:48

welcome back. Their

46:51

voice winds through the mannequins, naked

46:54

and white as a forest of

46:56

dead trees. Devo

46:59

emerges, jacketless,

47:02

tie loosened, top button

47:04

open, shirt

47:06

sleeves rolled up, showing

47:08

their smooth forearms. Casual,

47:12

yet no less intentional than a

47:15

three piece suit. They've

47:18

been working hard, a pearly

47:20

sheen of sweat on their forehead, dark

47:23

hair flopping in slight disarray

47:26

and glowing with amber highlights. My

47:30

apologies, love. They

47:33

cock their head towards the chaotic

47:35

maze of limbs. I'm

47:39

remerchendizing. Are

47:41

they cured then? Devo's

47:43

eyes narrow. Are

47:45

you? Would I be here if

47:47

I were? Do you

47:49

get many return brides? Cuchet,

47:52

love. Come in. The

47:57

carpet crushes luxuriously beneath my

47:59

feet. as I follow

48:01

Devo deeper into the recesses of

48:03

the house that feels much larger

48:05

on the inside. They

48:08

lead me into the same jewelry box

48:11

fitting room. And

48:13

there's the dress. My

48:16

dress. An

48:18

angel wing hanging from a bronze

48:20

fan. Can

48:23

you manage? They ask, gesturing

48:25

to the dress. I

48:28

nod and their smile is small

48:31

but utterly sincere. I'm

48:34

glad you're feeling better. I'll be back in

48:36

a moment to zip you up. My

48:40

smart clothes come off and

48:43

this time I neatly fold and place

48:45

them on the cushion chair. This

48:47

time I'm wearing pretty underwear and

48:50

the right bra. This

48:52

time my body, while

48:54

still scarred and atrophied, is

48:57

stronger and more familiar terrain than

49:00

the distorted carcass I inhabited two

49:02

weeks ago. I step

49:05

into the dress, sliding

49:07

the paisley lace over my hips

49:10

and slipping my arms into the

49:12

sleeves. The

49:15

torn cuff remains. A

49:17

single imperfection. I should

49:20

give Devo the scrap of lace I'd stolen.

49:23

This dress is old. A work

49:26

of art. And surely

49:28

it's impossible to source a matching

49:31

pattern. There's

49:33

a light tap at the fitting room door. Devo

49:36

enters and gently zips the

49:39

back of the dress. They

49:41

tug and pinch the fabric here and

49:44

there, adjusting how it lays

49:46

over my skin. But

49:48

I sense it's just for show. The

49:52

dress is perfect. But

49:54

how? Given the

49:57

changes in my body since the last

49:59

fitting. How could Devo

50:01

know? Every

50:04

dress a cure, every

50:07

cure a story, every

50:10

story rewriting itself for every

50:12

bride. Devo

50:14

was right. It is romantic.

50:18

Truly bespoke, they declare. I

50:24

see Devo seeing me reflected

50:27

from every possible angle. A

50:32

hundred parises, wearing

50:34

a hundred pearl rings, and

50:38

thousands of petal white

50:40

paisley. A

50:43

cure for every ill. And

50:47

I know that Devo

50:49

knows. They

50:52

know it all. You

50:56

must think that this is strange.

51:00

May I? I nod, and

51:03

Devo steps forward. They

51:06

take my left hand in both of theirs.

51:10

Their index finger tracing the pearl

51:12

setting of my engagement ring. The

51:16

one that Wiz would probably cut my entire

51:18

finger off for. Did

51:21

you know that the paisley design is

51:23

Persian? They ask. Hazel

51:27

eyes holding mine. I shake

51:29

my head. My

51:32

fingers flexing in Devo's firm

51:34

grip. A cypress

51:36

tree. Their thumb

51:39

rubs the frayed lace into

51:41

my wrist. A

51:43

symbol of eternal life.

51:47

The oldest known cypress sprouted

51:49

over four thousand years ago.

51:53

Zoroastrians intimately aligned it with

51:55

which was for the dead.

51:59

Why would it take me so long? Symbol for dust

52:01

used in a wedding dress. My

52:04

voice is thin and needy

52:07

as heat builds where Devo's

52:10

skin touches mine, where

52:13

the fine lace threads tickle

52:15

their way into my pores.

52:21

In the old world, white

52:23

is the traditional color of

52:25

morning, and while I know a

52:28

bride when I see one, I

52:30

never said this was a wedding dress.

52:34

A lump clogs in my throat,

52:37

but I'm not grieving nonsense.

52:41

The itch on my inner

52:44

wrist ignites into a burn.

52:47

Traveling up my arm, I gasp

52:51

as the chorus of feminine

52:53

whispers creep into my ears.

52:58

At this time, I pay

53:00

attention and

53:02

hear three distinct voices.

53:04

I'm here to look

53:07

at you. Devo

53:19

produces a silver hair

53:21

claw. You

53:24

came through something most women

53:26

never know. The

53:29

right cure sees it all. They

53:32

mount the podium and draw my hair

53:34

up. Their

53:37

fingers thread, comb

53:40

and twist, hugging

53:43

on my scalp until the

53:45

fresh cord of scar tissue

53:47

cries for mercy, for

53:50

more. And finally,

53:52

the silver claw slides

53:55

in, holding it all

53:57

in place. Look.

54:00

Devo commands, gripping

54:03

the back of my neck

54:05

with incredible strength. I'm

54:08

afraid, but not of the right

54:11

things. I'm afraid I'll

54:13

tell Devo to stop, that

54:15

I'll tear the dress off and flee

54:18

like I did last time, that

54:20

I'll never feel this way again like a

54:23

princess in a jewel box. My

54:26

dress shifts, tightening around

54:29

my finnock and gliding

54:31

between my legs, massaging

54:33

my arms, the

54:36

lace stalling each hair

54:38

follicle into an ecstatic

54:41

frenzy. I

54:44

see the woman in the mirror. A

54:47

molten slush erupts from her

54:49

throat and blows up to

54:52

her cheeks. I

54:54

relax into Deva's embrace,

54:58

one hand tight around the

55:00

back of my neck. The

55:03

other holds my waist as

55:05

white cypress trees rise under

55:08

their palms. They

55:10

hold me firmly, like

55:12

an immobilizing drug. I

55:15

don't want that. I

55:17

want to move. I

55:20

want to lean into the dress. I

55:23

want to give it more of me. I

55:26

want to give it everything.

55:32

I do this mostly today. The

55:36

only response I muster

55:39

is a low animal

55:41

whimper, as

55:44

they draw the zipper down my spine

55:47

and deftly pluck the

55:49

claw from my hair,

55:52

releasing the tension on my

55:54

scalp and breaking the

55:56

spell. Oh

55:58

God, what? What's

56:00

happening? My

56:03

face in the mirror is no

56:05

longer luminous. It's

56:07

sallow and clammy. I'm

56:10

sweating and I feel nauseous. Devo

56:14

steps back. They

56:17

are more radiant than ever. The

56:20

cure is working. This isn't

56:22

right. I struggle out of

56:24

the dress. But

56:26

when I try to pull my left arm

56:28

from the sleeve, I cry out. The

56:31

frayed lace is not only stuck.

56:35

It's woven inside the

56:38

tender skin of my wrist. In

56:42

a panic, I rip my arm free,

56:45

wincing at the burn. Dots

56:48

of blood form in the shallow puncture

56:51

wounds. Devo

56:53

steps forward and they

56:56

take my hand without asking this time,

56:59

turning it over and

57:01

using their pinky to smear the

57:03

blood on my wrist into a

57:05

teardrop shape. Take

57:07

the dress home. I yank

57:09

my hand back. I don't want

57:11

it. Devo laughs

57:15

and their perfect skin glows

57:17

with obvious pleasure. Paris?

57:21

We both know that's not true. Take

57:25

it home. Let the

57:27

cure do its work. Live

57:30

with it for a few days. Then

57:33

make your decision. The

57:36

dress sits in a white puddle around

57:38

my ankles. I'm

57:41

standing half naked in front of

57:43

a beautiful stranger in a mirrored

57:45

fun house where less

57:47

than a minute ago I nearly

57:49

had an orgasm. The

57:52

dress does things no dress

57:54

could possibly do. It

57:58

knows things it can't. possibly

58:00

know. This

58:02

is a red flag situation,

58:06

but I feel

58:08

alive. I

58:11

step out of the halo of lace. How

58:15

much for a deposit? Unnecessary.

58:19

The dress will return how

58:21

and when it's meant to.

58:24

Devo says, helping me

58:26

down from the pedestal. I

58:29

don't like the sound of that. Something

58:31

goddamn weird is happening. And

58:34

I've read enough fairy tales to know how

58:36

it goes. One

58:39

way or another, you

58:41

always pay. My

58:44

wrist throbs as I twist

58:46

off the pearl engagement ring, held

58:48

tight on my swollen finger. Take

58:51

this. I insist.

58:53

Devo arches an eyebrow,

58:56

but accepts the ring. The

58:59

choice is yours, Paris. And

59:01

I do mean that. This

59:03

dress has seen many a widowed

59:06

bride, but for the

59:08

cure to work, you

59:11

must also see yourself. As

59:15

I leave the shop, the

59:17

crinkling garment bag slung over my

59:20

shoulder. I think

59:22

of you. I imagine

59:24

what you might think of all this.

59:26

I don't

59:29

remember the accident. And

59:33

I don't think I want to. Thank

1:00:09

you for joining us for this episode of 13. If

1:00:12

you like what you heard, stop what you're

1:00:14

doing and leave a five-star rating and review

1:00:16

wherever you listen to podcasts. This

1:00:19

was part one of the bridal cure

1:00:21

by Sarah Pratt. Part two

1:00:23

will be in your feed tomorrow or

1:00:25

it's available on Patreon right now

1:00:27

ad free. The narrator

1:00:30

slash Paris was me Brooke

1:00:32

Jeanette. Bev was Sarah

1:00:34

Rae Warner. Wiz was

1:00:37

Kayla Temeshev. Devo was

1:00:39

Atticus White. Heart was

1:00:41

Mason Washer. Soleil

1:00:44

was Lindsay Reed. Aurora

1:00:46

was Hannah Wright. And

1:00:48

Halo was Emma Scharjarko. Music

1:00:52

composed by Kayla Britchie. Editing

1:00:55

and sound design by Brooke

1:00:57

Jeanette. Additional assistance from Bridget Freeman

1:00:59

and Ian Epperson. Learn

1:01:01

more about the author Sarah Pratt and

1:01:03

all of the fantastic actors featured in

1:01:06

this episode by checking the show notes.

1:01:09

You'll find links to their other work there. Our

1:01:12

producer level patrons are Rick

1:01:14

Linville, Tattooed Fox, Rhiannon, Sean

1:01:16

Geary, Anthony Diaz, Michael Vasquez,

1:01:18

Amy Harper, Jackie Kay, Delta

1:01:21

Tango, Chantel Payne, Emily Douglas,

1:01:23

Stephanie Klinger, and Jake Ayer.

1:01:25

You guys are the best.

1:01:29

Thank you so much for your support. Click

1:01:31

the link in the show notes to learn more about

1:01:33

joining us on Patreon. We've got a patron

1:01:35

live event at the end of this week. Check

1:01:38

us out on social media. You can find

1:01:40

us on Twitter, Instagram, and TikTok under Pod

1:01:42

13. And you can

1:01:44

join the Facebook group for 13 podcasts. Just

1:01:47

look for the logo. You'll find links to all

1:01:49

that in the show notes. If you'd

1:01:51

like to submit a story to be

1:01:53

performed on the show or if you'd

1:01:55

like to contact us about anything else,

1:01:57

get in touch at info at 13podcast.com.

1:01:59

You'll find submission guidelines and other

1:02:01

info on our website, 13podcasts.com. You

1:02:04

can find that in the show

1:02:06

notes too. Bridget

1:02:08

Freeman is whispering in your

1:02:10

ear. Thanks for

1:02:12

listening. We'll see you tomorrow.