“You should have let the saleslady set it aside,” Harper said.
Stacy pretended to glare. “See how much sympathy you get from me when you’re shopping for your wedding to Mr. Blue Eyes.”
“Quit that.” Harper would have given her friend a light shove, had Stacy not been pregnant.
“Kidding aside, it’s the first time I’ve seen you like a guy since Sean.” Stacy lingered in front of a display of hats and veils. “Aren’t these cute?”
“Pick the dress first,” Harper advised.
“But someone might take the prettiest hat!”
“You’ll want a veil.”
“Why do you say that?” her friend demanded.
“Because you’re the veil type. Or the something-romantic type. Not hats.” Having shared an apartment with Stacy and been friends with her since junior high, Harper knew her taste ran to the ultrafeminine. “Trust me.”
“I do.” Stacy sighed. “Which is lucky, because Cole can’t help me choose a dress, or colors, or a cake. He’s a sweetheart but when it comes to girl stuff, he’s hopeless.”
“Your sister would be ideal.” During their teen years, Harper had seen how talented Ellie was at designing and sewing clothes. Now, married with four kids, Ellie lived in Salt Lake City and, with their mother, ran a boutique that sold stuffed animals in custom outfits. “Too bad she lives so far away.”
“She gets final approval over the bridesmaid dresses.” Stacy held up a sleek off-the-shoulder satin gown. “Along with you.”
“That makes sense.” Harper had been invited to be maid of honor, with Ellie as matron of honor. While unusual, the arrangement suited the small church setting and the fact that Cole, new to the area and with no close relatives, had only two groomsmen: his boss, the intimidating Dr. Owen Tartikoff, and Cole’s male nurse, Lucky Mendez.
“My feet hurt. I have to sit down.” As Stacy sank into a chair, the saleslady hurried over, asking if she was okay and offering tea, which they gratefully accepted.
“That’s another problem with choosing a gown,” Stacy murmured. “By September, I’ll be sticking out to here. Possibly out to there.” She indicated a point halfway across the room.
“We have designs with plenty of room,” the clerk assured them.
“For triplets?” Stacy asked.
After a blink of surprise, the saleslady said, “I’m sure we can accommodate you.”
Soon Harper and Stacy found themselves in a large dressing room with a selection of gowns, along with bridesmaid dresses in Harper’s size. Since Stacy hadn’t yet chosen her colors, the options were wide open.
“Pregnant brides must be fairly common,” Harper commented as she helped her friend into a dress with a forgiving waistline.
“Yeah, but I’ll bet none of them got pregnant the way I did.” Stacy smoothed out the skirt. “When you take those hormones and they tell you to watch out after they harvest the eggs, they aren’t kidding.”
“So I hear.” As part of her preparation to become an egg donor, Harper had been warned that the harvesting process didn’t catch every egg. Donors were strongly advised to abstain from intercourse for the rest of that cycle or risk getting pregnant with multiples.
After Stacy donated eggs to Una, she’d believed her period had started. That same night, celebrating her birthday, she’d had an unexpected romantic encounter with Cole. Initially, she’d planned to give up the babies for adoption, but despite Cole’s clumsy approach to wooing, he’d eventually won Stacy’s heart.
“You and Una inspired me,” Harper added, “but that doesn’t mean I intend to follow all your examples.”
“Good.” Turning to examine the back of a dress, Stacy paused as her gaze met Harper’s in the mirror. “Maybe I shouldn’t say this...”
“When has that stopped you?”
Her friend smiled. “Okay. I’m glad you’ll be helping a family have children...”
“But?” Curious, Harper slipped out of a pink dress that was too pale for her complexion.
“When Una called to say she was pregnant, I thought I’d be ecstatic.” Stacy eased out of her gown, as well. “Instead, I felt as if the bottom had dropped out.”
That puzzled Harper. “Why?”
“I didn’t understand it,” Stacy admitted. “You know, the program initially tried to reject me as a donor because I hadn’t had a child of my own. I browbeat Jan until she agreed.” Jan Garcia, R.N., headed the egg donor program.
“It upset you when Una got pregnant?” Harper prompted.
“I felt empty.” Stacy drooped at the memory. “My arms ached to hold those babies. Although I was ashamed of my reaction, that’s how I felt.”
“I wish you’d told me.” If Harper had known Stacy was struggling, she’d have been more supportive. Not that she’d been unkind, but she had been distracted by her new job and Mia’s needs. “Since I already have a child, though, my arms won’t be empty.”
“What about those little boys in your dreams?” Stacy reminded her.
“I don’t see them as mine.” Harper had discussed the matter with the program’s psychologist. “They’re separate people who deserve their own lives. I’m just helping them.”
“That’s what I thought about my future babies,” Stacy cautioned.
“And now you get to watch Una’s twins grow up,” Harper pointed out. “Plus raise three of your own.”
“You’re missing the point,” Stacy pressed. “I just want you to understand that things might not go as planned.”
“I appreciate the warning.” Harper hadn’t meant to dismiss her friend’s concern. “But while I’d love to share the recipient’s pregnancy and birth, I accept that that might not happen. In the meantime, what do you think?” She twirled in a light purple dress with blue trim. “This is pretty.”
“It fits beautifully.”
“Could you go for these colors?” Harper would be able to wear the cocktail-length dress again, a definite plus in view of the price.
“Oh!” Stacy eyed the dress in dismay. “Ellie said any color but puce.”
“This isn’t puce. It’s purple. What color is puce?”
“I’ll check.” Sitting on the bench, Stacy consulted the dictionary in her phone. “It says here it’s dark red. I always thought puce was purple.”
Standing upright to avoid wrinkling the dress, Harper searched on her phone. “This site says it’s a grayish red-violet.” The color displayed was lighter and more muted than the one she wore.
Stacy continued doing research. “Listen to this! Puce is a French word that refers to the color of bedbug droppings.”
Together, they said, “Eww!”
“I’m sure the bedbugs have been out of the picture for hundreds of years,” Stacy said.
“Do you suppose that’s why Ellie hates the color?” Harper asked. “Or does she loathe anything purplish, reddish or violetish in general?”