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For Becca, Mel would move heaven and earth to keep her safe, make her happy, and ensure that her life was the best it could be. There were moments of discomfort, of course, like watching her sister captivate one of the very few men Mel would allow herself to fantasize about. Mel didn’t have much, which made her fantasies that much more special. She was used to putting her life on the back burner, but that didn’t matter to her. She liked being helpful. She liked caring for others, and she hoped that one day, particularly soon, they would show up for her.
She stood at her sink, trying to work through her frustration by focusing on the mundane task of washing dishes, but with every clank, her anger only grew worse. She was just about to smash two bowls together when an abrupt knock at her door turned her festering anger into perplexed confusion. She turned off her faucet and wiped her hands as her mind prepared for more horrible news. It was all about preparation, but there was no way for her to prepare to see Frank Langdon, the annoying reporter, standing on the other side of her apartment’s door.
She let out an annoyed huff while watching him bounce on his heels expectantly. The nice thing would be to open the door, but Mel doesn’t feel particularly nice, “What do you want? Becca isn’t here.”
Frank twinged at the abrasiveness of her tone, which prompted him to speak delicately in return, “I’m actually here to see you.”
Mel furrowed her brows, suspecting the worst from him, “Why?”
Frank nearly pounded his head against the door, “Come on, I have to talk to friends and family. It’ll take five minutes.”
Mel cringed, walking away from the door and debating just how much she loved her sister. The answer was too much.
He listened through the door for any hint of her decision, but heard nothing, so he added, “Please. For Becca?” It was exactly what she needed to hear to open the door, and he knew that.
Mel let out a heavy breath again, “…Okay.” She gripped the door handle tightly, feeling her body betray her heart. She didn’t want to face this wedding, not this one. In a perfect world, it would be her own, but it’s not. It’s Becca’s, and that meant she was going to give it her all.
The door opened with a heavy clunk. Frank stood there with a pleased look, maybe too pleased. “Thank you.” There was a long, quiet moment between them since Mel refused to move out of the doorway, “May I come in?” he asked with one of his exaggerated expressions. He had noted how it amused Mel when they last met and hoped it would be a worthy tool in this instance.
He was wrong.
Mel stood firmly in place, her tone taunting, “Just ask me what you want to ask me. Or would you prefer to lie some more?” She was pissed to say the least.
Frank let out an awkward laugh, “I didn’t lie to you. I don’t know why you keep saying that. I may have left out a few things, but that's…”
Mel dropped her arm from her door, allowing Frank inside. She just needed to get this over with. “Can we just get this over with, please?” She returned to her place in front of her sink, washing away the dried soap on the bowls.
Frank raised his handy voice recorder to his lips, “The maid of honor is a peculiar young woman.” She gave him a stern look, prompting him to back off, which he did so willingly while closing her door. “So tell me how you feel about Becca’s whirlwind romance.” He observed her apartment. It was nice, maybe a little cluttered, but that just meant she enjoyed her space. The warm light from the collection of lamps bounced off the countless antiques hanging on the walls or decorating her plethora of bookshelves. The space perfectly resembled her, and Frank couldn’t help but admire it for that.
Mel refused to look at him, focusing on her dishes to keep her cool. “I couldn’t be happier for her. She’s my sister. She’s happy, which means I’m happy.” It was truthful enough. She might not be happy about it happening, but it was happening nonetheless. Mel just had to be okay with that. She was lost in her ramble, dropping the ceramic bowl in her grasp and tensing even more. She turned off the faucet, wiped her hands, and turned to face Frank as if nothing was wrong.
Frank smiled, “Yeah, obviously.” He looked around the apartment one last time, a way to take her in again, when he noticed the slightly open closet at the end of the hall. “Wait, what are those?” He pointed at the abundant hint of tulle and satin.
Mel perked with anxiety, “Nothing.” She hoped he would drop it, turn away, ask his questions, and leave, but something deep within her told her that was exactly what would not be happening.
Frank perked with glee, “Are those…?” He started towards the closet in a confident stride that quickly turned into a race. Mel tried to intercept him, but her pleas meant nothing to him. She held onto the closet doors with all her might, but he was considerably stronger than herself. “Are they bridesmaid dresses?” He was eager to tease her. He liked it when her cheeks turned rosy, and her lips pursed together; it was a look that he had wondered about for a few nights now. “Oh, good god! What!?”
Mel pressed herself against the pile of dresses, “I have a lot of friends, and I like to keep them.” She tried to pat them down as if that would hide them. It was no use, the colors were an eyesore.
Frank reached out to touch the beast in front of him, but Mel swatted his hand away before he could. “Right, that makes a lot of sense because they’re all so beautiful.” His tone was violently sarcastic.
Mel tried to argue, “Some of them are not that bad.”
Frank laughed in her face, “Not that bad? I’d like to see one of them that isn’t that bad.”
She accepted the challenge, “Fine!” She turned on her heel to dig through the sea of dresses, “Well, not that one…or that one.” She pressed through the hangers, thinking of how to defend herself against his very truthful claims. That’s when she spotted the one, “This isn’t that bad. It’s really…”
Frank interrupted her, “Horrible. The word you’re looking for is horrible. What color is this? Vomit?” He was revolted just by the sight of the dress pressed against her body. It wasn’t right for such ugliness to touch her skin.
Mel kept up her ruse, “It’s an olive green and very in right now. I’m telling you.”
He snatched the dress away from her, not able to bear it any longer. “No. I’m telling you this is an instrument of torture inflicted on you by a bride who wants you to look ugly.”
Mel spread the fabric against his body, “No! Jenna picked it because it looked good on everybody,” She ran her hands down the dress and consequently Frank’s body. She didn’t think much about the consequences of doing so, but Frank did.
He stepped away, raising his voice recorder to his lips once more to announce, “Slightly delusional and will believe anything anyone tells her.” He stared down at her with looming eyes.
She pulled the voice recorder to her mouth, “That is not true, and I’m going to show you that you’re wrong.” She took the dress from him and stomped into the room behind him, leaving him to admire the dresses. He stepped back, pulling out his camera to take a photo. He couldn’t believe that this was real. The shutter of his camera sounded just before Mel came back out, “See? It’s not so bad.” Mel revealed herself, tugging at the fabric just below her knee. When she looked back up, the flash from Frank’s camera assaulted her eyes. She was too stunned to admire his devilish smirk.
“Okay, you are right about this dress. It’s not so bad, but come on, the color? Please,” he held the camera beside his face for Mel to admire.
Mel took the camera from his hands, “It’s your flash. It’s blowing it out weird, and okay, yeah, it’s not that good.” She felt relief from admitting the truth, but found it a shame to do so. She shrank into herself, burying her face in her hands in embarrassment.
“To be honest, you make it work.” He hoped the compliment would give her relief, and found his own relief in the fact that it did. Mel lifted her eyes to his, sincerity clashing with sincerity. “You kinda look like a shiny mermaid. You should be flattered. She didn’t wanna stand next to such a beautiful woman.” The words sounded so natural, as if they were carved in stone.
Mel didn’t know how to take the compliment. She was keeping to her palms, hoping it would shield her from the reality of the moment, but then she decided to embrace the opportunity, “Well, it’s actually not the worst one. If I had to pick one…I have a good one!” There was no need to defend these horrible dresses. She grabbed a pale yellow dress with orange flowers. It was poofy and assaulting. “It’s my favorite.”
Frank laughed a genuine laugh, “Oh, my god,” his words muffled by the hand covering his mouth, “What the hell is that?” He dramatically shielded his eyes.
Mel grinned, “Themed wedding.”
Frank clapped his hands together, “What was the theme? Humiliation?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He waited for Mel to change into the new dress. “No, this cannot be real. People do not have Gone With The Wind-themed weddings,” he said when she appeared again with a bonnet and a complimentary umbrella.
Mel twirled the umbrella between her fingers while stating, “I’ve been to three.” She recalled how much of a nuisance that particular wedding was with the weight of the tulle and radius of the hoop skirt. The memory brought out a laugh, and for the first time in a very long time, she wasn’t thinking about her sister. She was in this moment with Frank of all people, and it felt exactly how it should.
Frank took another photo of her, amused, “Alright, show me what else you got in there.” He took his bag off and got comfortable, knowing, more so wanting, to stay like this forever. She looked so happy, which beat the scowl she wore not too long ago.
“Give it,” she shyly pressed her cheek into her shoulder before holding out her hand expectantly.
Mel disappeared into her bedroom again, determined to give Frank a good show. She came out in a thinner orange dress embellished with iridescent ribbon and god-awful sequins. She popped out of the room and twirled in the hellish matching heels. Frank laughed while taking her picture. He was damn near buried in the closet when he spotted a kimono.
“Oh, you have to show me this one,” he held it out for her to take, and she did with no hesitation.
She waddled out of the room on wooden sandals and a paper fan in hand. She remembered how uncomfortable walking around was that day. She bowed to Frank, and he bowed back. They kept it equally cheeky and respectful. Frank snapped a quick photo of her before she grabbed another dress. This one was a mix of blues, simple, boring, and completely unflattering. She held her arms out and swayed her hips to give the dress some movement.
Frank took her photo, “Very pretty. Do you feel pretty?” It wasn't meant to be a taunting question, although his tone might have made it seem so, but thankfully, Mel didn't take it that way.
To her, it was a genuine question, and she gave a genuine answer, “I do. Oh! Hold on, I have a great one!” She disappeared again to Frank's dismay.
He quickly accepted the pleasure when she was in sight. It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before, and he couldn't quite communicate, not even with himself, yet. It was strange, but anytime she disappeared behind those bedroom doors, his heart sank. It wasn't until a few minutes later when she reemerged that he knew it was going to be a very big problem.
“Every bride loves her accessories.” She wiggled her fingers just above a clip in a flower that was aspiring to complement the darting blue dress cut just below her knees. Mel was buried in this dress, and it was by far the worst of the bunch, yet somehow Frank didn't mind it, not on her.
He took another photo. It wasn't about the story anymore. It was about capturing how Mels' smile grew with every dress she put on. He reasoned it was because of the memories or she was simply laughing at the dresses, but he did hope it was because of his presence.
The next dress wasn't a dress at all. Instead, a suit that unsurprisingly suited her very well. It hugged her in all the right places, and she even carried herself with more confidence. “Men wore dresses. Women wore suits.”
Frank could only chuckle, too awestruck to give anything more. The shutter of his camera filled the silence.
Dress after dress, worry and responsibility washed away. Frank melted into her couch, feeling more relaxed than ever before and definitely entertained. Mel perfectly portrayed the personality of each dress. Whether it be through a twirl, sway, or small dance. Frank fought with the pile of accessories, feeling overwhelmed by the abundance of glitter. He had to get away from it.
The next dress took longer to put on than any other, allowing Frank to admire her place with more attention to the fine details. He gazed upon a not-so-high shelf she clearly installed herself full of photos of her and Becca. They were lovely photos of admiration and devotion. Frank couldn't help but admire that, but the aftertaste left him feeling ill. She was the one giving in these photos. There was no hint of her receiving anything in return.
“Frank?” She called out for him while carrying the weight of an almost neon yellow dress that took up the whole room.
“Yep!?” He turned the corner of the hallway, averting his eyes the moment he spotted her. “Whoa…no, that is so so so bad.” Her laugh enveloped his ears like music, but quickly faded away when she disappeared back into her room.
Sometime later, the pair found themselves sitting across from one another, sore from laughter and tired from playing dress up all day.
Frank counted the photos, “Twenty-seven dresses? You’ve gotta be kidding me. I don’t get it. You do the thing, you have the dress, just throw it out. That is such a good closet, and it is such a shame that such horrible dresses are haunting it.”
Mel threw a piece of popcorn from the bowl they were sharing at his head, with impeccable accuracy while defending herself, “As strange as it sounds, I have had some amazing moments in those dresses.”
Frank scoffed, “I don’t believe you.”
Mel shrugged because it didn't matter if he did or not. “Look, I don’t care if someone wants me to wear a funny dress. It’s their day, not mine.” That was the truth.
Frank's words became more of a sigh, “God bless you.”
Mel wanted him to understand, “And if supporting them when they get married means snowshoeing to a mountaintop in the Alps or helping to caulk a fountain for some swans, then so what?”
He was surprised, “You actually did that?”
“Oh, I’m a really, very good caulker.” She joked.
Frank raised the voice recorder to his lips, speaking in a low, sultry tone, “Likes caulk,” which earned him a guttural laugh from Mel. He had to admit, the sound excited him, but he didn't allow himself to linger on that, “Alright, but come on. Seriously. I mean, how much time do you spend doing this for other people? What about you? Don’t you have needs?”
“No, I don’t. I’m Jesus,” she spoke with such seriousness Frank couldn't tell if she was joking, but laughed anyway, but her words pierced through, “Look, someday, God knows when, but someday, it’ll be my day, and then all those people will be there for me so…that is if I ever…” An abrupt flash from Frank's camera interrupted her speech, and just like before, she froze.
He lifted his hand in defense, “Sorry, I’m sorry.” He avoided her gaze by staring down at the screen of his camera, taking a moment to admire the photo.
Mel sighed, feeling that familiar defeat. “You don’t have to understand it. I mean, why would you?”
Frank leaned closer to her, “I do.” He could tell from her distant expression that she didn't believe him, so he continued, “I understand you…” That was the sentence that broke through to her. The sparkle in her eye egged him on, “The need to be there for other people, care for them, the way you want someone to care for you, but…who's there for you?”
“I…” Mel tried to answer, but couldn't think of what to say. She didn't want to tell the truth, but she didn't want to lie either.
He continued, “Mel, I watched you…”
“You watched me?” No one ever had before, or at least admitted to it.
Frank smiled, “Yes, I watched you.” He had no issue admitting it. How could he not? She was beautiful and kind, so kind that a glow radiates and fills a room. “And I watched you bite your tongue and maneuver around everyone else’s emotions all at the cost of your own. You shouldn’t…”
“I shouldn’t what?” It wasn't that she was offended, just eagerly curious to hear someone else's perception of her.
Frank's words were sharp, not with malice, but with honesty. “You don’t deserve to feel unimportant, because you are so much more than…a bridesmaid.”
“I’m not…” she tried to argue, but Frank wasn't gonna hear it.
“Yes, you are.” It couldn't have been stated more clearly, and yet Mel was still reluctant to accept it.