“I don’t think you should come,” she said flatly, emotionless.
I was driving. Holding my phone against my ear, I glanced behind me, where a long, ballet-pink dress (not blush, though that shade was painstakingly considered) lay on the backseat inside its plastic cover. My bridesmaid dress.
And yet all of the sudden - even though I paid for it - somehow it no longer felt like mine.