The Editing Of Costume Coded Desires

The resort's main draw for those looking to be wed was the very room they all gathered in. It managed to capture the essence of a beach wedding without the hazards of actual sand. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around three sides of the space, offering views of the Caribbean Sea beyond the palm trees.

Inside, the air conditioning was a mercy against the heat and humidity. It kept the assembled guests comfortable in their formal wear while ceiling fans stirred the air with lazier ambiance. White orchids and Flor de Maga created a bride-insisted fusion of a tropical altar for the couple to stand against. Their colors stood out against the backdrop of blue sky and greener sea.

Renee barely noticed them. Her attention kept drifting across the aisle to where Ayla sat, the same fourth row but on the groom's party side. The ceremony passed in a blur of music, flower petals tossed by a nervous child, and promises in front of family and friends.

The writer only *really* noticed her own selfish footnotes during the ceremony. The subtle shifts in Ayla's cool expression. Like the way she dabbed at her eyes during the vows. How her hands twisted the program card slightly when Marcus spoke about choosing someone forever.

Or when Leana…

When it was time to stand for the couple's exit, Renee realized she couldn't remember a single word that they had actually said. She had spent the entire ceremony categorizing the minute changes in Ayla's posture and generalizing the words that entered her ears.

But, she remembered perfectly the way sunlight from the windows caught her ex-girlfriend's profile. The soft blush colored silk of her dress that practically glowed at the edges. The sheath cut was perfect for her figure - modest enough for a late morning ceremony but still managing to remind Renee exactly why she'd once spent so much time hanging back to watch Ayla climb the library stairs ahead of her.

She was sure neither believed it was to catch her if she fell.

The boat neckline with capped sleeves drew attention to her elegant throat, where a single pearl drop hung from a delicate chain. Definitely a family piece, probably from that grandmother who'd taught her most about proper dressing for these occasions. When Ayla had turned her face down slightly to dab at her eyes, Renee watched.

Her usual coral lipstick had been traded for something rosier, matched to pop against the dress's subtle texture. The same careful attention to fashion detail that had always made Renee want to mess up her perfectly arranged appearance. Just to see what would happen.

[I dared and she let me… is what usually happened.]

Even her shoes - metallic champagne stilettos that probably cost more than most people's entire outfits - spoke of that polish of presentation that Ayla had grown up learning. The kind of wealthy grace that had once made Renee feel hopelessly scruffy in comparison.

[Even dressing not to stand out, she's never less than a nine out of ten. Is that what dressed to the nines is even supposed to mean?]

The familiar way of rating appearances slipped through her mind before she could stop it. Some habits were harder to break than others. Especially when it resurfaced after college exactly because no one else was ever more than an 8…

[Some writer I am, missing the whole story developing around me while studying a single character to death.]

The critical thought almost made her laugh, but the sound caught in her throat. 

⛌-⛌-⛌

Back in her room after the ceremony, Renee stared at her reflection. She had approximately two hours to prepare herself for the start of the reception - to decide if she was ready for whatever came next. The suit had done exactly what she'd intended deep in her heart - maybe too well.

She'd of course caught Ayla looking at her and moving closer at the start. Glances back during the ceremony out of her periphery. The way her coolness had wavered when they caught eyes once. The tremor in her hand when she'd intentionally adjusted her collar inexpertly while looking directly at her.

[What am I doing?]

She was sure she hadn't come here to destabilize anyone. Hadn't come to make statements or demands. The whole point was supposed to be to show she was fine, that they could exist in the same space without... whatever this morning had been between them.

Taking a breath, she could admit in her head what it was but would deny it out loud for a while still. The teal dress that hung in the closet still was patient and practical. The kind of option that said exactly what she *should* be saying.

[I'm successful. I'm stable. I'm not trying to prove anything or tempt you. Just attending a wedding.]

Instead…

"Wearing something that practically screams 'I'm marriable, look at me' when we haven't even managed a real conversation?"

Renee slipped out of the suit jacket, watching the transformation from earlier begin in reverse. Each piece she removed felt like stepping back from a precipice she hadn't logically meant to approach. Naomi implying that a suit would be for seeking a wife popped in her head again.

The tie whispered against her collar as she unknotted it and it slid from her shoulders. The sound it made was practically a sigh… and she could agree with that.

[Some things should stay buried. Frankensteining what you killed yourself is just…]

The dress, when she put it on, settled around her like a decision. The silk chiffon moved differently along her body than the structured wool of the suit - lighter, less *intentional*. Its color brought out the green in her eyes without demanding so much attention. Ultimately the suit hadn't been excessive but this was better for blending into the background of someone else's celebration.

She tucked the expensive suit away, carefully smoothing the jacket before zipping the garment bag closed. Her fingers lingered on the bag, remembering how it had felt wearing it and being seen by Ayla. Like something she wasn't quite ready to name. Like courage and hope.

[Better this way. We're not ready for that. I'm not ready for that.]

The writer in her wanted to laugh at the symbolism of her choices while the therapy patient wanted to scoff. The costume change and the retreat to safer choices. As she adjusted the dress in the mirror, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was 'editing' herself to make it into a more acceptable version of this story.

Still, it was the right choice to do it this way. It had to be. She'd already caused enough ripples this morning with her 'tailored confession'. Because of course the woman would have to *know* she had not just put everything together on a whim. Even though she had.

[So I keep telling myself.]

The reception would go simpler and smoother. It was a party after all. She would be just another wedding guest in a perfectly appropriate dress, maintaining perfectly appropriate distance. No drama. It was what Leana asked for.

Even though she was sure what the now officially married woman wanted was different. Her old friend would eat up every bit of drama the pair of them exuded. More happily than any wedding gift.

"Time to go disappoint her."