“That, darlin’, is confidential, just like your dress is,” Paula reminded her.

“Thank God for that,” the woman said. “Okay, my five minutes of beautiful are over. Help me out of it. I’m glad I’ve got five bridesmaids to help me get dressed on my special day. I could never do this alone.”

Jody and Paula took care of that, and then Mitzi gently put the gown in the zippered white bag with The Perfect Dress logo done up in gold lettering. She tucked the veil in one outside pocket and the shoes in another.

“There you go. All ready for your big day.”

“Thank you all.” She blew kisses as she headed behind the trifold screen to put on her jeans and shirt. “This is just the best dressing room ever. Us chubby ladies need room and lots of cool air when we try on clothes.”

Mitzi whispered for Jody’s ears only, “So when are you going to let us design a hippie wedding dress for you?”

“Lyle and I don’t believe in having to buy a marriage license. We may have a ceremony someday, but we won’t ever . . .” Jody started.

“You could always jump the broom,” Paula suggested. “In some cultures that’s as binding as a paper from the courthouse.”

“We might do that,” Jody laughed. “But for now, we’ve got sewing to do, and the Harrison girls will be here in an hour or so, so get down the pink, Mitzi.”

“I’m fairly well caught up,” Paula said. “I’m going to prop up my feet in the kitchen with a big cold soda right out of the bottle.”

“Open one for each of us,” Mitzi told her. “I’ll be there soon as I get the final payment and papers signed on this dress.”

The girls came into the shop right on time that afternoon, their eyes huge as they tried to take in the totally feminine foyer and the wedding dress on the staircase.

Mitzi was waiting.

“I understand you girls need bubblegum-pink dresses. I’m Mitzi, and I own this shop with my two friends, Jody and Paula. I’ll introduce them to you in a few minutes,” she said.

“I’m Tabby, and I look horrid in that color, but oh well.” The girl rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.

“And I’m Dixie. I’m the oldest by five minutes. I hate pink, too. I mean like really hate it.”

“Are y’all twins?” Mitzi asked.

They nodded.

“Only we’re not identical. My hair is darker,” Dixie said.

“And my feet are a size bigger.” Tabby’s eyes kept darting around the room, as if she were a chocoholic turned loose in a candy store.

With their clear blue eyes and translucent skin, makeup companies would fall all over themselves to sign a contract with these girls. High cheekbones and a full mouth would have plus-size catalog companies begging for the same. Thank goodness their hair was different, or it would have been difficult to tell them apart. Dixie’s black hair lay in curls down to her shoulders. Tabby’s hair was straight as a board and fell to her waist.

“What style have you got in mind?” Mitzi asked.

They both giggled.

“I thought we should teach Mother a lesson and go all southern belle with a hoop skirt and a big flouncing collar,” Tabby answered.

“And I thought we should show up lookin’ like we just came from the street corner in pink satin cut down to our belly button and up to our butts on the side,” Dixie giggled. “But I guess we should be nice.”

“Why? We haven’t seen Lizzy since we were too young to even remember her, and we’ve only seen Mother once since we were toddlers. ‘Nice’ isn’t really an option,” Tabby said. “I vote we do something they’ll never expect and not tell them until the wedding day.”

Mitzi thought of Ellie Mae and her black dress and of the client who had left just minutes ago with her dress. If Mitzi ever did fall in love, she could never keep her dress and the big day from Jody and Paula. But then, they’d probably be the very ones who made it for her.

“You know we’re like just blowin’ off steam, Tabby,” Dixie said. “Let’s just do something simple and get it over with. I don’t want to be uncomfortable all day just to make a statement to Mother.”

“Well, I can tell you one thing for sure: I’m tellin’ her exactly how I feel after this wedding is over, and you can’t stop me. I don’t care if it makes her mad at me,” Tabby said. “Now let’s talk about these nasty pink dresses.”

After Mitzi’s mama died, she and her dad still kept up the Sunday-morning-breakfast tradition. In her opinion, parents who abandoned their children should be punished severely—and a hooker dress on a teenager just wasn’t going to cut it.

“I’ve brought down some pink lace, satin, and other fabrics for you to look at. With your skin tones, you’ll be beautiful in that color. If I were doing your makeup, I’d use just a hint of pink lipstick and a thin line of blue eye shadow to accent your gorgeous eyes. Has she chosen hats or . . .”

“A circlet of roses with burgundy ribbons.” Tabby’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling again. “She must think we’re still little girls.”

“What if you had the hairdresser pull up the sides of your hair into a crown braid so the flowers would sit right in the middle and then loosely curl the rest of your hair?” Mitzi picked up a sketch pad and quickly drew what she had in mind.