Merri asks. She bumps me with her elbow as she holds the two sides of Lizzy’s dress together. We’re in a small room in the building to the right of the main house, practicing lacing up Lizzy’s wedding dress. Liz is sucking in so much I think she’s turning blue. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I interrupt our talk about Marissa, stepping around to see the front of Liz. She’s not blue; she’s flushed. “Yeah,” she gasps. “It’s not the baby belly, it’s my boobs. The dress is…pulling on them.” “Here,” Merri says. She shifts something on the dress’s other side, and Lizzy inhales. “That’s much better.” “So what was their history?” Merri says, looking at me. “Marchant dated Marissa in college. Non-seriously, but some serious things fell within the time-period of their relationship.”
