Kimberly’s POV
Cedric dragged Katie away, throwing one last desperate glance over his shoulder. “Wait for me to come back. Let me explain-”
As if I would waste my precious remaining hours waiting for his excuses. I couldn’t summon even a flicker of interest anymore.
Olivia hovered over me, her face lined with worry. “Are you okay? Did she hurt you? God, I should’ve called security the moment I saw her.”
I pressed my hand to my chest dramatically, widening my eyes in mock distress. “My heart is absolutely shattered,” I sighed, then broke into a mischievous smile. “Only retail therapy can save me now. Doctor’s orders.”
She snorted despite herself, relief washing over her face. Seeing me attempt humor seemed to convince her more than any medical report that I was having a good day.
“You’re impossible,” she said, but I could see her considering it. After assessing me carefully, she nodded. “One hour. Maximum. And we’re taking a
wheelchair.”
I celebrated this small victory, feeling like a teenager who’d just been granted an extended curfew. Freedom–even temporary, even supervised–felt intoxicating after weeks of confinement.
At my insistence, our first stop was a street vendor selling baked sweet potatoes. The smell of caramelizing sugar and roasting flesh transported me instantly to afternoons with my mother, who believed sweet potatoes could cure everything from broken hearts to broken bones.
I deliberately carried my snack into Olivia’s immaculate car–a cardinal sin in her world. She was famously meticulous about her little silver hatchback, known to lecture dates who dared bring coffee inside.
Taking malicious pleasure in my rebellion, I let crumbs scatter across her pristine leather seats, making sure to create a particularly impressive mess in the cupholders. Olivia’s eye twitched visibly, but she said nothing. What was she going to do–scold a dying woman?
“Take a left here,” I directed, steering us toward the city’s upscale shopping district.
She raised an eyebrow when we pulled up in front of Calloway Bridal, one of those intimidating boutiques with no price tags and champagne service.
“Kim, what are we doing here?” she asked, though I think she already knew.
Olivia was getting married in May–to a kind, patient architect who looked at her like she’d invented sunrise. I’d been helping her plan for months, though we both avoided acknowledging the obvious: I wouldn’t be there to see it.
I wanted to witness her as a bride, just once.
She didn’t question me further, just followed me inside, blinking rapidly against the emotion threatening to spill over.
We’d been best friends since freshman year of college–sharing everything from stomach flu to heartbreaks to last cups of ramen. Words had long ago become optional between us.
I bypassed the overeager consultant, heading straight for a strapless satin gown with architectural lines that would complement Olivia’s dancer physique. “This one,” I said with absolute certainty.
While she disappeared into the dressing room, I quietly selected a sage green bridesmaid’s dress from the adjacent rack. I didn’t ask for permission or acknowledgment–just took it into another room and slipped it over my too–thin frame.
The woman in the mirror looked like a stranger–hollow–cheeked and fragile, with prominent collarbones and dark circles no amount of concealer could hide. But the dress was beautiful, falling in soft folds that forgave my diminished form.
I knocked on Olivia’s door and squeezed in without waiting for an answer.
She stood there, transformed into something ethereal–the ivory satin highlighting her warm skin tone, the architectural bodice displaying her graceful shoulders.
“Oh,” was all I could manage.
We stared at each other in the mirror–bride and bridesmaid, a future that would never materialize. Without a word, I pulled out my phone and took
20 38
Almost in Love with You
a selfie of us together, preserving the illusion.
“You look perfect,” I finally whispered. “You should buy this one.”
She rolled her eyes, instantly breaking the spell. “Are you insane? This thing costs more than my car,” she hissed. “Let’s just take a few more pictures before they realize we’re not serious buyers.”
I smiled and nodded, leaving her to admire herself while I slipped out. At the counter, I handed over my credit card before the consultant could fully explain the exorbitant price. It would drain most of what I had left, but money held no meaning to me now.
She was my sister in every way that mattered. She deserved the dress that made her look like the goddess she was.
As she continued trying on veils, I felt a familiar tightness spreading through my chest. The pain was returning, sharper this time, less patient.
I scribbled a quick note on the boutique’s stationery: “Sorry for the crumbs in your car. Consider the dress my apology. Love you forever.”
Slipping out while Olivia was distracted with the veil consultant, I hailed a taxi outside.
“Greenlawn Cemetery, please,” I told the driver, my voice steady despite the growing pain.
Olivia, my brave, loyal Olivia–this was goodbye.
No jokes to soften it. No tears to make it harder.
Just the quiet acceptance that some journeys weren’t meant to be shared to the end.
Chapter 16
Chapter 16
