“Thank God. I really did not want to have that conversation with Dad.” I plopped myself down on the bed. “Whatever it is it can’t be that bad.”

“I don’t fit into the dress.”

“Oh.” I stood up again.

Beth and I locked eyes and hers began to fill, threatening another tantrum. In that moment I realized I was the only grown-up right now. The stress of planning a wedding in under three months had made sensible Beth turn into some kind of useless woman-baby.

“Right.” I clapped my hands together. “We’re going to try it on again. Maybe something was just catching. It was made to measure, right?”

“Six weeks ago,” Beth wailed, flopping into a chair as I picked up the gown.

“Get up,” I said, adopting the kind of tone you use to corral children or puppies.

Dragging her heels, Beth shuffled over to me and stepped into the dress, holding her breath. She closed her eyes tight and hitched the straps over her shoulders. I buttoned the tiny buttons at the base of her back and shook my head.

“This fits fine,” I said.

“Really?”

“Yes. Who was doing it up before? They obviously did something wrong.”

“Sarah,” she said, her voice quaking slightly less than before.

“The flower girl? Honestly, Beth, you asked an eight—”

I was halfway through the row of buttons and the fabric was getting tighter. I pulled on both sides, stretching them to try to get them to fit together. Beth froze.

“No. Now don’t panic, hold on. It’s. Not. That. Tight.” I tugged on the fabric, determined to get the last six buttons to close.

Beth pulled away and launched herself face-first onto the bed, narrowly avoiding the breakfast tray. Into the pillow she let out a muffled cry of, “Why, God, why me?”

I gingerly extracted the tray and covered the jam stain on the bed with a towel while I made soothing noises about how it was all going to be OK. Although I had no idea what I was going to do to make it OK.

Then it came to me. Obviously.

“I’m going to go and call Barbara,” I said brightly. “I bet they delivered the wrong one. Someone else must have got this style too. Don’t worry.”

I patted myself down, searching for my phone, and my heart dropped into my stomach. I realized my ridiculous lavender dress didn’t have pockets so where on earth had I put my phone?

“Um, Beth? Bad news. I don’t know where my phone is.”

Beth wailed.

I had a panicked vision of myself searching all over the hotel or accosting some stranger in the hallway to use their phone. It’s an emergency, I’d scream. A bridal emergency.

“I’ll be right back, Beth, I promise.”

“Saoirse.” She lifted her mascara-stained face. I thought she was going to say something like Hurry back, or Get help, please.