16 Wigs, Passports, and Makeup (1/2)

With her suitcase stashed in a bus-station locker, Gemma shouldered a tote bag and took a taxi to the Las Vegas strip. She was tired—she hadn't been able to sleep on the bus ride, and she was on London time.

The casino was lit up with neon, chandeliers, and the sparkle of the slot machines. Gemma walked past men in sports jerseys, pensioners, party girls, and a large group of librarians wearing conference badges. It took two hours, walking from place to place, but eventually she found what she was looking for.

There was a cluster of women around a bank of Batman slots having what seemed to be a ridiculously good time. They had frozen drinks, purple and slushy. A couple looked Asian American, a couple white. It was a bachelorette party, and the bride was perfect, just what Gemma needed. She was pale and petite, with strong-looking shoulders and gentle freckles—couldn't have been more than twenty-three. Her light brown hair was up in a ponytail, and she wore a hot-pink minidress and a white sash with rhinestones on it: BRIDE TO BE. Dangling from her left shoulder was a small turquoise bag with multiple zippers. She leaned over as her friends played the machines, cheering, comfortable being adored by everyone around her.

Gemma walked over to the group and used a lowland Southern accent, like in Alabama. ” 'Scuse me, do any of y'all—well, my phone's out of charge and I gotta text my friend. I last saw her over by the sushi bar, but then I started playing, and now, whoop! It's three hours later and she's MIA.”

The bachelorettes turned around.

Gemma smiled. ”Oh, are y'all a bridal party?”

”She's getting married on Saturday!” cried one of the women, clutching the bride.

”Hooray!” said Gemma. ”What's your name?”

”Anna,” said the bride. They were the same height, but Anna wore flats, so Gemma stood over her a little.

”Anna Dixie, soon to be Anna McFetridge!” cried a bachelorette.

”Dang,” said Gemma. ”Do you have a dress?”

”Of course I do,” said Anna.

”It's not a Vegas wedding,” said a bachelorette. ”It's a church wedding.”

”Where are y'all from?” asked Gemma.

”Tacoma. It's in Washington. You know it? We're just in Vegas for—”

”They planned the whole weekend for me,” said Anna. ”We flew in this morning and went to the spa and the nail salon. See? I got the gel. Then we hit the casino, and tomorrow we're gonna see the white tigers.”

”And what's your dress? For the wedding, I mean.”

Anna clutched Gemma's arm. ”It's to die for. I feel like a princess, it's so good.”

”Can I see it? On your phone? You must have a picture.” Gemma put her hand over her mouth and ducked her head a little. ”I have a thing about wedding dresses, you know? Ever since I was a bitty girl.”

”Hell yes, I have a picture,” said Anna. She unzipped her bag and pulled out a phone in a gold case. The lining of the bag was pink. Inside were a wallet of dark brown leather, two tampons wrapped in plastic, a pack of gum, and a lipstick.

”Lemme see,” said Gemma. She stepped around to look at Anna's phone.

Anna swiped through the pictures. A dog. The rusty underside of a sink. A baby. The same baby again. ”That's my boy, Declan. He's eighteen months.” Some trees by a lake. ”There it is.”

The dress was strapless and long, with folds of fabric around the hips. In the picture, Anna modeled it in a bridal store filled with other white gowns.