“Izumi! When they said something borrowed, something blue, I don’t think they meant my face should be turning blue! Lemme breathe a little!”
Ranko’s elder sister laughed. “You seem to have enough air in your lungs to whine, kid sister. But I think that’s as tight as it’s gonna get. All kidding aside, how does it feel?”
Ranko took a few steps around the room. “It’s heavy. Even more than what they dressed me in at Disney. Like being wrapped in a wet blanket.” Tittering brightly, she moved closer to her sister. “I’m worried I’m gonna step on it.”
Izumi nodded in understanding. “That’s just ‘cause you don’t have your shoes on. You’ll have another three, four centimeters, and that should be enough that you’ll be fine. And I’ll be with you when you get dressed, and if we have to make any last-minute adjustments, I’ll have plenty of emergency pins and supplies.” She reached out, hugging the scintillating young bride who paced the floor of her bedroom. “Do you like it, Ranko? Really?”
Even if I didn’t, I’d never tell you, after all the work and money you put into it, Izzi. But as Ranko turned to face her reflection in the oval oak-framed mirror mounted above Izumi and Kaito’s bureau, her eyes softened. She said nothing, as her breath was caught in her throat. While she’d been able to look down at the dress as it had been manipulated in each of the previous fittings, Izumi had done everything in her power to prevent her from getting a look at the entire outfit at once until it was complete, going as far as to cover the mirrors in her bedroom during fittings. Now, with just over two weeks until the youngest of the Phoenix sisters’ wedding, it was finally time.
“Izumi…” No other words would come.
All this time, Ranko had dreaded the idea of being a bride, even as she had been over the moon at the concept of being a wife. Somewhere down deep, she had still feared that the ultimate final boss of femininity would defeat her somehow; that she would be discovered to be a fraud on the most important day of her life in front of everyone she knew and loved. That it would at last be proven that she was incapable of the type of elegance that was associated with brides; the kind that Izumi had displayed at her wedding. Just like the thousand Hollywood-perfect brides Ranko had seen in countless romantic comedies Akane had dragged her to see in the cheap little movie theater around the corner from their shoebox apartment.
That she would embarrass Akane.
But as she looked at the woman reflected in the mirrored glass, there was no trace of falsehood. She found no seam from which to pull the illusion apart. As she searched for one in vain, an earth-shattering understanding washed over her. The image of the young bride in the mirror was not a case of Izumi having crafted a perfect counterfeit, as she had done when Akane had become Aki for Valentine’s Day. No detail, no matter how small, could betray the lie, because it wasn’t a lie at all.
I am a woman. I am a bride. And even if I mess something up, well, I mess stuff up all the time. Hell, regular women mess stuff up all the time. Akane doesn’t love me any less for it. Hell, she thinks it’s cute most of the time. I am marrying someone who loves me, and who I love, and I am going to be beautiful for her. And there’s no reason on Earth I should feel anything but excited about it. Akane was right. I have a right to this. I deserve it. I’ve earned it.
She blushed, remembering all the times Akane had responded to her misgivings about the wedding by telling her such things. You’ve worked too hard to settle into your new life not to have this day as its crowning achievement, her fiancee would say. Ranko had always pushed back on it, but here, now, looking at the beautiful woman in the mirror in a formal gown for the second time in four days, it could not be denied even if she’d wanted to.
And she no longer did.
I’m not doing anything wrong, Ranko thought to herself as her eyes traversed every stitch of the masterwork white gown. I’ve gotta stop thinking of myself this way, like I’m not allowed to enjoy girly stuff. It used to be so weird and awkward for me, like I owed someone an apology if I wore something cute or cuddled with Starlight. But, the whole reason I ran from the dojo was so I could feel like a normal girl, and I’ve dealt with everybody from my past who didn’t treat me like that… except myself. I came out here to learn how to feel normal in this skin, so why am I being so damn hard on myself for having done exactly what I set out to do?
Ranko made eye contact with herself in the mirror, a soft joy and a diamond-hard resolve in her deep blue eyes. I may not have been born a girl, Akane, but I was born to be your wife. I was born to be your bride. And I promise, I’m never gonna let myself deny it again.
My name is Ranko Tendo. I am a woman. I am a singer. I am Akane’s bride. I am beautiful. I am cute. I am wanted. I have worth. I have people who love me, and dammit, I’m allowed to be one of them.
Only once she had abandoned her search for any missed detail to dread could she really allow herself to take in how incredible the dress she modeled truly was. The tight bodice of the dress was almost as stiff as splint armor, entirely covered with sparkling faux pearls in a light ivory as it was, and was laced tight behind Ranko’s back with a long white satin ribbon that snaked through the two dozen silver grommets adorning her spine like a giant shoelace. There was nearly no give to the rigid bodice, but it was perfectly shaped to her body. That’s why she always made it so tight, Ranko thought with a snort under her breath.
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The ankle-length skirts were supported by two layers of lace petticoats that waterfalled over Ranko’s white satin slip, the one that Akane had bought her on Valentine’s Day. The first time she’d dressed up like a princess, though she almost felt as if she were starting to lose count. It had been the night that she’d agreed to do all of this in the first place, but for the second time. Each layer of the dress had a walking slit up the right side, but slightly offset on each layer. The effect allowed for her to have easy movement of her legs, while ensuring that the slit would never completely expose her right leg.
A wide white satin sash separated the pearl-encrusted corset top from the skirts at the waist, tied off in a large bow at her left hip. The tails of the bow reached almost to her knees. A line of white rosettes formed the trim of the skirt’s hem, matching those outlining the top and bottom edges of the sash about her waist, and those that framed the tasteful but not entirely conservative neckline. Individual threads of metallic silvery white were sewn into the top layer of the skirt at various angles. The thread was almost imperceptibly thin, but the metallic finish captured every glint of light. It, plus the light dusting of glitter, made the entire lower half of the dress sparkle, reflecting and refracting the ambient light differently every time she moved. Rising from the corset on either side, sheer white lace completed the journey up her sides and wrapped around her forearms, forming transparent sleeves that reached to just a few centimeters above her elbows.
“I… I…”
Her hands almost involuntarily rose to her lips, covering her slack jaw. As they did, Ranko blushed even deeper as the final piece of the ensemble came into view in the mirror - the personalized silver band and solitaire diamond that formed her engagement ring.
“Miss Tendo, I do believe you are ready to get married.” Izumi hugged her sister around the waist from behind. “I love you, kiddo.”
Ranko looked over her shoulder in the mirror to meet Izumi’s eyes in the reflection. “I love you too, Izzi. Is… is this really happening to me?”
Izumi nodded with a soft smile, pulling a strand of Ranko’s loose hair behind her right ear. “It sure is, honey. I know, it’s almost impossible to fathom until you really see it for the first time. That’s why I wanted to make you wait to really see yourself in it, so you got the whole effect rather than bits and pieces. But you, little sister, make an absolutely breathtaking bride.”
"You did this, Izzi. Just… thank you. That doesn’t feel close to enough to say. It’s so amazing. I’m so sorry I was such a pain in the ass while you worked on it. I could never have imagined…”
Izumi waved her hand dismissively over Ranko’s shoulder in the mirror. “Forget it. Every girl goes bridezilla about at least something, and I’ve gotten pretty damn used to dolling you up while you’re kicking and screaming by now. I would have almost been disappointed if you hadn’t.”
Ranko nodded, but the glow permeating her face seemed to fade and her eyes darkened as a thought crossed her mind.
“Hey, you okay?” Izumi rested her hand on her little sister’s lace-covered shoulder. “You kinda zoned out on me there.”
Again, Ranko nodded, turning to face her sister directly. “I just feel bad. The wedding’s in two weeks, and Akane still hasn’t found a dress she likes. The extra money we got from the Disney thing helped, but not enough to really give her the flexibility to do what she wants. I told her to take some of it out of the budget for flowers or something, but she wouldn’t bend on a single thing I picked out. And so it’s like… I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for me, but a part of me wishes I could give it all to her instead.”
A wide grin crossed Izumi’s strawberry-glazed lips. “Yeah, I thought it might be something like that.”
Ranko rolled her eyes slightly. “I just… She deserves to feel as perfect as I do when we get married. More so, if ya ask me. Nabiki and I did everything we could to try to bring in enough extra money; she even passed on her commission from the Disney check. I just feel like I’m letting her down, and we’re not even married yet.”
Izumi curled her finger in her sister’s direction. “C’mere. I wanna show you something. But you’re sworn to secrecy for a few more days, got it?”
Nodding in curiosity, Ranko trundled her dress in her hands and followed Izumi out of the bedroom into the narrow T-shaped hallway connecting the kitchen, her bedroom, Hoshi’s, and Mioko’s nursery.
“Whoa!” Hoshi stared from the archway into the kitchen, a half-eaten cookie hanging limply in his left hand. “Auntie Ranko, you…”
Ranko’s cheeks were aflame as she smiled up at the boy’s mother. “I know, right? Your mom is incredibly talented, Hoshi.”
Izumi grinned. “And fairly efficient.” She pulled open the beige double-hinged velour doors of the hall closet between Hoshi’s bedroom door and Mioko’s and pulled a clothes hanger from the thick wooden dowel running across its width.
“What the…” Ranko’s eyes bulged as Izumi withdrew a frosted clear dress bag from the closet. Ranko could make out none of the details of the garment within, save that it was shorter than the dress she currently wore, and was white. “Izzi… is that… did you…”
Izumi giggled. “Surprise! I started on it a couple weeks ago, just in case. It won’t be quite as intricate as yours, but based on the kinds of things she was trying on when we went shopping together, she didn’t want anything too over the top anyway, so she should like it. It’ll probably be done by Monday or Tuesday, and then I’ll invite her over so I can fit it to her and stuff so I have time to make adjustments.”
“Izumi Sando, you are the best sister a girl ever had, do you know that?! Ranko closed the distance between them in two steps, wrapping Izumi in a tight hug. When she finally let go, the elder girl’s jeans were speckled with excess glitter that had escaped Ranko’s dress.
Izumi grinned. “I promised you, Ranko. I won’t allow your wedding to be anything but perfect. I just refuse. Your bride will be as beautiful as hers is.”
Having truly seen both the masterpiece of a dress Izumi had made, and the masterpiece of a young woman who wore it, for the first time, Ranko could finally believe it.