Part two is here! Thank you all so much for your wonderful feedback! I hope you enjoy where the story goes, and remember two more parts to come :)
Britta just gets out of the shower as her phone rings. She immediately decides that if it's Jeff she's not going to pick up. Because she actually wants to talk to him, and there are lines. But when she see's Annie's name flashing on the screen she holds it to her ear, her other hand holding her towel up.
"Annie, hey! How is everything going?" She says, trying to guess on a scale from one to ten how stressed her friend is before she speaks.
"Everything's great!" Annie replies, her voice higher than usual. So probably about a twelve.
"Wanna tell me about it?"
"Ugh, it's just stupid wedding stuff that isn't stupid at all. I mean, I want the day to be perfect, but do there really need to be 47 different kinds of ivory white tablecloths?"
Britta grimaces and is glad that she's talking to Annie over the phone. This is exactly why she does not want to get married. "If I can help with anything at all, just let me know."
"Really?" Annie sounds more like herself now, and Britta can almost feel those Disney eyes smiling at her.
"Of course."
"Aww, thanks Britta. I really appreciate it." She pauses, and there is a moment of awkward silence where Britta is sure she is going to regret her offer. "Do you want to come dress shopping with me this weekend?"
She swallows a groan, "I thought you already had your dress?"
"Yeah, but I'm only 99% sure about it and everyone says you have to be 100% sure. Besides if I go back to the same store, I can just exchange it." Annie said, and Britta could almost hear the silent Pleeeeeaaasssseee at the end of her sentence.
She sighed, realising she'd only ever been into a wedding dress store once and that was a dare (she had to steal a veil; it's a long story). "Sure, what the hell." She holds the phone an inch away, predicting Annie's squeal of delight. Oh well, she can get through a couple of hours of wedding talk, can't she? For Annie.
She takes three steps into the store before thinking Screw Annie and wanting to run out of there. The walls looked like they were lined with cotton candy, and there was lace everywhere. Places where lace definitely should not be. Annie runs from dress to dress like a little kid in a toy store, a shop assistant following her to take the selected dresses to the changing room. Annie seems to be pulling dresses off hangers without even looking at them. Well, Britta hope she's not looking at them, because if she actually chose that one that looks like a marshmallow then she's not sure they can be friends anymore.
"Would you like to try any dresses on, miss?" Britta spins around and sees a second assistant smiling at her as though she knows she's not supposed to be there.
"Oh, no thanks, I'm not-" she starts, shaking her head, and her hands and probably other parts of her body too. Anything to get the message across.
Across the room, Annie squeals and claps her hands, "Yes, Britta! Try one on! We can take photos! It'll be fun?"
Fun is not the adjective she would use, but her eyes widen as she realises she can't say no to her bride-to-be friend. Swallowing, she nods slightly, "Fine. But they do not go on facebook!"
Annie claps her hands again and rushes over to hug her, then takes her hand to pull her around the room. Britta spouts of deal-breakers so detailed she hopes she'll never find a dress she would agree to put on. "No princess skirt, no corset, no sequins! No lace, no cap sleeves, absolutely no flower patterns."
"What about this one?" A shop assistant pulls one off a rack in the corner, Britta's pretty sure that's where the reject dresses sit. She holds it out as Britta steps closer, Annie following behind. It's actually kind of pretty. And by kind of pretty she means really, really gorgeous. The dress is strapless and goes straight down, There's not much detailing apart from gathering along the side of the waist and hip.
Annie gasps and rushes past her to take the dress from the assistant's hands, "Oh my God, Britta! This would look so good on you. You have to try it on!" She shoves the dress into her hands, and pushes her towards the second changing room. Britta's sure she's going to regret this, but does as she's forced and enters the changing room. She hears Annie head into the room next to her, although she's not sure how because the rooms aren't that big and she thinks Annie has about 20 dresses in there with her. Taking off her boots, jeans and T-shirt slowly, she wonders whether she should take off her bra. Suddenly glad it's not imperative for her to wear one, she does so. The dress would look better without it.
Slipping it on, she decides it's some sort of mix of silk and chiffon and that she couldn't have known this if her mother hadn't forced her to go dress-shopping for Junior Prom (she dropped out in time to not have to go, thankfully). It fits well, surprisingly well. It's even the perfect length for her short stature. She eyes the white heels in the corner and slips them on, then turns to look herself in the mirror. She swallows; she looks good. Different obviously, weird because she's never, ever pictured herself in a white dress. But she looks... well somehow the dress fits. Not just her body, but her. She loses track of time as she stares at herself from different sides, and is startled when Annie knocks on the door.
"Britta, I think I've found it! My 100%! Come out, I want to see yours."
Slowly, she opens the door to return to the world of lace and tulle. Annie looks like a princess, she's twirling around in a dress with a big tulle skirt, and a silky ribbon around her waist. After completing a turn she sees Britta and her eyes widen with delight.
"Britta! You look..." she puts her arms around her, then steps back and Britta thinks those are tears in her eyes. "You look amazing!"
"Thanks. But you, you look so, so beautiful. And you're getting married so that's what matters." She smiles.
Annie hugs her again then goes over to her handbag to pull out her camera. She hands it to the assistant, "Can you take a picture of us? I want to remember this forever!"
They put their arms around each others' waists and smile towards the camera, waiting for the flash. Britta thinks that this is much more comfortable than she expected, than it should be. But the blinding light brings her back to reality and she heads off to the changing room to get back into her normal, cynical, non-committal clothes.
It's late on Saturday afternoon, and Jeff is working. That's the bad thing about working for a company with a conscience: more work, worse hours and less pay. But he likes it. He won't admit it, not even to Britta who urged him to look at law firms again after he graduated, but he feels really good when he manages to help someone because they need it, not because they can pay for it. He's done more pro bono cases in the last year that in his entire career before Greendale (and it's not even that many).
His laptop signals a new email and he opens up his inbox to a message from Annie. It's addressed to Britta, and he's confused until he sees she's sent it to him as a blind copy. Here's the picture from today. I promised I wouldn't put it on Facebook, but I thought you might want a copy anyway. Thanks for coming! Annie x He reads the message and furrows his brow; he didn't know Britta and Annie were hanging out today. If it was something wedding related, Britta would have surely called him to complain. He clicks on the attachment and takes a sip of coffee as the picture pops up. He quickly swallows the hot liquid, because it's either that or spitting it all over the screen. He stares, staring at his two friends in long white dress. Annie looked like a princess, Disney through and through. The skirt was possibly bigger than the aisle in the temple she was getting married in. For some reason he felt proud, that the young naive girl he met seven years ago could look so beautiful and grown up.
But Britta, for her he was speechless. He's only seen her in a dress a handful of times, he's a little surprised she even knew how to put it on. But it looks amazing on her, better than amazing. Obviously he's aware how beautiful she is, drunks on the bus are aware of that, but somehow, in this dress she looks stunning, and happy, blissfully happy.
He's staring at the image for a while, before the picture turns into images of her walking down an aisle, her dancing slowly on the dance floor, running away from flying confetti. He's broken from his reverie by his ringing phone, which he answers absentmindedly without checking the caller ID.
"Guess what I wore today?" Her voice pours into his ear, sounding playful.
He sits up straight, fully alert now. He smirks, "Is this part of some dirty game?"
"No!" She gasps, "I went dress-shopping with Annie."
"Oh?"
"You know, like wedding dresses?"
"I'm aware that's what you meant, yes. Did Annie make you try on some foam-covered tent?" He says it in the same way they mock 'Bridezillas' when it's on TV. And for some reason regrets it instantly.
She pauses, "No, although there were so many of those. I can't believe people actually buy them! Anyway, the one Annie forced me to put on was better. Acceptable, I guess." He knows that's not true. He's seen the photo, but he can also hear her voice. And the good thing about spending a lot of time with Britta is that you learn to recognise her lying voice. She definitely liked that dress.
"I'm sure you looked great in it," he says and listens as she thanks him then invites herself over for an evening of movies and dinner. He knows he has a full case of beer and a couple of bottles of wine in the fridge, ignores the thoughts of tomorrow's hangover (and contentedly waking up next to her) and the fact that his Saturdays have rarely comprised of spending time with anyone other than her.
He's picking her up, because something about walking alone on a Saturday night, she kinda zones out when he gets all paranoid. So she waits, her stomach growling at her lack of lunch.
She takes the time to go through a drawer in her nightstand. She sighs as she sees how much junk she has in there; stuff from way too long ago. She pulls out a long black tank top, still covered in paint and wonders briefly why she never washed it. It's a nice top. Underneath she sees a bunch of receipts and movie stubs and a page that was ripped out of her first year Spanish textbook on which they had both doodled all over a photo of a happy Spanish couple. There is also the necklace he broke when they were making out on Annie's 21st (in the corner near the bathrooms, they learnt from their mistake). She sometimes forgets she's known him for so long. All of the group really. But with Jeff, things seem more impulsive, more gripping. She's learnt from experience that things like this are usually short term. But somehow her friendship with Jeff has not only remained intact, it's grown old and comfortable. It strikes her that she's never really had a relationship before where they were able to sit in silence and have it not be awkward.
Her phone buzzes, and she suspects that's him telling her he's double parked and to hurry up. She shoves the collection of old memories back into the drawer and slams it shut.
"Y'know, wedding dresseseses being white is totally sexist!" Britta slurs, taking another swig of beer.
He looks over at her and nods even though he has no idea what she's talking about. "Huh?"
"Why does the girl have to be all clean and pure?" She continues, obviously oblivious to whether or not he's even paying attention. "Sometimes girls like to be dirty!"
"That's hot," he acknowledges and she turns to him and slaps him on the chest weakly.
"Why can the man be dressed in whatever he likes? Huh?" She punctuates each word with another tap and in the back of his mind he's glad she's drunk because sometimes she can hit quite hard.
"I'm sorry?" he offers. She makes a face as she considers it. "I promise you can wear whatever you want," he continues but she just slaps him again.
"I don't need your permission, Jeffrey Winger!" She scowls, her face coming close to his.
He nods, she softens into a smile and one of them closes the gap.
When he wakes up, his first thought is that he can't breathe. His second thought is the realization that it's because Britta's hair is covering his face. His third thought is a flashback to last night and he smiles. Britta is still asleep next to him, her head in the crook of his neck, an arm flung over his chest and a leg intertwined with his. After a moment she stirs, stretches her arm which makes her hand move against his side. He feels warmer instantly. It's stupid, they've done this enough times for him to be over it. They've done this too many times. He used to think it's all okay until it becomes habit. Habit means comfort. But at this point, everything with Britta is comfortable.
Usually, publicly, he'll hate this old, familiar comfort. The very idea will make him gag. But under the sheets, half-asleep, her body naked against his, he really has nothing against it.
