A/N: I just want to say that I have nothing against bridal salons and I hope the characters are still in character. Enjoy.

As much as Helen loved art, there was one thing she absolutely despised about it: it was incredibly messy. She wandered around her sunlit classroom during her free period, picking up the stray sponges, brushes and tubes of paint her students had neglected to put up. If she'd thought picking up after three children and a husband was frustrating, it was nothing compared to doing so for twenty to thirty students class period after class period. She was really going to have to stress the importance of caring for the tools.

"Mom?"

Helen looked up to see Joan standing in her doorway. "Hi, honey."

"Hi." Joan gave her a weak smile. "Do you have a minute?"

"Sure." She gestured toward the table in front of her. "Have a seat."

Looking like she was dragging all of the world's problems behind her, Joan trudged into the room and sank into a chair. "You know how I've always said I wasn't crazy?"

"Uh, yeah."

"I was wrong."

Pulling a stool up to the opposite side of the table, Helen sat and gave her daughter a sympathetic pat on the arm. "What changed your mind?"

Joan chuckled despondently. "The fact that I agreed to plan Adam's and my dream wedding by April. What was I thinking? Six months. How am I supposed to plan a wedding in six months? An outdoor wedding on top of that. In Maryland. I must be so many levels of insane, I'd baffle psychologists the world over."

"Oh, honey." Joan whimpered and dropped her head on her folded arms. "It's going to be fine."

"Ha!" her daughter cried without raising her head. "That's what you say. I'm never going to pull this off."

"Honey . . ."

"No, Mom, really," Joan insisted as she lifted her head. "There's too much: I have to choose a caterer, a reception site, a minister, a color scheme. Is it going to formal, semiformal, or informal? Morning, noon, or night? Chicken or fish? And that's not even the half of it? How do people do this? I can't even find a dress."

"You're always welcome to mine," Helen offered. Joan gave her a don't-go-there look. They'd tried that already. Helen's elaborate, ballroom-like gown was so not Joan. That had been made blatantly clear when she'd tried it on. She'd looked like a reject from a bad '80s music video. It had been laughable. "It can be modified, Joan."

"I know and it's a beautiful dress. But, by the time I finished 'modifying' it, it would be unrecognizable. I'll find something else." Joan sighed and gave her mom another weak smile. "Well, thanks for listening to me."

"Anytime," Helen said, covering Joan's hands with hers. "You're not alone in this, you know? I planned a wedding myself once upon a time."

"I know."

"And even though she has her hands full with Trevor . . ."

"He is a handful."

"Rebecca planned her and Kevin's wedding. Not only that, but she has incredible contacts as the Herald's editor."

"That's true," Joan admitted with a nod.

Helen smiled mischievously. "And Grace, well, Grace will help you keep your sense of humor."

"How? By mocking me the entire way to the altar?"

"Well, there is something hilarious about the mania most brides go through," Helen conceded. "But think of it this way: imagine how much fun it'll be to return the favor when it's her turn."

Joan gasped. "Mom. That's mean."

"True, but thinking about is entertaining." Helen snickered. "Can't you just see Grace on the verge of ripping her hair out because the caterers served her father pork at the reception?"

Joan's mouth formed a perfect O. "That's just wrong."

"Very wrong," Helen agreed, struggling to keep a straight face.

"But so funny," Joan said before bursting into laughter, effectively shattering the last of Helen's composure.

Helen savored the moment of mother-daughter camaraderie. There had been times when Joan was in high school herself when Helen thought they'd never have a relationship like this. It made knowing that her daughter would seek her out for comfort that much sweeter. As they both got a hold of themselves, she squeezed Joan's hands. "I have an idea."

"Yeah?"

"Why don't we all get together and do something fun this weekend: you, me, Grace, and Rebecca if she can? We could make a day of it."

Joan scrunched her nose, clearly unsure. "Something wedding-related?"

"Yes. Something to show you that it isn't all stressful. In fact," she said, warming up to the topic, "it could be a browsing day. No decision-making, no buying, no planning. Just looking. What do you say?" She gave Joan her brightest smile, willing her to say yes.

"I guess it could be fun," Joan said after considering for a moment. "I don't have anything else to do. And Adam's in New York. Why not? Let's do it."

"Great," Helen exclaimed before letting go of Joan's hands and getting up. "I promise you'll have a good time."

"Where are we going again?" Joan asked from the back seat of her mother's car.

"It's a surprise," Helen answered for the fourth time since she started driving.

"Can't I have a hint?"

"It's wedding-related," Grace offered from the front passenger seat. "How's that for a hint?"

Joan made a face at the back of Grace's seat. "Ha, ha. Very funny."

"We're almost there, Joan," Helen said with good-natured exasperation. "Just relax."

With a resigned sigh, Joan reclined in her seat and decided to enjoy the ride. Helen and Grace had taken her to a lovely bakery for a wedding cake tasting session. Rebecca couldn't come because she was working. Joan considered taking Adam to the bakery when he got back in town, but only to get his opinion. As it was, she was still on a sugar high from the delicious samples.

Five minutes later, her mother turned into a parking lot and stopped the car. "We're here."

"Finally," Grace mumbled and got out of the vehicle.

"Where are we?" Joan asked as she stepped out of her mother's car. They were standing in front of a—Joan turned toward the building and saw the wedding gowns in the display window—bridal salon. "Oh."

"Now, Joan," Helen said as she came around to her daughter's side, "it's not what you think. Remember, no decision-making, only browsing."

"I don't know."

"Oh, come on, Girardi," Grace called over her shoulder. She was halfway to the store. "I thought you liked shopping."

Despite her reluctance to enter the building, Joan followed behind her friend and mother. "I do like shopping. I just don't enjoy shopping for the most important dress I'll ever buy. Too much pressure."

Helen wrapped her arm around Joan's shoulder. "I understand, but we're just seeing what's out there. Getting an idea of what your options are. So calm down."

"Okay." Joan knew she was being silly. It was just dress shopping, no, browsing. Nothing to get uptight about. Except that she'd been fantasizing about her wedding off and on for years, more on than off. And, in each and every fantasy, she walked down the aisle in some dress she couldn't quite make out. But the expression on Adam's face—it was always Adam's face—told her that it was the perfect dress. In her fantasy, she had never looked better in her life. She was luminous. Gorgeous. A magnificent bride of epic, legendary proportions. It was incredibly vain, but this was important to her. It had to be right. She couldn't explain it, but she didn't feel like she would find even an adequate dress in a bridal shop, let alone the dress. With all of this weighing on her mind, Joan plodded after her mom and entered the salon, her eyes carefully averted.

"Welcome to Michel's," a tall blonde in an impeccable skirt suit said as Joan caught up with the others. "My name is Vivian. How can I help you today?"

"My daughter's getting married," Helen said as she tugged Joan to her side.

"Congratulations."

"Thank you," Helen replied. "We thought we'd stop by and see what sort of services you offer."

"Michel's is a full-service salon," the woman began and led the trio further into the shop. She continued her spiel, but Joan wasn't listening. Her eyes were trained on the woman's back while she tried to calm her racing heart. You're just looking. No commitments, no decisions. You're just getting an idea of what you want for your wedding. What's more, she told herself, there's other stuff here besides wedding gowns. Come on, Girardi. Stop being such an idiot and look around.

Cautiously, Joan moved her eyes from Vivian the saleswoman's back and glanced around the store. It was worse than she thought it'd be. She was surrounded by white gowns in every length and cut imaginable. Women milled around, some browsing like she was supposed to be. Others modeled potential dresses for their family and friends, none of which impressed Joan.

Everywhere she turned there were shoes and lingerie, tiaras and veils, purses and flower girl baskets. Everyone seemed to be smiling and happy. Joan felt like she'd stepped into a horror movie at the moment the protagonist stumbles on the big secret. The camera spins around revealing each new terror in dizzying, sickening glimpses until the lead character tries to run screaming from the room, only to find that getting out won't be as easy as getting in. Joan's breath hitched at the thought of being irrevocably stuck in this Stepford world she'd been coerced into.

"Now, if you'll just follow me," Vivian began as she headed towards a back room, "we'll get you all set up."

For some reason, Joan did not want to enter any back rooms in this place. Who knew what they had stashed there: a battery of avid caterers and musicians and florists all vying for her attention, forcing her into spontaneous, irreversible decisions. A part of her brain reminded her that she was being ridiculous and that her insane reaction might just be the sugar high talking, but the majority of her mind kept replaying scenes from various Stepford movies. Why did they make a series of them anyway? "Uh, that's okay," Joan said, her eyes huge and round. "That won't be necessary."

Helen gave her daughter a questioning look. "Joan?"

"Really, Mom. It's okay."

"You sure?" Grace asked. "You're looking a little manic."

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine. I just," she broke off with a nervous laugh, "I can't do this."

"Do what?" Helen asked.

Trying to contain the panic rising inside her, Joan gestured a little wildly at the store. "This. I can't do this," she stammered. "I can't do the all-in-one wedding stop thing."

"Joan."

"No, see, it's okay. I have a plan," she declared. "Adam and I, we'll elope. Yes, we'll elope. Hop on a plane to Vegas and get married in one of those tacky, little chapels by a fat Elvis in a white, rhinestone-studded jumpsuit. You'll see, it'll be fine. Great, even. We'll send postcards."

She was vaguely aware of Grace's struggle not to laugh, but it was Helen's appalled expression that held her attention. "You can't get married by Elvis, Joan."

"Why not? At the rate I'm going, my wedding's going to be a disaster anyway. I may as well have a crazy, Vegas wedding."

"Rove'll never go for it," Grace said, her voice shaking with suppressed laughter.

"Neither will I," Helen said as she folded her arms across her chest. "Your father certainly won't."

"And you'd always regret being married by a pudgy Elvis instead of having the family wedding you know you want," Grace added.

"A fat Elvis," Joan corrected quietly, pouting as the mania began to fade. "Get it right."

Eyes watering, Grace choked out, "I'll meet you in the car." She didn't even make to the door before she burst out laughing.

Helen slipped her arm around Joan's drooping shoulders. "Want to tell me what's wrong?"

"I told you; I don't know what I'm doing. The wedding's going to be a disaster." Joan gave a rueful laugh. "I can't do this."

"Of course, you can," Helen assured as she rubbed her daughter's shoulder. "If nothing else, you are a very capable young woman. I have no doubt that you can do this."

"Really?"

"Really."

Joan sighed and leaned into her mother's side. "It's just that I'm not marrying some guy it'd be nice to spend the rest of my life with. It's Adam. I say 'I love you' to him and it doesn't come close to what I actually feel, what I've always felt. I'm afraid that instead of the unique and deeply personal wedding I want us to have, it'll be some generic, cookie-cutter version that even he won't remember."

"Oh, honey, I promise that won't happen."

"I can only hope."

After a moment of silence, Helen said, "What about hiring a wedding planner?"

"Not in the budget. And I feel like I should do it myself. I mean, who knows Adam and me better than Adam and me?"

"Well, if you need help, I'm here."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome," Helen said, kissing Joan's temple. "Now go on to the car. I'm going to go find Vivian."

Joan looked around, startled to realize that the saleswoman was on the other side of the room. "When did she leave?"

"Some time between you looking at her like she was evil incarnate and your decision to elope."

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Helen said, giving Joan a little push toward the door. "You flipped out. I'm sure she's used to that sort of thing. Besides, that was nowhere near as bad as the one you're going to have closer to the wedding."

"Great," Joan muttered and headed for the parking lot.

"So," Rebecca said, handing Joan a glass of wine and settling on the sofa next to her, "you need my advice on something?"

"Yeah." Joan took a fortifying sip of her wine. "I don't know if you heard but I sort of had a little breakdown at a bridal salon today."

"Sorry." Rebecca remembered when she was planning her and Kevin's wedding. She hadn't liked bridal salons either. "They can be a bit . . ."

"Scary."

"I was going to say intimidating."

Joan nodded. "That too. So how did you do it?"

Rebecca arched an eyebrow, a little confused. "Go into a bridal store?"

"What? Oh, no. No. I meant how did you plan your wedding without going nuts?"

"I didn't." Seeing Joan's face fall, Rebecca figured she'd have to elaborate. "The insanity is pretty much unavoidable."

"Great. On the day of my destined-to-be-crappy wedding, I'm going to be out of my mind as well." Joan collapsed back on the sofa and took another sip of wine. "Perfect."

Rebecca bit back a smile. Her sister-in-law had always been a bit dramatic, but she understood what the younger woman was going through. A woman's wedding is the one day in her life when she gets to be the fairy-tale bride. This, of course, meant that every detail had to be just right. "I can't do anything about the insanity, but I think I can help with the wedding part."

"Really?" Joan asked, hope flaring in her eyes once again. "I'll be indebted to you forever if you can."

"The first thing you need is a unified vision."

Joan stared blankly at Rebecca. "A unified vision?"

Nodding, she said, "How long have you been planning so far?"

"A couple of weeks."

"And it's not going well."

"I feel like I'm guessing, you know?" Joan scrunched her nose, trying to find the right words. "It's like I'm a little girl planning a wedding for my dolls, except that whatever I choose actually applies. Does that make any sense?"

"Yeah. It all comes back to your vision of your wedding." Rebecca patted Joan's arm sympathetically. "You have no idea what you want it to be like, do you?"

"I've been fantasizing about my wedding for years," Joan said indignantly. "Unfortunately, the only constants are Adam and it's held outdoors."

"In early April?"

"All part of the insanity. He doesn't want to wait and the third's right before Spring Break, so we'll have a week for the honeymoon."

Laughing, Rebecca said, "Okay. Whatever you say. This is what I want you to do. Close your eyes and imagine your wedding. Start with Adam and the outdoors and work from there."

"But what if we can't afford . . ."

"Don't worry about your budget," Rebecca instructed. "Right now you're attempting to figure out what your dream wedding is. Try to get an idea of how big it is, how formal, who's there. What does the place look like, who's the officiant, are there any special traditions or rituals you want to include, is there a theme? That's the sort of thing you're determining right now. Once you have a basic idea, you can start refining and such."

Joan merely looked at Rebecca, her eyes full of doubt.

Rebecca smiled. "Go on. Close your eyes. I'll be right back." She got up, amused to see the skeptical frown on Joan's face and headed for the basement. She was sure she'd put the box down there somewhere.

Though she didn't want to discourage her, Rebecca didn't pity Joan the task she'd set for herself. Rebecca had had a year and a half to plan her wedding and it had taken her six months just to figure out that she'd need more than an armload of bridal magazines if she was going to pull it off. Once she'd mentally created her dream wedding, she'd then had to plan the thing. By the time the big day had arrived, Rebecca had been on the verge of full-scale madness. Locating the box, she hefted it into her arms and made her way back upstairs. Joan seemed to have reached the point of near-insanity already. She was going to need all the help and guidance she could get.

When Rebecca reached the living room, Joan was reclining on the sofa, her wineglass cradled casually in her hand. The frown that had marred her brow had been replaced by an almost imperceptible smile. Smiling herself, Rebecca quietly set the box on the coffee table, removed the lid, and sat down to wait for Joan to open her eyes. "Got it?" she asked when Joan finally looked at her with shining eyes.

"Yes," Joan said, sounding remarkably calm. "Thank you."

Dismissing her thanks with a wave, Rebecca said, "That's just phase one."

"Phase one?" Joan asked with a laugh. "I'm supposed to be planning a wedding, not marching on Rome."

"Be that as it may, it's now time for phase two." Rebecca urged Joan closer to the carton on the table. "In this box is everything you'll need to plan a fabulous wedding in Arcadia."

"What is all this?" Joan asked, her voice awed as she rummaged through the contents.

"That is all the information I complied while planning my wedding. Suggestions people gave me, my notes on various vendors, contact lists, copies of contracts, a timeline, and my organizer among other things." She laughed at Joan's stunned expression. "All of this was just as much a part of the big day as the pictures and my bouquet."

Pulling a pen and a notebook out of the box, Rebecca flipped through it until she found a blank page. "So, Joan, tell me: what does your unified vision look like?"