A/N: Two weeks without a post? I know, I'm terrible. My apologies. I finally got a job though. And that summer assignment list that I've been putting off all summer has to be completed. I've been busy. But I must learn to manage my time better, because I know how it is when you're waiting for a fanfic to be updated. (Jackjackio…where is my update for What Is, What was, What Can Be?)

Thanks to everyone who took the time to read AND review: Duddley111, KiTeH, LuvTommy56, Judeh05, Camsma, lileigh760, LittleZurawski, Erin McKinley, GiliwasCool, lplovers1913, Tanya50801, blueyes8907, musical-cynders, iamthatplace, Tommy4eva, Trigun-VashMeryl4eva, starfan88, melliebaby, and burninsecretskept.
"So what exactly are you wearing to the wedding anyhow?" Mason asks, from his spot on my bed. He's supposed to be helping me pack, but of course he's not. It's okay though because I called in reinforcements. Sadie should be here in a few minutes.

"Well," I sigh, falling back onto the bed. "I was thinking this white--"

"Jude, honey," he interrupts, shaking his index finger at me. "You do NOT wear white or beige to a wedding."

"Why," I ask.

He rolls his eyes and leans back and crosses his legs at the ankles again. "Were you raised in the jungle? You'd be competing with the bride."

"Oh," I grunt. How the hell was I supposed to know that? "Well excuse me. I've only been to one wedding in my entire life, and I was the damn flower girl."

"It's okay," he assures me, patting my arm. "What did the invitation say exactly?"

I shrug.

Does he mean verbatim?

" 'You Miss Jude Harrison are cordially invited to—"

"No," he snaps, shaking his head. "Did it say formal, semi-formal, black-tie, white-tie…ultra formal. Ooh, I hope ultra-formal because I got a nice bling-blingity Breitling wristwatch the other day that I have yet to show off--"

"It didn't say," I interrupt. I don't want to hear him talk about his watch for the next half hour.

"Okay," he says, sadly, raising himself into a sitting position on my bed. "The wedding is at 7:30 right?"

I nod, rummaging through my nightstand for my stash of Reese's Pieces. "Yeah. 7:30."

"Well, since it didn't say…and it's evening basically—on a yacht…go for a cocktail dress. Below the knee. You shouldn't have to wear a hat or gloves. Go for simplicity not glitzy."

"How do you know all of this?" I ask, exasperated.

"My mother made me take the etiquette lessons when I was kid. Plus I have two older sisters who have already been hitched. You need to put those down," he says, pointing to my bag of Reese's.

I scoff and eat another handful. "I need this candy. I'm hungry and nervous. It's virtually my sanity at the moment. In other words, no."

"Okay," he shrugs. "In 6 weeks, when you're at the altar in a squeeze-y wedding dress. Do not say a thing."

Damn you Mason!

I begrudgingly hand him my bag of goods and watch him devour a handful in a matter of milliseconds.

How rude.

"I don't like you," I state, flatly, standing up and walking over to my closet.

"What?" he asks, through a mouthful.

I put my hand up and shake my head. "Back to my dilemma…"

"Get up and show me what you have…"

Walking through my closet, I start to pull a couple of dresses that I think are suitable down. Most of them dresses I've never worn before from up and coming designers who give out free clothing trying to get their name out, some from established designers who are also trying to get publicity.

I take about 4 dresses back out into my bedroom to show to Mason. I hold up a pink one. It's cute: square neckline, barely knee length.

"Add some pearls and you'll look just like a Stepford wife," he laughs, adjusting the pillows behind him, and laying back down. "We need more sexy, less mommy."

I hold up a green dress. A halter, a-symmetrical at the bottom.

"That looks exactly like the color of baby vomit." He snorts, making himself even more comfortable on my bed.

"Mason," I say in a warning tone, pointing a hanger at him.

"What?" he asks, innocently.

"I'm going to shove this hanger up your--"

"Nose," he interjects.

"That wasn't what I was going to say, but whatever," I say, giving him a look and head back to the closet.

After several more wise cracks about dresses, the doorbell rings, and I rush down stairs to answer.

I've never been so happy to see Sadie in all of my life. "Hey, Sades," I greet her, resisting the urge to throw my arms around her and thank her for being born. Yes. Mason is getting on my nerves that much.

"I like your shoes." I comment. She'll like me noticing her shoes more than a hug anyway.

"Oh thank you," she says, stepping inside, and shutting the door behind her. "I got them from Saks. On sale."

She continues telling me all about how her feet came to be in her shoes as we walk up the stairs to my bedroom. "…and then this old woman with one too many facelifts tried to squeeze her size 9 hooves into the size 7. It was totally wishful thinking. But, they're mine now."

Her smug grin melts off her face as she stops at the entrance to my room. "What the hell happened to your room?" she asks, a curious tone to her voice. "Hey, Mason," Sadie greets, kicking her shoes off at the doorway, jumping on my bed beside him.

"We're looking for something suitable for Jude to wear to the wedding…" Mason explains, offering her candy.

"Hey," I exclaim, "Aren't you going to tell her that she needs to be watching her weight for her bridesmaid dress?"

"Nah, you don't need to watch your weight either Jude," he shrugs, "I just wanted your food."

I roll my eyes and shake my head. "This," I explain, pointing to the dozens of dresses all over my bed, "Is the discard pile."

I notice her eyes widen at the word "discard"…as in throw away.

"No. Not discard pile. More like Reject pile. As in they're not wearable to the wedding," I love Sadie to death, but she doesn't even shop that often anymore, she just comes and looks around in my closet.

"It's white-tie right?" Sadie inquires, still eyeing a few dresses at the end of the bed.

"It didn't say," Mason informs her as I head back to the closet.

"Well, it's pretty safe to say it's formal. Just go for a simple dress, below the knee. Not to sexy or anything."

"That's what Mason said," I grunt, looking around my closet. I come across the white sundress that I bought in Miami.

I can't but to smile to myself when I think of the last time I wore it. The night I ended up stuck in the elevator with Quincy. I didn't think we were going to make it out of there a live that night.

I wanted to kill him.

Not figuratively either.

He's just so infuriating. I really did like it better when I didn't know he was so full of shit. When I looked up to him thinking he was so wise and mysterious, but now I can read him like a book. And I know him. Like I really know him. I can look out how he's standing or how he's positions his hands and know exactly what he's feeling.

He's so transparent.

But there is something slightly comforting about knowing that you can know someone so well. To know that I can depend on him even after I throw water bottles at his head, or slap him across the face, or pick and argue with him.

Jax and me aren't at that level in our relationship quite yet. I haven't really seen any bad traits in him yet. He has to have some right? Everyone does. What if I marry him and then I find out he has a lot of skeletons in his closet. What if he has a temper…he has to get mad sometimes. He's never gotten angry before in front of me.

And if he is that saint-like…what kind of marriage would that be? I want confrontation sometimes. In a relationship I want to fuss and fight and throw things at each other and then have angry sex in the elevator…

And then make up.

Well, it doesn't have to be an elevator per se. I just said elevator because--

Never mind

Is that weird?

That I want confrontation? I want to argue?

That is weird. But it's not as weird as Jax and me not ever fighting over anything. He always let's me get my way, well, besides the wedding planning. But besides that, he's like 'whatever you want honey'.

"Did you get lost Jude?" Mason calls.

"Your closet isn't that big," Sadie adds in.

"I'm coming," I mumble, hanging the sundress back up, and carrying two more out for appraisal.

"No," they say in unison.

"That one looks like the color of Pepto-Bismol," Sadie snickers.

"It's dusty rose," I say flatly.

"And that one," Mason says, pointing to the strapless gown in my right hand. He shakes his head, and grimaces, "It's just ugly."

"It's not ugly," I protest.

"Do you not want to go to the wedding? Is that what the problem is?"

Before I even get a chance to answer, Sadie puts her two cents in. "Yeah, I think that's it. If you don't want to go, then wearing an ugly dress is not going to solve your problems. Just say that you have to work or something and send a crock pot."

"I want to go," I insist. I throw the other two dresses in the reject pile and crawl over Mason so I can lie in between him and Sadie. "I just don't want to go without Jax."

"Hello, I'm coming," Mason interrupts, gently shoving my shoulder.

"I know," I sigh, patting his hand. "It's not the same."

"It's because I'm homosexual isn't it," he teases.

Yes.

"Shut up," I laugh, staring up at the roof of my canopy bed.

"You sit here, and I'll go shop in your closet for a while," Sadie offers, patting my knee.

She comes back after a while, with a few dresses over her arm. She hands me an off white Chiffon dress. "Here try this on."

"Mason here," I say jabbing my thumb towards him, "Said white was out."

"And it is--"

"Last decade. That rule is more lax now, the same as only virgin brides wearing pure white," Sadie snaps, pushing me into the closet with the dress. "As long as it's not some big puffy white gown, you should be fine." She explains, standing outside the door. "Plus, we'll accessorize and break up the white."

I come back out and do a little turn.

"Nah." They reply in unison.

"You would definitely be competing with the bride in that white."

"It's mother of pearl," Sadie corrects. "The problem is not the color, but the shape. Too sexy. Here let's try this one." She hands me another dress.

"This is black," I state.

Even I know you're not supposed to wear black to a wedding.

"Good job, I'm glad you know it's black," she teases, patting me on the head.

"Everyone's so funny today," I roll my eyes, laughing good-naturedly. "Black to a wedding?"

"Black is perfectly acceptable," she sighs, crossing her arms over her chest.

"For a funeral," Mason laughs.

"It's fine, trust me. It's formal evening. Black is fine," she reassures me, shoving me into the closet.

"Black is fine when you're in mourning," Mason snorts.

"Mason you need shut up…who died from the Fab Five and made you apart of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy?"

I laugh aloud, as I undress in the closet. Mason and Sadie are going to be at it for a while.

I reexamine the dress more closely, noticing more details than just the color. It's a pretty simple dress: sleeveless, with a wonderfully embroidered neckline, with a cascading detail in the front.

Fully clothed, I examine my reflection in the full-sized mirror behind the door. I tilt my head to the side, trying to get a better angle. I must admit. It's the best one I've tried on today. I turn around from side to side and watch how the fabric flows around my ankles.

I like it.