In Search of the Perfect Dress...

"Jacky?" Alex's voice floated over the partition to where I was slumped on the plastic seat outside the dressing room.
I straightened up, shoving my phone in my pocket. Must look alert when she's asking me questions.
"Yeah baby?" I called back, rubbing my hand through my black and peroxide blonde hair nervously. The door opened and my fiancee's head of caramel curls poked out. She grinned at me, pink lips stretching over her teeth into that perfect smile that I just couldn't get enough of.
"Ready?"
I smiled gently at her, trying to ignore the camera man who had his giant ass camera pointed at my little piece of heaven. "Always."
She stepped out of the room, her hands clasped in handfuls of fluffy sheer fabric, cleverly sidestepping the man with the bulky machinery on his shoulder, and up onto the little raised platform. She smoothed out the dress and turned to me, grinning like the Cheshire Cat who had just eaten the Dormouse.
"What do you think, Jacky?" She patted the yards of frothy feathery fluff, the rhinestones scattered across the bodice catching the light, a red ribbon at her waist tied in a bow, the ends trailing into the train. She looked stunning to be honest, her lightly tanned skin glowing against the snowy traditional white of the dress, her Padawan braid peeking out of her curls, but when didn't she look absolutely ravishing?
"I think it looks great, sweetie." I could tell my face was stretched in a huge stupid grin when I saw her, like it always was.
"Do you like it better than the last one?" Her lip screwed up in one corner, comparing the previous dress with the one she currently had on.
"'Lex, I love everything you-"
"Put on or take off, yes Jack Barakat, stress the poor woman out, won't you?" my sister's overbearing tone was especially irritating today.
I reached for Alex's hand, her left one, the one that with the friendship bracelet I had made her in the sixth grade, the one with the vending machine ring I jokingly got her instead of a corsage for our senior ball, the one with the sparkly diamond ring I slipped on her finger during the fireworks on the Fourth of July. She intertwined our fingers, slipping me a huge grin. She was so excited for the wedding, as were both our mothers, who had been friends since we met in elementary school.
I would come home from my job at the pet store on the other side of town to see my future wife and both our mothers (and occasionally, my absolute TERROR of a sister, May) poring over magazines on our cracked leather couch, glasses of red wine that the mothers brought over (because you obviously can't make the decision between roses and calla lilies without drinks, can you?) in various degrees of emptiness set on our coffee table, laughing with joy that Jack Barakat, Jack Bassam Barakat, chicken extraordinaire, finally, FINALLY asked Alexis Wilhemina Gaskarth to marry him.
I usually would just lean against the doorway and watch them for a minute or two, reveling happily in the knowledge that I shared my life with these beautiful, wonderful women, that I was going to get married to my childhood friend, that we were finally going to be Mr. and Mrs. Barakat.
I shook myself out of my waking dreams to attempt to pay minimal attention to what my sister was jabbering on about.
"...lace dress is so beautiful though, I think you looked a lot better in that one, the train makes it so..."
"....But this one is so nice, I loved the peacock feather detailing on the last one but..."
"What do you think, Jack?" The two voices meshed together, my sister's insisting one and Alex's pouting, verging on frustrated one.
I held my hands up in defeat. "I'm just paying, sweetheart. I would marry you even if you insisted on dressing up as Dobby and refusing to speak of yourself in the first person for the rest of your life. Just pick the one YOU want, not the one that other people-" here, I glared at my sister "-want. Especially since those CERTAIN people should get a move on and get a man because I already beat her to being the first one to get married."
May huffed, crossing her arms across her chest and shook her brunette locks out of her face.
"Shut up, Jack."
The assistant who had just been standing by quietly as they bickered spoke up.
"Alexis, just pick the one you like the best. You don't need to pick any dress that anyone else likes just to please them. This is your big day, not theirs," the poor woman tried to sooth, adjusting the train of the dress so she could walk around and squeeze her hand reassuringly.
Alex laughed and kind of sniffled. "I like this one," She said quietly. "It's so pretty, I just feel like a princess in it."
The woman's expression lit up.
"So... Are we saying yes to this dress?" she asked hopefully, a grin spreading across her face, her hands clasped.
Alex nodded, her hair bobbing, a pink blush staining her cheeks as everyone cheered. She ducked her head down but I stood up and swept her into my arms, careful not to step on and potentially damage/start World War 3 with the womenfolk of our families.
I pressed a kiss to her silky strands before whispering, "I love you. I can't wait to call you, Mrs. Barakat." I pressed a hand to her stomach lightly, where I knew a small little something, half her, half me, was growing. "And baby Barakat." I grinned.
I could feel the heat from her cheeks burning through my shirt before she punched my shoulder.
"I love you too, you little shit."