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Always the Bridesmaid

Sammi Stair

The sea of white might have been overwhelming, Maggie
surmised, had it been her first, or even second, experience in
wedding dress shopping. But it was nothing new. Maggie had
fewer fingers on both hands than trips to wedding boutiques over
the past six years. Her friends had begun to consider her some-
what of an expert.
Not that her expertise had ever done her personal life any
good; for as many times as Maggie had visited these shrines to
expensive taste and American fashion, she had never walked
away with a purchase of her own. It might amuse her friends
to repeat the old adage, but she was tired of being “always the
bridesmaid, never the bride,” tired of bearing the name Miss
Maggie Clower, tired of hearing the squeals and oohs of admira-
tion from the guest couch but never in the spotlight.
Amanda had been thrilled when Maggie had consented to
help her pick the perfect dress. She had even asked Maggie to
be her maid of honor, which had, admittedly, come as a surprise.
Maggie and Amanda had never been particularly close, but then
again, it was the duty of the maid of honor to be the constant
assistant with the wedding planning, so it might have been more
Maggie’s know-how than Amanda’s fondness that earned her the
spot.
Amanda’s judgment certainly had proven to be a little

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