Dear Peter,

Right now, I'm sitting in Kat's, at the table in the very back. At our table. As always, I'm ordering hot chocolate, but this time without the marshmallows. Do you remember how we would just sit here and watch people, making up absurd stories about their lives? I'm smiling at the memory. Anyway, a lady just walked in with a little boy, maybe around five years old. That's a funny age, isn't it? We're sheltered from reality. We love unconditionally, but as we grow older, that innocence gets tarnished.

But I guess it happens later for some people than others.

***

I don't quite know what I expected from Zoya when I brought the dress back to our apartment. Maybe just a "thank you you're the absolute best friend a girl could ever ask for" and then she'd run into her room to try it on whilst ranting to me about all of the wedding errands she had yet to complete. 

        Well, it went something like that. 

  Just months after meeting each other, Zoya and I began living together in an apartment not too far from the university. We'd become inseparable, all because of a small accident. It had been four years since we met, and I can easily say that she was the reason I survived here in NY. Where I was at times delicate and sweet, Zoya was strong and fierce. It was the perfect balance.

        I arrived home with the dress in hand, as foreseen. Zoya, upon hearing me walk in, darted out of her room and over to me.

 And the first part of the evening went exactly as I had predicted. 

        She rambled on about what a great friend I was and then told me to wait before stumbling into her room and slamming the door shut in excitement. I carefully maneuvered my way through our apartment. There were clothes strewn all over the floor, papers rolled up into spheres that were overflowing from the trash bin, and there were even a few unfinished plates of food scattered here and there. 

        Zoya's stress grew day by day. I heaved a sigh and plopped down on the little space her clothes had left me on the couch and waited for her to emerge form her room in her bridal glory. But, of course, because I had done something so terrible to the universe, she emerged from her room in not smiles and tears of happiness, but wearing a face that resembled one of a person who'd just seen a ghost. She held something behind her, but I was rather focused on her ghastly expression.

        "Zoe," I stood and inched towards my friend, confused and frankly a little scared, "what's wrong?" 

        She gulped and without hesitating, revealed to me what was behind her back. It was a wedding dress alright, but not her wedding dress. 

        My eyes grew in horror. I'd brought her the wrong dress? But all I had to do was take the receipt to the clerk and he brought it to me. How could this have happened?

        I could tell that she was angry, but she was also being gracious and trying not to show it. 

        "This... this isn't my dress, Lucy. This is nothing like my dress!" 

        To say the least: I felt terrible. She was already freaking out about her wedding and now, her worst nightmare was coming true. I racked my brain for an explanation and began panicking when all I drew were blanks.

        "But I gave them the receipt that you gave me," Fumbling with my purse, I pulled out the folded sheet of paper, my hands now trembling, "and I don't know how this could have happened."

        She snatched the paper from my hand and I could see her trying to calm herself while her eyes frantically scanned what was written. 

        Her grip loosened and I took the receipt from her, my eyes hungrily consuming the words.        

        At the very top, in bold letters were four words that made my breath hitch in my throat: 

VERA WANG : Corseted Strapless

         Everyone knew that Zoya's dress was in fact a DIOR gown and that was due mainly to the fact that she wouldn't shut up about it. I thought back to the day before and one event was prominent in my mind. And that was that when I'd bumped into you, both mine and your belongings fell to the ground. So maybe...maybe the receipts got swapped?

        Sighing in both relief and agitation, I placed a hand to my forehead. 

"Peter," I muttered, just loud enough for her to hear.

        "Peter?" she repeated, "Peter as in Peter Grayson?" 

She no longer looked angry. Just confused. Then her face lit up with what seemed to be a conspiracy, but that disappeared as soon as she remembered that her wedding dress wasn't...well, her wedding dress.

        I nodded.

 "I bumped into him at the shop and I think the dresses may have gotten switched." 

        I'd expected her to look relieved, but her frown deepened and her eyes went wide again. She dug her manicured fingernails into my arms so deep that it actually hurt. And it would probably leave marks.

        "Do you know what this means?"

        I smiled feebly. "That life is a roller-coaster and things sometimes go wrong and we should always forgive our best friends?"

        "Someone else has my wedding dress!" she shouted, completely ignoring my statement. She began fanning herself with her hands, beads of sweat forming on her forehead. 

        "What am I gonna do, oh God, oh God I need to tell David, oh no, no, no."

        I grabbed her by the shoulders so that she was facing me and promised her something that I knew was going to be very, very hard to fulfill.

        "Okay, this is completely my fault and that means that I have to be the one to get that dress back. And I will. I promise, okay?" 

        She didn't look very convinced.         

        "C'mon, Z, have I ever let you down before?"

        Her eyes narrowed into slits. Okay, so maybe that wasn't the right thing to say.

        "What I mean is that you can count on me. I'll get that dress back to you before the weekend. Even if it's the last thing I do."

        I was screwed.