Edi looks tragically gorgeous and comically alarmed, standing in her white spaghetti-strap gown and white satin Mary Janes, her dark hair pulled into a perfect chignon. I am behind her with a needle and thread, in my Dansko clogs and big silver hoop earrings, stitching her into her wedding dress moments before the ceremony. The fifty or so buttons running up its back turned out not to have been properly sewn on, and they’d all fallen off in my hands as I tried to button them. “This is okay, right?” she kept saying, and I kept saying back, from behind her, “This is completely fine! This is
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