Trying Wedding Dress

Ryuki, Saki, and Fumiko went out.

They hit the clothing store first. Saki darted ahead, her sneakers squeaking on the polished floor, while Fumiko trailed with a limp, her red dress swaying.

"Mom, Mom, I want this!" Saki skidded to a stop, pointing at a white wedding dress on a mannequin. Its fabric shimmered, long and flowing, with lace curling up the sleeves like frost.

Fumiko tilted her head, eyeing the dress, then Saki's gleaming face. "No," she said, shaking her head with a small smile. "You're too little for that."

"What? How?" Saki puffed out her chest, hands on her hips. "I'm the elder sister—'elder' in my title! That means I'm older than you, Mom, so what's wrong with me wearing this beautiful wedding dress?" Her logic tumbled out, proud and defiant.

Fumiko chuckled, "No means no, kiddo. Nice try, though."

Saki's pout ballooned, her cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk's. She spun around, spotting Ryuki near a rack of jackets, and marched over, grabbing his hand. "Bro, come here and tell Mom how important it is for me to wear that dress!" She yanked him toward Fumiko, nearly toppling him into a pile of sweaters.

Ryuki stumbled, righting himself with a scowl. Can't even let me enjoy the view, he thought. He'd been staring at a poster—a curvy woman in a bikini, all sun-kissed skin and confidence. Mom'd look killer in one, he mused. A beach trip—her in a bikini, him maybe meeting some fated soulmate in the waves. Perfect plan. But no, Saki had to interrupt his masterpiece.

"Mom, listen to what bro has to say," Saki declared, planting a hand on her waist. "He'll tell you why I need that dress."

"What dress?" Ryuki frowned, blinking at her.

"That one," Fumiko said, nodding toward the wedding gown.

Ryuki glanced at it, then at Saki. He grabbed her arm, dragging her to stand beside the mannequin. "Look at yourself, then the dress," he said, crossing his arms. "What angle, what eyes, see that fitting you? You're half its size."

"Huh?" Saki spun, peering at the gown, then down at her scrawny frame, her shirt hanging loose. She deflated, pout deepening.

"Instead," Ryuki said, a sly grin creeping up, "let's get Mom in it." He turned to Fumiko, eyes glinting. "Saki and I just wanna see what you looked like when you got married. Right, Saki?"

"Yeah!" Saki perked up, clapping. "Mom in a wedding dress!"

Fumiko's mouth opened, then shut, her cheeks flushing. "Me? That's… I didn't even wear one back then—"

"C'mon," Ryuki pressed, stepping closer. "You're gorgeous. We deserve to see it—just once. Imagine the pictures!"

"Please, Mom!" Saki chimed in, tugging her sleeve. "You'd be so pretty!"

Fumiko rubbed her temple, stitches shifting under her fingers. "You two are relentless," she muttered. Their pleading wore her down—ten minutes of back-and-forth, Ryuki's smooth talk, Saki's puppy eyes. "Fine," she relented, exasperated but smiling. "But just this once."

"Yes!" Saki pumped a fist, and Ryuki smirked, hiding a flicker of mischief. Gotta see what she'd look like if I married her, he thought.

Fumiko grabbed the dress from a clerk and vanished into the changing room, the curtain swishing shut. Ryuki and Saki waited, Saki bouncing on her toes, Ryuki tapping his foot. Ten minutes dragged by—zippers zipped, fabric rustled behind the curtain. Then she stepped out.

Ryuki's jaw dropped. Saki gasped, hands flying to her mouth.

Fumiko stood there, a vision in white. The wedding dress flowed like a river, trailing behind her, kissing the floor with every hesitant step. It hugged her curves—her full breast, her slim waist—cinching just right to lift her into something radiant. The lace sleeves framed her arms, delicate and soft, while a bridal veil swept her brown hair up, pinning it loose and ethereal. Her lipstick, a deep red from that morning, popped against the white, her brown eyes piercing through the stitches that traced her face. If she'd held a rose, she'd be a fairytale queen—scarred, yes, but uniquely, breathtakingly perfect.

"Wow, bro," Saki breathed, running to her. "Mom's too pretty!" She circled Fumiko, gawking from every angle, her sneakers squeaking again. "Look at her!"

Ryuki couldn't speak for a second. He'd always known she was beautiful—jeans and t-shirts couldn't hide that—but this? This was different. The casual slump of their little house dulled her; this dress woke her up. Even the stitches—six near her eyes, six at her lips—added something fierce, unique. "Mom," he said, voice soft, innocent as he could fake it, "you're beautiful. When I grow up, I wanna marry you."

Fumiko's eyes widened, her flush deepening. "Um… that…" She fumbled, hands twisting in the veil. "Ryuki, you—"

"Me too!" Saki cut in, nodding hard. "I wanna marry you too, Mom! You're so pretty!"

Ryuki's head snapped to Saki, stunned. What? Stealing my wife? Traitor! He'd thought she was his wingman, not a rival. Fumiko's face went scarlet, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"Kids," she finally managed, half-laughing, half-mortified, "you can't marry me—I'm your mom!" She swatted at them playfully, shooing them back. "Enough of that. Let's try more clothes."

They dove into the racks, the wedding dress moment sparking a frenzy. Fumiko slipped into the changing room again, emerging in tight jeans and a cropped top—casual but sharp, her stomach peeking out. Then a short skirt and blouse followed, flirty and light, then an office suit—crisp, gray, all business, her glasses from home imagined on her nose. Each outfit shifted her—playful, poised—and she laughed through it, her limp forgotten.

Saki twirled in cute dresses—pink frills, blue stripes, a yellow sundress that made her look like a sunflower. "Look, bro! I'm a princess!" she'd shout, spinning until she tripped. Ryuki tried jackets—leather, denim, one with too many zippers he couldn't resist. "Cool enough?" he'd ask, smirking at Fumiko's approving nod.

They bought a haul—bags stuffed with clothes, Saki giggling over her pile, Fumiko eyeing a sleek purse she'd snagged. Ryuki carried half, his mind already plotting the beach.