My younger sister had always held a grudge against me growing up, so when she suddenly asked me to be her maid of honor, I was thrilled. But I never expected the gut-wrenching shock when I saw the dress she chose for me. Her sneaky trick nearly shattered me—until I found the perfect way to turn the tables.
The wedding invitation sat boldly on my kitchen counter, its elegant script and floral patterns mocking me. My little sister, Zinnia, was getting married, and against all odds, she’d asked me—me, Calista, her lifelong rival—to stand by her as her maid of honor. After 32 years of tension and clashes, I was suddenly important enough for the spotlight.
I let out a wry laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Juniper, my best friend, asked between sips of her coffee.
I held up the invitation like a joke. “Zinnia wants me to be her maid of honor.”
Juniper nearly choked on her drink. “No way. That Zinnia? The one who smeared glue in your hair at your graduation?”
“The very same,” I muttered, running a hand through my much shorter hair—a lasting reminder of Zinnia’s teenage prank.
“Calista, are you sure this is wise? I mean, your relationship with her has always been…”
“A disaster?” I suggested with a grin. “Yeah, I know.”
Growing up, Zinnia lived in my shadow, though not by her choice.
I was the sickly kid, spending more time under harsh hospital lights than out playing games. My parents were always drawn to my emergencies, leaving Zinnia to cope alone emotionally. Over time, it bred a resentment in her that grew—showing up in sharp taunts, cruel pranks, and a barely hidden dislike of me.
“Maybe she’s changed,” I said aloud, though I wasn’t convinced.
Juniper frowned. “People don’t shift like that overnight, Calista. Just… be careful.”
I nodded, though a small part of me hoped this could be our chance to mend things.
The bridal shop was a swirl of cream and pink hues, with Zinnia standing at the center like a star in her sparkling gown.
“Calista! At last!” she called, beckoning me over. “So? What do you think?”
I smiled, genuinely struck. “You look radiant, Zinnia. Truly.”
For a brief moment, I saw a glimpse of the kid who used to beg me to play pretend. But it faded, replaced by a sly smirk.
“Great. Now let’s find something that won’t make you look like a blob in silk,” she quipped, turning to the racks.
Yep. There was the Zinnia I knew all too well.
As we sifted through dresses, I couldn’t help asking, “Why me, Zinnia? Why’d you pick me as maid of honor? We’re not exactly close.”
She paused mid-reach. “You’re my sister, Calista. Isn’t that enough?”
“Sure,” I murmured. “Wouldn’t want to let Mom and Dad down.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” I dodged. “Let’s just figure out this dress.”
In the weeks that followed, we were caught up in a frenzy of fittings, centerpiece choices, and forced sisterly moments. Against my instincts, I started to enjoy it.
Zinnia actually seemed… different. Less resentful. Almost warm.
During our final fitting, I dared to believe the change was real.
“You know,” Zinnia said as we stood before a huge mirror, “I never thought we’d get here.”
“Where you’re about to get married?” I teased.
She rolled her eyes. “No, dummy. Just… here. Together. Without fighting.”
I laughed, surprised by her honesty. “Yeah, it’s kind of nice.”
She smiled faintly. “Maybe after the wedding, we can keep this up. Be like… real sisters.”
My heart lifted. “I’d really like that, Zinnia.”
The wedding day arrived with the usual chaos and excitement. I headed to the bridal suite, dress bag in hand, ready to embrace my role as the supportive big sister.
“Calista! Thank goodness,” Zinnia said, visibly stressed. “The others are running late.”
“No worries,” I said, hanging up my garment bag and moving to help with her hair.
As I pinned her soft curls, our eyes met in the mirror. For a fleeting moment, I saw the vulnerable little sister beneath it all.
“You’re gorgeous today, Zinnia,” I said softly.
“Thanks, Calista.”
Before the moment could linger, the other bridesmaids rushed in, buzzing with excitement and champagne. I stepped back and went to change.
Unzipping the garment bag, I reached for the lilac dress we’d chosen together. But the moment I pulled it out, my breath caught in my chest.
“What the hell…?” I whispered.
The gown was enormous—at least four sizes too big. My hands shook as I held it up. “Zinnia, something’s wrong. This isn’t my size!”
She turned, faking surprise. “Weird! Did you lose a ton of weight?”
My heart sank. “Thirty pounds? Really? We had our final fitting last week. This isn’t a mistake.”
She shrugged, avoiding my gaze. “Well, looks like you can’t walk down the aisle. Juniper will step in. No big deal, right?”
Her nonchalant tone stung like a slap. All the bonding, the shared smiles—it had been a ruse.
“How could you do this?” I whispered, fighting back tears.
“Oh, come on. Did you really think we were best friends now? Get real, Calista. This is my big day, and I’m not letting you steal the show—again.”
I stood frozen, clutching the fabric like an anchor, feeling like the frail kid no one had time for. Then, a voice broke through the room.
“What’s happening here?” Aunt Vesper walked in, her keen eyes scanning the scene.
“Aunt Vesper, I—” I started, but she waved it off.
“Hold on. Come with me.”
Out in the hallway, she handed me a box, her lips curling in a knowing smile. “Had a feeling something like this might happen. Open it.”
Inside was a breathtaking gown—matching the bridesmaids’ style but richer, more refined. Beaded accents gleamed under the lights.
“How did you—?”
“I overheard Zinnia plotting with her friends,” Aunt Vesper said with a spark in her eye. “Didn’t want to believe it, but just in case, I had this made. Now go shine.”
I was speechless. Grateful. Angry. And ready.
I slipped into the dress and returned to the suite, heart racing. Zinnia turned—and her face dropped.
“What? How—where did that come from?”
I smiled sweetly. “Aunt Vesper’s fairy godmother moment. Relax, I’m not here to outshine you.”
Her expression twisted, then softened. “You look… amazing, Calista.”
For a moment, the tension between us eased. Then, shockingly, Zinnia’s eyes filled with tears.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve been awful. I’ve just… always felt like I was invisible next to you.”
I reached for her hand. “There was never a competition, Zinnia. I was just trying to survive.”
She nodded, squeezing my fingers. “I know. And I’m sorry we lost so many years.”
The ceremony was beautiful, Zinnia glowing in her dress. As I stood beside her, I felt a peace I hadn’t known in years—a quiet joy in being there for her, no expectations attached.
Later at the reception, Zinnia found me again. “Calista, I need to say something.”
I braced myself.
“Thank you. For showing up, for forgiving me, for looking stunning. I was too caught up in my own issues to see what you’ve been carrying. Can we start fresh?”
My eyes welled up. “Yes. I’d love that.”
She hugged me tightly, and for the first time in ages, it felt genuine. Across the room, Aunt Vesper raised her glass with a wink.
Maybe this was our fresh start. A wedding, a dress disaster, and a clever aunt had finally paved the way.
As the DJ turned up the music, Zinnia tugged my hand. “Come on, sis. Let’s show them how it’s done.”
And as we danced under the fairy lights, I realized the best revenge isn’t about settling scores—it’s about rising above and moving forward together.
