Diary of a Mad Bride (22 page)

M
y second fitting with Katrina. It took every ounce of strength not to burst into tears. The dress was five inches too long and three inches too tight in the hips.

I can't believe I'm paying for this.

Meanwhile, Backstabbing Barry has begun to work overtime on a regular basis. Needless to say, he's taking pains to publicize this fact. I can only guess he's doing it to make me look bad. But since he seems to accomplish less work in sixty hours than I do in forty-five, I'm not going to worry.

Too much.

Does anyone know when Martha Stewart's
Weddings
magazine comes out?

I
don't know how it happened. One minute everything was fine, sort of, then suddenly things were spinning out of control and—

But I should start at the beginning.

Due to some bizarre cosmic alignment Stephen left work early enough to join me at the florist's. It was during this visit that the florist finally decided to mention that the tropical flowers I want for the wedding, the very flowers we'd been discussing for the last three weeks, would have to be specially shipped from the Pacific. At a cost so astronomical I swear I thought he was calculating in yen.

I was furious. Why had we wasted all this time talking about tropical flowers if they were going to cost more than a new kidney? I immediately threw a fit.

It was around here that Stephen decided to pay some attention. Gently putting his hand on my shoulder, Stephen, my knight in shining armor, my hero, looked that idiot florist straight in the eye and said, “Would you please excuse us a minute.”

Huh?

And before I could express my disbelief, he was dragging me out of the store, “Amy, you've got to relax. You're acting like a complete lunatic because lotus blossoms are indigenous to the Pacific.”

“It's ginger blossoms,
not
lotus blossoms. Now, what's your point?”

“My point is that it's a reality that precedes your birth and will far outlast your lifetime. So who cares? It's just a bunch of flowers.”

Just a bunch of flowers?
How dare he be so cavalier about all the energy and time I'd spent trying to create a moving and memorable wedding on an anorexic budget while he's
been sitting in front of a souped-up television monitor scratching his ass with a programming manual.

“Gee, Stephen. Let's think—who cares? Hmmm…That's a toughie, but wait, I think I know the answer…
I
CARE!”
⁴⁰

It was around here that I noticed people on the sidewalk edging away from us. Like we might be dangerous, or even worse, contagious. In a matter of seconds we'd become that bickering couple you hurry past on the street and feel really sorry for. Then you feel really happy it's not you. Except now it was
me.
My day had come.

“You're right, Amy. I understand that you care. And that's real touching—”

Wait! Is that sarcasm I hear sneaking into this heartfelt reply?

“But it's not that big a deal. We'll get something else. Something cheaper. Now relax. You're starting to sound like Mandy.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means. Mandy went nuts over that crazy wedding of hers.”

(Here's where it got really good.)

“The flowers, the carriage, the cake…” Then with the world's most pathetic expression of sorrow, he shook his head. “Poor Jon.”

Poor
JON
!

“Are you kidding me? That loser would be lucky to get bitch-slapped by someone as great as Mandy. That she actually
married
him is fucking unbelievable. You can't possibly take his side.”

“This isn't about sides, Amy. It's about perspective. And you've completely lost yours. First the bridal registry. Now these flowers…I didn't think I was marrying someone like this.”

STOP. EVERYTHING.

What the hell did that mean? It suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't heard Stephen's warm, embracing laugh in a VERY long time.

“Is that a threat?”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

“Well, it sounded like a threat. Like maybe if you'd known I was someone like
this
, you wouldn't have proposed.”

“That's not what I meant.”

“Then why'd you say it? You could have said, ‘Gee, I think Skipper is a nice name for a dog.' Or, ‘Wow, the vegetarian lasagna is delish!' But no. You
chose
to say you didn't think you were marrying someone like
this
!”

“You know what? You're right. I said it and I meant it! You're running around screaming about lotus blossoms—”

“Ginger blossoms!”

“Whatever! It might as well be daisies! I like daisies. But did you ever ask me what I like? No! Instead you're being a total pain in the ass, which is really disappointing, not to mention a
gigantic
turnoff!”

“Oh yeah? Well, the hell with you!”

And I stormed away. Never once looking back. That was five hours ago. And I still haven't heard a word from Stephen.

I don't think we're getting married anymore.

W
hat am I going to do? How am I going to tell my parents? My friends?
Barry?

I've already called in sick for work tomorrow. I left a message on Kate's voice mail. There's just no way I can face the world. There's no way I can get out of this bed.

I am completely numb.

Part of me wants to call Stephen, part of me wants him to call me, and part of me never wants to speak to him again. I don't know what to do. What to think. What to feel.

All I do know is that every time I look at my emerald engagement ring, I cry.

M
y apartment has never seemed so hollow. With the exception of an occasional car horn or squeaky bus brake from the street below, my apartment is as silent and still as a tomb. As if it's been sealed off from the rest of the world. Forgotten. I feel forgotten.

I wish the phone would ring.

To remind myself that I'm still alive I've decided to keep a steady stream of food entering my body. Except that after four boxes of Kraft macaroni and cheese, the only thing I can taste is doubt. Am I relieved or completely devastated?

If I thought planning a wedding was tough, I can't imagine how difficult it is to unplan one.

I finally called Anita around noon. Except she's out of town on a business trip—some profile of a thirteen-year-old boy who recorded a top-ten single in his uncle's root cellar—and won't be back until tomorrow. So I called Mandy. Because I really needed a hug.

Within the hour Mandy stormed my apartment brandishing a basket filled with comfort food and self-help tapes, determined to put Humpty-Dumpty back together again.

MANDY

Ohmygod!

Wrapping her arms around me, she embraced me like a soldier returning from war. I sank into her embrace.

ME

Thanks for coming over.

MANDY

Of course I came over. You need me. Besides, my two o'clock showing got canceled. Now, how
are
you?

ME

I think I'm numb.

Mandy glanced with disapproval at the mountain of Kraft mac and cheese boxes littering my floor.

MANDY

No wonder. Now tell me what happened.

Well, it all started when Stephen accused me of being like you….

ME

I don't know. First we were talking about flowers, then he was talking about my behavior, and then I was storming off.

Mandy popped a self-help CD into my stereo. Suddenly some woman with clogged nasal passages was bleating in
syncopated rhythms over a tambourine track. I climbed back into bed.

MANDY

I don't understand. I thought things were going so well—you ordered those invitations, didn't you?

ME

Yes. In only five weeks I'll have 120 invitations to a wedding that's not happening. I've got a lifelong supply of scrap paper.

MANDY

Don't be ridiculous. This is just a bump in the road. Things will smooth out.

Then she looked at me. Panic in her eyes.

MANDY

Please tell me you haven't told anyone about this.

ME

I left a message for Anita, but that's it.

MANDY

Thank goodness. The last thing you want is to hear this story repeated at some cocktail party next year…. Which makes me think. We should definitely remind Anita to keep her trap shut.

Now really, how
are
you?

ME

I'm mad. I'm sad. I'm relieved….

Mandy removed two spoons and a pint of reduced-fat Ben & Jerry's ice cream from her goody basket and climbed into bed with me.

MANDY

Here, have some ice cream.

I obeyed.

ME

I'm serious, Mandy. It's like I can't think straight. And when I do, I just get so angry! You had to hear him. He couldn't give a damn about all the work I've done for this wedding.

MANDY

Men are so spoiled. They want things their way, but they don't want to work for it and they certainly don't want to hear the gory details.

ME

Exactly!

Mandy yanked the ice cream away from me.

MANDY

Don't hog.

I had forgotten that I was still eating it.

ME

Honestly, I'm beginning to see how this could all be for the best.

MANDY

If by “best” you mean a surefire way to grow old alone, then yes, breaking up with Stephen is a grand idea.

ME

He said I was a turnoff!

MANDY

Heat of the moment, inflamed passions…

Isn't he part Greek?

ME

No.

MANDY

Well, anyway, you're very emotional right now. You and Stephen just had a little tiff. You love him. He loves you. That's all that matters.

ME

Mandy, you're not listening. It wasn't a little tiff. He called me a
pain in the ass.
We had a huge, make-a-scene-in-broad-daylight blowout.

MANDY

You argued in
public
?

Mandy shivered.

ME

Yes! I'm telling you, it's over. The whole thing is finished!

I couldn't help myself, I was crying again. Mandy wrapped her arms around me.

MANDY

Nothing's finished. I've got a plan that will fix everything. First we put a new outgoing message on your answering machine. You'll sound happy and peppy like someone who's having a lot of casual sex. That way if Stephen calls, he'll panic and apologize immediately. But if he doesn't call I'll
get Jon to call him about some silly computer question. Jon will get the scoop and report back to us and…

Comforted by hugs and plied with reduced-fat dairy products, I continued to listen as Mandy outlined her calculated plan to reunite me with Stephen. And though I was uncertain it would work, and even more uncertain that I wanted it to work, it did occur to me that Mandy had missed her calling. She really should have gone into the military.

MANDY

Don't worry. We'll have you walking down that aisle if it kills me.

A
fter spending the entire day in my apartment I was overwhelmed by the need to see people. To make contact with the outside world. To breathe the semipolluted air of car exhaust and dry-cleaning fumes. So I threw a long coat over my sweats and went to the newsstand. Just because my life had ground to a halt didn't mean the rest of the world had.

Even at 10
P.M.
the streets were well populated. And everywhere I looked I saw men. Men with women, men with men, men by themselves. Men leaving restaurants, going to bars, walking their dogs, talking to themselves, and scratching their balls. That's when it occurred to me that I could flirt with these men. That as a single woman I could introduce myself, chat them up, and even bring them
home.
⁴¹
The hell with Stephen. Let's see if any of these fine young gentlemen thought I was a
turnoff.

So when I caught the newsstand guy checking me out I stood tall and proud—shoulders back, boobs forward—until I remembered that I hadn't showered today and that perhaps he wasn't so much enamored with my looks as he was disgusted by the oily clump of hair matted to my scalp. Or my face, which was bloated from sobs and high-sodium snack foods. And just as my boobs were falling back and my shoulders were slumping forward, I noticed the display of bridal magazines behind the counter.

I bought
People
and called it a night.