Not Quite A Bride (17 page)

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Authors: Kirsten Sawyer

BOOK: Not Quite A Bride
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33
A White Dress, At Last
I
've been a good girl ... I've gone through every magazine that Mom sent my way. It wasn't easy ... the first half-dozen were fun; after that it became exhausting. Pretty much any minute that I wasn't at school or doing work for school I was looking through bridal magazines. To the untrained eye (aka Logan and Justin) it didn't look like work, but trust me, it was. I hardly had the time to whip up my engagement party list and select a date in early December.
I suppose it was all worth it, because when Mom arrives at my apartment early Saturday morning I do have a very definite idea of the bridal gown I want ... never mind the fact that it's the same style I was pretty certain I wanted before I looked through every bridal magazine published this year (and maybe last year, too). Mom looks over my magazines to see the things I've marked and I'm pleased that I get approving nods from her.
“Okay, good work. Now, are you ready to go?”
I swear, Mom talks to Marion too often, and if you think the “now” thing is annoying coming from Marion, it's nothing compared to when it comes from my mother. But just wait, it gets better—she pulls out a laundry list of bridal salons in Manhattan that we have
appointments
at today. Since when do you need an appointment to go shopping? I ask Mom this and she informs me that, according to Marion, the only places really worth looking at require them. Ugh—Marion is starting to annoy me.
Mom and I stop for a quick cup of coffee, and even though I'm starving, she won't let me eat before we try on dresses. My hunger pains attack me as I look over her long list and realize that I won't be allowed to eat a single thing all day! I'm hoping and praying that some of these bridal salons will offer snacks, the way Marion did at our Plaza meeting, when we stop in front of the first store on our list, the Bridal Suite.
We ring a little doorbell to get buzzed in ... I swear, the place has more security than a jewelry store, and a girl named Emily, dressed to the nines, greets us politely only after she has confirmed that we do, in fact, have an appointment. Emily looks me over, head to toe, and for the first time in my life I'm feeling uncomfortable to be in Gap, not Gucci.
“Well,” she says icily, “did you have any particular styles in mind?”
I'm about to explain what I want when my mother jumps in to answer for me.
“I'd like to see her in something strapless, don't you think?”
Emily nods in a way that clearly shows she could care less if I'm in strapless or not. She expertly walks over to her racks of dresses and starts pulling out choices.
“You're a four,” she says, not asks, over her shoulder.
“Or a six,” I add ... I really don't want to feel like a stuffed sausage.
She carries the pile of dresses toward what I assume is a fitting room and instructs my mother to sit in a plush chair next to a small, stagelike thing and tells me to come with her. Once in the dressing room, she stands there, waiting expectantly for me to strip right in front of her. When it becomes clear that she isn't going to leave, I take off my clothes, feeling sorry that I didn't wear nicer underwear ... who knew?
“Bra, too,” she orders me.
So far, dress shopping is not fun. I take off my bra, as instructed by this strange girl watching me like a hawk, and before I can think of a way to try to cover myself, she's literally strapping me in this strapless bra/corset combination thing.
“You have to wear the proper foundations with a bridal gown,” she informs me.
Then she gives me quick instructions on how to dive into the first, enormous dress and buttons up the back.
“What size shoe do you wear?”
“A seven.”
Emily places a pair of white satin, but very used-looking, heels in front of me and I slip my bare feet into them as I assume I'm supposed to.
“Lovely,” she says without any warmth in her voice.
I walk out to where my mother is and climb onto the little stage thing, which sits behind a three-way mirror. My mother's eyes fill with tears when she sees me in the dress. I turn and look at myself, since I'm not even sure what it looks like, and uncontrollably, my eyes also fill with tears. Then, for a split second, I wonder if Evan would like the way I look in the dress ... is that weird?
This is it, this is the dress. It's stunning. It's exactly what I dreamed it would be. It's shiny white satin, with a plain top and a princess waistline. It's full to the floor with a modest train. It could not be more perfect. Mom is crying, I'm crying, and Emily is looking at us critically.
“That's the wrong backline for you,” she declares authoritatively like a needle being ripped across a record.
We both stop crying and look at her.
“Because you are small-chested, you need a backline that goes straight across, not scooped.”
I whirl around, trying to catch a glimpse of my back, but I can't really see it. I guess I'll just have to take nasty Emily's word for it. Mom sniffles once more, then says, “She's right. Take it off.”
I head back to the dressing room to strip down naked in front of the lovely Emily again. It's the first dress at the first store and I'm already exhausted.
By the end of the day, I have learned that Emily is actually one of the kinder women working in bridal couture, as they like to describe it. I have been called too skinny, too flabby, and one woman actually suggested I get breast implants for the big day! Another woman didn't even greet me before proclaiming, “You can't wear white,” even though my dream dress is undoubtedly white, and another woman actually said that I could wear strapless but I'd be sorry. Not to mention the
two
places that sent us away immediately because nine months before the wedding did not give them enough time! These people are cruel and insane.
Halfway through the day, Mom relented and let me have a small salad. I literally thought I was going to die, and while a salad usually doesn't fill me up, in my highly starved state it did enough to give me a small amount of energy, but mostly what kept me going was the drive to get it over with and get Mom back on her way to Connecticut. We finally arrive at Barney's, our last stop of the day.
I've always been a big fan of Barney's—not so much for the shopping, since I can't afford much of what they sell, but for the fact that they have a restaurant right there in the store, and a good one at that. We make our way up the escalators to the bridal salon and are greeted by a friendly lady, about my mother's age. She introduces herself as Helen and offers us coffee and madeleines. I love madeleines, I love coffee, and now I love Helen!
I make a mental note to definitely add her to the wedding list—heck, maybe I'll give her Jamie's matron-of-honor spot—as Helen leads me back to the lovely bridal fitting room. She politely waits outside the room until I am undressed, and although I've become accustomed to being treated like bridal cattle today, I am greatly relieved to be treated like a human once again. Then things get even better. . . I find
the
dress ...
MY
dress. It is beyond stunning, beyond beautiful, and above and beyond anything we have seen today. The top is plain, simple and elegant. Around my waist is a wide sash that ties in a knot at the back. The fabric for the sash knot is so long that the excess hangs all the way down to the ground, creating a small train. It's just the right amount of A-line, so it looks full without looking antebellum and the backline is straight across (since our appointment with Emily I've become extremely back-conscious). This is the dress, I absolutely know it, and I know my mom knows it, too, when I look at her.
“This is the one,” we say to each other at the exact same time.
“This is the one,” we turn and say to Helen in unison.
“I thought it might be,” Helen says wisely.
Mom stands up and hugs me, we cry again, then I change back into my regular clothes and we both hug Helen and cry before leaving the store. In the end, wedding-dress shopping wasn't exactly how I'd imagined it in all my bridal fantasies, but I'm determined not to let tiny hardships like being insulted by half the bridal salons in Manhattan take away from my happiness. I can't wait to get home and tell Justin all about it ... I wonder if it's bad luck to tell your fake, gay groom what your wedding dress looks like ...
34
Date Number Two
A
s exciting as yesterday was ... finding my dream wedding dress and all ... part of my mind was not there. Part of my mind couldn't stop thinking about Evan and the excitement of our second date. I won't lie and tell you that I wasn't a little disappointed and surprised when he suggested lunch, but it is a school night, so I suppose it's for the best.
I spend Sunday morning going back and forth between worrying about what to wear to a lunch date and worrying about what I will tell Justin. In the end I decide to wear a moderately low V-neck, camel-colored sweater with some ultralow-rise jeans and a conspicuously empty ring finger, and to tell Justin that I am going to the 99 Cents store. I had to come up with an errand that he wouldn't want any part of. With a straight guy you can name any store and they will do anything to get out of it ... with a gay guy, most likely they'll want to tag along. The 99 Cents store is the exception—no self-respecting gay man would be caught dead there.
When I head out of my room to make a beeline for the front door, I bump smack-dab into Justin and Logan, who seem to be doing the same thing. Justin is uncomfortably carrying a kite, which thankfully distracts him long enough for me to jam my left hand into the undersized pocket of my jeans. I look awkward, but at least my finger is hidden.
“Where are you off to?” he asks me.
“Oh, I just have some errands to run,” I explain. “To the 99 Cents store!” I quickly add to ensure his disinterest.
“Nice outfit for the 99 Cents store,” Logan butts in.
“This? Thanks ... I just threw it on.” That seems like a good answer, but just to get the focus off me, I add, “Where are you guys going?”
“We're going to fly a kite,” Logan tells me and Justin nods somewhat sheepishly.
“Sounds like fun,” I say as I open the door and hold it as Logan, Justin, and their kite exit. Once on the street, I hail a cab.
As I'm climbing in, Justin asks me why I'm taking a cab to the 99 Cents store, and I quickly blurt out that my boots aren't that comfortable before slamming the door of the cab. As we drive off, I turn back and watch the boys fiddling with their kite ... if I didn't know better, I would think they were a couple.
When the cab pulls up outside the restaurant, Evan is outside waiting for me—what a gentleman. He greets me with a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. I swear ... every time I see the guy he looks more handsome. Today, he has his straight black hair tucked under a worn green Dartmouth hat, which brings out his eyes, and a white polo shirt with jeans that show off his muscular body.
“Hi,” I say, trying to use my nonexistent sexy voice.
“Hey there,” he says ... he has his down pat.
“Ready for lunch?” I ask as I start toward the restaurant.
He grabs my arm and pulls me back toward him. “I had another idea,” he says as he holds up a key and points to the hotel across the street.
My first instinct is yes. God, yes! My second instinct is no. I'm not that kind of girl. In the end, instinct number one wins over. Obviously this isn't a one-night stand ... clearly this is heading toward a relationship, so there is no reason not to be romantic—plus, we can go get lunch afterwards.
We end up not going to get lunch ... we end up not getting out of bed for most of the afternoon. Room service brings us some food, but we don't even bother to get dressed. It feels like something out of a movie ... it's hard to believe that I am actually here in this hotel room with an incredibly handsome guy who is crazy about me and wants me so badly.
When the sun finally starts to go down, we realize it's time to go back to our real lives. On the street, Evan gives me one last kiss before hailing a cab for me. As I'm climbing in, he says, “I'll call you.”
“Okay, “ I agree.
Obviously he will call me; I mean ... we're practically in a relationship now. Okay, stop ... I know what you're thinking—I'm engaged. Well, I might be engaged, but I'm still a single girl and this could really be “the one!”
35
The Much Anticipated Engagement Party
T
he next three months fly by quickly. Mom has turned into a little bit of a wedding Nazi, so anytime I'm not at work or making a concerted effort to avoid her calls (thank you Caller ID), she's got me thinking about or doing wedding stuff. It has been a lot of work, though much of it enjoyable, and tonight will truly be the first payoff: the first time that I finally get the bridal experience I was longing for ... our engagement party.
Justin and I talked it over and decided a smaller engagement party would be better so it would explain why he didn't have many (any) guests of his own there. We chose the first week of December for the party and at the time it felt worlds away, but here we are ... tonight is the night.
Much to my surprise and disappointment, Evan didn't call me after our afternoon in the hotel ... undaunted, I called him ... but then he didn't return my call for a whole week. When he did call back, it was Friday afternoon ... when he should have realized I'd be at school. And then I left another message for him and didn't hear back ... for a week, which turned into a month, and then two, and then ... you get the picture. He never called again. For the first month I was stricken with panic that he had been hit by a train or murdered on the street ... but after many extensive Internet searches, I finally became convinced that he was alive and well ... and just not interested in me. Obviously I was crushed ... but since I couldn't share the reason for my despair with anyone, I got over it and only think about him once or twice a week now.
Logan has permanently moved in with me and Justin has become such a regular fixture on the sofa bed that most days we don't bother to put it back together. Although there are moments when I miss the privacy and peace that Tiffany and I shared six long months ago, in general I am happy having “my boys” (as I've started calling them) around. Except tonight, that is, when I really need the bathroom in order to get ready for the party, but they are being total hogs.
Laid out on my bed is my stunning engagement-party outfit. I decided it was one of those times when I could go all-out, so Justin and I spent three Saturdays in a row scouring New York City for the perfect dress, and we finally found it at a trendy boutique in Soho. The dress is a strapless, knee-length cream satin A-line, with black satin bands around the top and bottom and a black satin sash around the waist. It looks fantastic with my black satin stiletto sandals. Justin and I had decided that something whitish would be bridal and therefore appropriate, but not too whitish that it could take away from my actual wedding dress. The only catch is that it's freezing out and my only coat that is warm enough is my regular black wool one. What I needed is a floor-length black velvet coat, but with what I spent on the dress, I'm going to be eating Top Ramen for the rest of the month, so a coat was out—Nana's wedding fund just can't cover every wedding desire. Justin and I plan to get to the party early so that I can check the coat before any guests arrive and see me in it.
Logan finally saunters out of the bathroom, looking pretty much the same as he did before he went in, and I dart in behind him like lightning. I hope he enjoyed his long shower ... 'cause now I'm going to need to speed-clean in order to be ready on time. Luckily all the excitement has me overflowing with adrenaline, so I have no problem washing and conditioning my hair, shaving my legs, bikini (who knows why), and armpits, and all the other shower necessities in record time.
I hop out of the shower and wrap my head in a superabsorbent towel before wrapping myself in my warmest robe and heading to my bedroom. I close my door, put on my “Wedding Sounds” CD, a hand-me-down gift from Maggie, and settle on my bed to paint my toenails a bright, iridescent red. They look really fantastic, and I spend just a few minutes of relaxation lying on my bed, singing along to Bette Midler belting, “We're going to the chapel and we're gonna get ma-a-arried, going to the chapel and we're gonna get ma-a-arried ...”
Of course, my relaxation is cut short by a tap on my bedroom door.
“Molly,” Logan calls through, “Mom's on the phone.”
“Okay, thanks,” I say as I roll over and pick up the old-fashioned corded phone next to my bed.
I must admit that there is something so familiar about living with my brother again that I absolutely adore. Of course, there is also the familiar lack of privacy and other sibling-related annoyances, but in general it makes me feel good to have him around.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Good Golly Miss Molly! Are you ready for your night?”
“Just about,” I lie.
“We're almost to the city—I just wanted to check in on you.”
“Thanks, Mom. We're all great here. Tell Daddy to drive safely and we'll see you soon.”
“We love you, sweetheart.” CLICK.
I roll onto my back again and smile as Bette sings on in the background ... right about now, being engaged is every bit as wonderful as I ever imagined it would be—as long as I ignore the little voice in the back of my head that keeps asking me what the hell I'm doing.
Somehow Logan, Justin, and I manage to get out of the house at the designated time and we arrive at the restaurant where my parents have rented a private room five minutes before the actual start-time of the party to give me a chance to hide my coat. I know my parents are already inside because Mom has called me three more times from her cell phone since I got out of the shower. She is perfecting the last details in the room with the restaurant manager and Dad is sitting in the bar watching the football game. The man is amazing ... it is remarkable that he never shows up anywhere where there isn't a TV playing sports.
Would you like to guess who arrives at the same time we do and is standing on the sidewalk as we climb out of our cab? You guessed it—Claire Reilly (and Brad). Of all the people I didn't want to see me in my informal, non-matching wool coat, Claire is number one. To make matters worse, would you like to guess what she's wearing? A floor-length velvet coat! I swear, I cannot catch a break when it comes to that girl. I greet her as warmly as I can muster and give Brad an awkward hug before darting through the restaurant door to ditch the coat and show off my dress, which is as fabulous as the coat is unfabulous.
Brad and Claire saunter in behind me, and the bitch actually whines that she's cold and needs to keep her coat on. God, I hate her ... maybe I can get a bartender to spit in her drink. Before I can plot any further, my mother comes flying out of the room and grabs me in a huge embrace.
“Good Golly Miss Molly!” she exclaims as she holds my arms out and admires my dress.
I smile, smugly, in Claire's direction. I decide that she must be keeping her stupid coat on because her dress is really ugly.
Justin comes up behind me and reaches over to give my mom a hug hello, and then she awkwardly looks to Logan, who is standing slightly behind Justin and greets him. Things are definitely not 100% normal between Logan and the parents, but I know everyone is trying their best.
“Hi, Baby Boy,” she gently says her nickname for him.
“Hi, Mom,” he says gratefully as he leans forward to hug her.
Justin and I look at each other and smile. When Mom lets go of Logan, which feels like it takes a while to happen, she gives a quick greeting hug to Claire and Brad (I still haven't told her all that's gone on with him—I know it would upset her). Then she directs everyone into the party room.
The room is stunning. The restaurant is beautiful to begin with, but they have transformed the room to look like a starry night. It's so pretty and romantic and honestly takes my breath away. I'm still gawking at the room when Jamie walks in. She is three weeks from her due date and is the size of a house. Even dressed in all black, she looks so enormous that I am shocked—at this point, I think her pee fear is pretty realistic.
“Kate got huge,” she announces, motioning to her belly and my niece inside, who will be named Kate Anne Harrigan-Hope.
“Thank God ... I just thought you got majorly fat,” Logan pipes up and everybody can't help but laugh.
One by one, all the guests arrive and the party is in full swing before I know it. This night is making all the work and insanity of wedding planning worth it. I am having the best time. It's wonderful being at a party when you know and like everyone there (except one person), and everyone is being so nice to me and to Justin. I wish every day was like this. Plus, the table overflowing with presents in the corner isn't exactly ruining my good time.
The food is fantastic, the drink is free-flowing, and the music is great. I dance most of the night, not just with Justin but with all of my girlfriends and their husbands /fiancés. For the first time all evening, I finally break away from the dance floor and grab a seat at the bar, where I suck down a club soda to try and quench my thirst, when there is a tap on my shoulder. I turn around and find Brad.
I assume he's there to say good-bye, but he's not. He asks me to dance and out of shock I can't think of anything else to say except, “Okay.”
He leads me to the dance floor just as the song, “Just the Way You Look Tonight” comes on ... go figure. I search around the room for Justin and we give each other “oh well” shrugs as I begin to dance with Brad. To be honest, I'd forgotten what a good dancer Brad is and it feels good to be back in his arms. I snuggle a little, almost surprised at how easily I fit and how comfortable he is. I haven't let myself admit or think about how much I really do miss him. I'm still hurt and mad at him.
“Are you sure Claire would approve of this?” I ask, trying to hide the smugness in my voice.
“She went home. She was tired.”
Interesting ... she went home and left him behind. That could not have been her choice and definitely couldn't have made her happy. This information softens me a little.
“I've missed you,” I admit out loud.
“I've missed you so much, Molly.”
We pull apart for a split second and look into each other's eyes. It's so good to look into such familiar eyes. It's the same feeling as coming home.
“What's been going on?” I ask lamely.
“Shhh ... I love this song,” he says.
I'm taken back four months to his engagement party when we danced to the exact same song and he said the exact same thing. It's hard to believe how much is completely different since then. We silently dance until the end of the song. When the music starts to fade out, part of me is sorry it's over.
“I'm realizing some of the things you said about Claire are true,” Brad says before he lets go of me and without looking me in the eye. I'm stunned and can't say a word in response. “I love her, though, and we're working through them,” he adds stiffly, as if that part were rehearsed.
“I'm glad,” I muster lamely.
“I've gotta go,” and with that, Brad gives me a kiss on the head and turns toward the door, stopping to kiss my mother and sister, give Logan a hug, and Justin a cool handshake. I'm still standing on the dance floor, slightly shocked. The front of my body suddenly feels cold where his had been keeping it warm as we danced.
By the cab ride home, many hours later, I'm still at a complete loss regarding my conversation—if you could even call it that—with Brad. I retell the story three times for Justin and Logan to try to get a handle on it, but they don't have much luck, either.
Besides that, though, the evening was straight out of a fairy tale. Everything was perfect and wonderful. It's hard to imagine that the night just six short months away is going to be one hundred times more magical. Actually, maybe the months won't be that short after all and the night won't be that magical, I try to remind myself ... unfortunately, myself isn't listening too well lately.

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