Every Bride Needs a Groom

by Janice Thompson

  “Hey now.”

  “I’m serious. When you hang out with animals, you’ve got to think quick.”

  “Obviously.” Brady stuck his hand inside my cup and grabbed some feed, then passed it off to a baby goat, which licked his hand clean. “See there? I’m a fast learner.”

  “You’re good with animals.” And people. No one could deny this guy was great with people.

  I knelt down for some time, the weirdest emotions rippling over me as I tended to the goats. I was struck by feelings I hadn’t experienced for a while—homesickness, and heartsickness too. A lump rose in my throat.

  “Casey has goats,” I whispered.

  “Casey?” Brady tried to dump more of my feed into his hand but missed. It landed in a clump on a goat’s nose. “Oh yeah. The fiancé.”

  I sighed. “The fiancé. Only . . . not.”

  “Not? He doesn’t really have goats, you mean?”

  “Oh, he has goats. Four of them.” Tears sprang to my eyes. “I miss them.”

  “The goats or the fiancé?” Brady set the feed cup down on a post and stared at me.

  “All of them.” Being around these animals had stirred up far too many emotions. When I shut my eyes I could see myself standing on Casey’s property. Running in the field. Playing hide-and-seek as kids. The scents, the noises of the animals in the background. All of it melded together in my memory, in my heart. And in that moment, though I could never have predicted it, tears flooded willy-nilly down my face.

  “Let’s get you out of here.” Brady’s voice startled me back to reality. “I think the scent of the goats is getting to you.” He helped me stand and then slipped my arm through his to walk me out of the petting zoo, back to Main Street. I didn’t say a word the whole time. I couldn’t, not with all of the sniffling going on. We finally came to a stop at a lamppost near the parking lot. Brady reached into his pocket and came out with a handkerchief, which I used to blow my nose.

  “I don’t know what happened back there, Katie,” he said. “But we’re not coming back to the stockyard for the photo shoot. This place is obviously too emotional for you.”

  “I’m sorry. I really am. I just don’t think I can do it, Brady.”

  “The photo shoot, you mean?”

  “No. Well, yes. The whole thing. All of it. The dress, the photo shoot, the—” I stopped myself before saying anything else. “I tried to tell Madge, but she wouldn’t listen. This isn’t what you think it is. I’m not who you think I am.”

  He stared into my eyes with the sweetest, kindest expression on his face. “I know exactly who you are. You’re Katie. From Fairfield.” A little wink followed as he added, “Enamored by goats.”

  “Right. But the rest of it . . . it’s not what you think.”

  “Katie, I’ve had the strangest feeling all along that you don’t like the wedding dress design. Is that it?”

  “Oh, I totally love the design. It’s not that at all.”

  “You’re not happy with the way the interview went yesterday?”

  “The interview was a farce.”

  “A farce?” He shook his head. “Explain.”

  “It was a farce. I’m a farce. The wedding . . . is a farce. And the fiancé?” I pinched my eyes shut. “He’s the biggest farce of all.”

  “Wait. Are you telling me that you’re not really engaged to Casey Lawson?”

  My nerves really kicked in now. I shook my head. “I . . . I’m not engaged to Casey Lawson.”

  “He broke your heart?” Brady’s jaw twitched. “If he did, I’ll hunt him down and—”

  “It’s not like that.” I paced the sidewalk. “I mean, he did break my heart, but not today. It was a couple weeks ago. Before I ever met you.”

  “Huh?” Brady’s confusion was evident by the expression on his face. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that he broke up with me right after I found out I’d won the dress. The engagement was off—really, it didn’t even exist at all. I was never going to marry Casey.”

  Brady scratched his head. “Of course you were going to marry him.”

  I put my hand up. “Let me rephrase that. In my imagination I had the whole thing planned out. The entire wedding was strategized from beginning to end. I could tell you anything you wanted to know about my big day, but I couldn’t tell you anything about what my life would be like after that. I planned for one thing and one thing only . . . and it didn’t happen.”

  “It’s really not going to happen? Is that what you’re saying? No wedding?” Brady’s expression shifted from concern to frustration. “Please tell me this is some kind of sick joke so that I don’t think you were just taking advantage of my mom.”

  “I never wanted to take advantage of her . . . or you. And I do hope to get married someday.” I glanced at his face. The clenched jaw clued me in that he was angry. Who could blame him? “I’d love to wear the dress your mom designed for me. But it’s not going to happen anytime soon. Casey . . .” The tears came in earnest now. “Casey took off for Oklahoma.”

  “Oklahoma?” Wrinkles formed between Brady’s brows.

  “Where the wind comes sweepin’ down the plain.” I gave a deep sigh. “And I’m just plain stuck being a wannabe bride with an MIA groom.” My voice began to quiver again. “Only, I didn’t know he was going to be MIA. I was sure Casey was the one. So sure that I made plans as if he’d already popped the question.”

  “Wait. You’re saying he never did?” Brady raked his fingers through his hair.

  “Not technically. But don’t you see? The point is, I was so busy planning for my fairy-tale wedding that I overlooked my very real life.” Tears came with abandon now as I felt the release of my words. “I’m an idiot. I wanted the wedding. I wanted it so bad that I entered the contest thinking it was inevitable. Only, it wasn’t. And . . . he wasn’t. And . . . we weren’t. Nothing was inevitable except the part where I came out looking and feeling like a fool. I wanted the dress. I wanted the church. I wanted the invitations.”

  “Wanted it so much that you didn’t mind putting my mom on the spot?” A flash of anger sparked in his eyes.

  “Trust me, I never wanted to hurt her. I came that first Saturday just to tell her I couldn’t go through with it. But something—someone—stopped me.”

  “Someone?” He gave me a knowing look. “Let me guess. Madge?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, no wedding and no groom . . . but she still wanted you to take the dress?”

  “You’ve got the picture. She didn’t want to get your mom worked up before leaving for Paris. She thought it would be better to let sleeping dogs lie.”

  “Do you mind if I ask what you planned to do with this dress if you weren’t going to wear it?”

  “I don’t know.” I squeezed my eyes shut and willed myself not to cry. “Sometimes I think the whole wedding thing was just a big fantasy, something I dreamed about but was never meant to have.”

  “You wanted the wedding, or you wanted the groom?”

  A lump rose in my throat and I tried to speak around it. “I wanted him too.”

  “Wanted . . . as in past tense?” For whatever reason, the hopeful look in Brady’s eyes gave me the courage to speak my mind.

  “Wanted. Past tense.” I paused. “Casey is a great guy. He would’ve looked great in the tux. And he would’ve been smashing in the wedding pictures. And if you want the truth, I’m sure he would’ve made a great dad to our kids, even if he is a Presbyterian.”

  “Wait. What does being Presbyterian have to do with anything?”

  “I have no idea, really, but it factors in. Ask Queenie.”

  “Well, if I ever meet her, I will.”

  “Point is, he wasn’t the right guy for me. The wedding was never supposed to happen. It’s so obvious now. I had to come all the way to Dallas to see what I couldn’t see in Fairfield. I was just blinded by . . .”

  “The idea?”

  I sighed. “Too many years rea
ding bridal magazines.”

  “Don’t let Jordan Singer hear you say that!” Brady rested his hand on my shoulder and smiled.

  “Jordan Singer.” I hesitated. “The photo shoot. I-I can’t do it. You see what I mean? How can I go on the cover of a bridal magazine wearing a dress that was never meant for me?”

  Brady didn’t respond for a moment. Instead, he started pacing. And pacing. And pacing some more. His expression shifted several times—from confusion to frustration to resignation. Finally he came to a stop in front of me, a more peaceful look on his face.

  “Okay, it’s clear we’ve got some things to figure out. But maybe Madge was right. Maybe you should still take the dress.” Brady shrugged. “Just because the fiancé wasn’t the perfect fit doesn’t mean the dress won’t be. And just because the wedding isn’t pending doesn’t mean you’re not going to someday be a beautiful bride. I say you put on the wedding dress, hold your head up high, and march into that photo shoot with a smile.”

  “You sound just like Madge.”

  “Well, for once I agree with her.”

  “You do?”

  “I do. So what if the timing isn’t right? Take the dress anyway. It’s yours. We want you to have it. I want you to have it.”

  “You’ve been too good to me, Brady. You’ve gone above and beyond.” I tried to swallow the ever-growing lump in my throat. “This has nothing to do with Cosmopolitan Bridal. Or your mom. Or you.” I put my hand on his arm. “You’ve all been nothing but wonderful. But I can’t take this dress, Brady. I can’t.”

  “You can and you will. Jordan is coming back with a photographer on July 15. Dahlia’s working like crazy on the dress to meet that deadline. Don’t let her work be in vain, okay? You’re going to put on that dress and look like a million bucks.”

  “But that’s the point. I might look like a million bucks in a dress that I don’t deserve, but I’ll feel like a loser. If Casey saw me standing there, dressed in that gorgeous Loretta Lynn gown, he’d—”

  “He’d feel like an idiot for letting you go.”

  Brady’s words threw me for a loop. They also gave me the first bit of encouragement I’d felt in quite some time.

  “You think?” I whispered.

  “No, Katie.” Brady grabbed my hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. “I don’t think. I know.”

  20

  Miss Being Mrs.

  As a remedy to life in society I would suggest the big city. Nowadays, it is the only desert within our means.

  Albert Camus

  Two weeks after our trip to the stockyard, I learned that Dahlia had made enough progress on the dress for me to come in for my first official fitting. When I tried to argue the point with Brady, he reminded me that I’d won the contest fair and square and had every right to try on the dress because it was meant for me. So I showed up on the last Tuesday in June to take a peek at the Loretta Lynn gown in its earliest stage of production.

  Dahlia brought it to the front of the store, where she placed it on a hanger for all to see. She hadn’t added any of the ruffles or embellishments yet, but from what I could see, it was shaping up to be the prettiest gown in the place. Exactly my taste. Was it really meant for me? My heart said yes, but my conscience debated the issue.

  “You want to try it on for me, Katie?” Dahlia asked. “It’s going to look great on you.”

  Before I had a chance to respond, however, Dahlia was distracted with a customer. “Ooh, incoming Barbie Bride,” she whispered.

  “Barbie Bride?” I glanced up at the front of the store and saw a gorgeous brunette entering. She looked like a runway model. By now I should be used to all of these labels that Dahlia and the others placed on their customers, but I was not.

  “Check out the hair, the makeup.” Dahlia whistled. “She’s practically perfect in every way.”

  “Practically perfect in every way is Mary Poppins, not Barbie,” I argued.

  “Well, physically perfect. You know the type I’m talking about.” She gestured to her chest. “Curvaceous. Buxom.”

  “Buxom?” Crystal giggled. “Is that a re-ul word?”

  “Of course it’s real.” Twiggy rolled her eyes. “Don’t you see any buxom women in Atlanta?”

  “Duh.” Crystal pointed to her own chest and we all laughed. She headed off to wait on the new customer, who’d come into the shop for a tiara. Ironic.

  “I’m sure you see a lot of Barbie doll types come through the bridal shop,” I said after she left.

  “Maybe not as many as you think,” Madge said. “Mostly we just get normal-shaped girls. With hips. And bellies. And saggy boobs. But you know the interesting part? Put those girls in a wedding gown and they look perfect.”

  “Speaking of perfect, let’s get you in that gown, Katie. Okay?” Dahlia clasped her hands together and grinned. “I can’t wait to see it. And we have to take pictures to send Nadia. She called this morning and gave me specific instructions on the angles of the photos. She wants to see my seam work. Do you mind?”

  “As long as no one else sees the pictures, I guess it would be okay.” I would flip out if anyone from home saw me in the gown.

  The thought had no sooner flitted through my mind than the front door of the shop opened and who should walk in but my brother Jasper. Again. He took one look at Crystal, who was working at the front counter, and headed her way. I stood transfixed, watching all of this take place. He clearly hadn’t noticed me or, if he had, was ignoring me.

  “There’s one of those handsome brothers of yours,” Dahlia said. “Come back for another visit, I see.”

  “Looks like it. Give me a minute, Dahlia. I want to talk to him before I try on the dress, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  I walked up to the counter and stood next to Jasper. He continued to gab with Crystal but didn’t seem to notice me. I cleared my throat. Nothing. I coughed. When Crystal headed off to tend to a customer, he finally looked my way.

  “Hey, Katie. What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing. Jasper, you do realize this is a bridal shop, right? A place where women come to buy their wedding dresses?”

  “Well, yeah. I can see that.” He glanced around with a horrified look on his face. “Promise you won’t tell Mama I was here?”

  “Only if you make the same promise.”

  “Trust me, mum’s the word.”

  Mum—er, Mom—was the word, all right.

  “And if you happen to see me in a wedding gown, you won’t ask any questions?”

  “Wedding gown? Are you getting married? To Casey?” My brother’s expression hardened.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Then what Alva said is true? About you and Brady being engaged?” He leaned against the counter.

  “Definitely not. He’s a great guy, but I’m just getting to know him.”

  “Then I’m confused. You’re going to wear a wedding dress?”

  “Yes. I’m going to be modeling it for a magazine cover.”

  “Oh, okay. Why didn’t you say so? They’re paying you to model gowns now?”

  “Um, no. But close.” I decided to change the subject. “Isn’t Pop missing you at the store?”

  “Told him I was coming into Dallas to pick up some supplies. Nothing unusual about that. I come to Dallas all the time to get supplies for the business. You know that.”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Beau is holding down the fort until I get back.”

  “Beau?” I laughed. “Beau? Working?”

  Jasper nodded. “I know, it’s hard to believe. But something’s grabbed ahold of him over the past several days. He’s a changed man. I’ve never seen him act so . . . responsible.”

  “Um, Jasper?” I pointed to the door, where Beau and Dewey stood side by side. “Looks like you might want to rephrase all of that.”

  “No way.” Jasper slapped himself on the forehead. “He promised he’d cover for me at the store. Pop’s gonna f
lip.”

  I took a few steps toward my brothers but didn’t get to them fast enough. Twiggy beat me. She offered to show Beau the latest order of tuxedos, fresh in from Paris. Like Beau gave a rip about tuxedos. Still, my youngest brother trotted off behind her.

  Jasper had been right about one thing—something had definitely grabbed ahold of Beau. Her name was Twiggy.

  And Dewey? He’d come to Dallas for one reason and one reason only . . . and she happened to be standing next to me. I watched as Dahlia’s face turned the prettiest shade of crimson when Dewey talked to her. Good grief. I needed to get this train back on track, and quick.

  “Dewey, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Dahlia and I have to take care of something in the back.”

  “You do?” Dewey looked perplexed by this. “Like what?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about us,” Dahlia said. “You just look around the shop and I’ll be back out in a few minutes. Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

  “Oh, I won’t.” Dewey gave her a little wink and she giggled.

  We had just turned to walk back to the studio when the door to the shop opened again. Dahlia stopped in her tracks, eyes widening in obvious terror.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Sybil. Incoming.” Madge’s voice sounded from behind us. She reached for her walkie-talkie and whispered the words again: “Sybil. Incoming.”

  “Sybil?” I asked. “Her name’s Sybil?”

  “Um, no.” Madge shook her head. “Her name’s Francine Dubois. But she’s definitely a Sybil.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  Dahlia pulled me behind a rack of gowns, her voice lowering to a hoarse whisper. “Did you ever see the old movie Sybil? The one about the girl with all of those personalities?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “You never knew what she was going to do. She was . . . c-c-crazy.” Dahlia could barely get the word out.

  “Crazy as a loon,” Madge added. “The crazy ones are harder than all the Drama Mamas and Princess Brides put together. They . . . well, you’ll see.”

  “Not sure I want to stick around to see,” I said.

  “Too late.” Dahlia turned me around to face the door. A fairly normal-looking woman stood near the entrance of the store. She pulled off her dark sunglasses to reveal finely plucked brows and heavily painted eyes. Crystal headed her way, offering assistance.