Every Bride Has Her Day

by Janice Thompson

  I couldn’t help the little yawn that escaped. “You’re welcome.”

  “This might not look like anyone’s dream life”—he pointed to the messy room—“but it’s our life and we love it. Except for the postpartum depression part.”

  I pondered my cousin’s words as I drove home. She felt as if she’d lost control. She couldn’t seem to get the train back on track. In some ways, I knew just how she felt. Hadn’t I said the same thing? Hadn’t the last couple weeks proven that I had no control at all over my own decisions? Hormones had nothing to do with it, of course, but just as I’d thought about my cousin, I couldn’t get the train back on track.

  Only, I had to. I had to regain control. I had to move forward. And somehow I had to keep on going, no matter how overwhelmed I felt. If Lori-Lou could do it with four children, surely I could do it with none.

  10

  Whatever You Say

  I decided, very early on, just to accept life unconditionally; I never expected it to do anything special for me, yet I seemed to accomplish far more than I had ever hoped. Most of the time it just happened to me without my ever seeking it.

  Audrey Hepburn

  The next several days passed by without any major catastrophes. By the time the weekend arrived, I’d had a few good nights’ sleep behind me and felt like a champ. I wasn’t sure as much could be said about Lori-Lou, but time would tell.

  On Sunday morning I invited Alva to church with me. She usually attended her own church—something a bit more liturgical than my contemporary community church—but these days her ability to drive was diminished.

  She agreed to go with me, but as was often the case, she dozed off the minute she got into the passenger seat. I’d noticed more and more of this over the past few months and wondered if perhaps I should suggest a visit to the doctor, to make sure she was in good health.

  As she slept, I listened to worship music on the radio and spent a few minutes in prayer. After such a crazy week, I certainly needed to center myself once again. Just about the time I exited the highway, my cell phone rang. I pushed the button on the dashboard and the call came through on my Bluetooth. I didn’t recognize the phone number right away, and the woman’s opening line totally threw me.

  “Martina McBride.”

  “I’m sorry . . . what?” And who is this?

  “Martina McBride. I love her music. And I love her whole style. Yes, my father envisions me at a highfalutin event wearing a high-end gown like the Audrey Hepburn—which is nice, don’t get me wrong—but it’s not my style.”

  Ah. Bridget Pennington.

  “I love Martina McBride.”

  “Ooh, I love her too.” In the seat to my right Aunt Alva yawned and stretched. “Always have.”

  I put my finger to my lips and pointed to the dashboard to try to clue my aunt in to the fact that Bridget could hear her.

  “All I keep thinking is, ‘What would Martina McBride do?’” Bridget sighed. “Would she have her reception at the River Oaks Country Club just to please her father’s clients, or would she set up the prettiest wedding out in a field with bales of hay for seating and an exquisite backdrop that includes a beautiful pond?”

  “Bales of hay for seating?” Alva’s nose wrinkled. “Who wants to sit on a bale of hay?”

  “Oh, we’ll cover the bales with the prettiest fabrics you ever saw,” Bridget said. “But that’s not the point. The point is, I’ve made up my mind. Daddy doesn’t get his way this time. I’m the bride and what I want matters most.”

  “Exactly.” I secretly wondered if her daddy would agree to pay for the wedding-in-the-field, reception-in-the-barn event.

  “Does Nadia have a Martina McBride gown in her line?” Bridget asked. “If not, do you suppose she’ll make one for me?”

  “To my knowledge she’s never done a Martina McBride gown. I can’t even imagine what that would look like, but I’m sure you could talk to her about it.”

  “I will. I saw Martina at the CMA awards a few years back in a simple gown, but gorgeous. Very classy, actually. It was off-the-shoulder on the right. No, the left. No, the right.” Bridget laughed. “Actually, I don’t remember which shoulder, but the dress flowed so beautifully down to the floor.”

  “Sounds easy enough. You should call the store tomorrow and talk to Nadia about this.”

  “I just wanted to run the idea by you first because I know how busy she is. I don’t want to overwhelm her. You know?”

  “If this dress is easier than the Audrey Hepburn, then she might be glad you’re going this route.”

  “Right. That’s what I was thinking. But I don’t want my dress to be just like Martina’s. I don’t think hers had any lace, and I’d love a pretty overlay. The waist was what really caught my eye. Picture a sash—or a belt, whatever—made of gold fabric flowers with Austrian crystals in the center of each. And then picture a skirt that’s floor-length in front with a train about five feet trailing in the back.”

  “That’s a typical train for a wedding dress.”

  “Now that I think of it, I loved the fabric on the Audrey Hepburn gown. Maybe she could just use that lace and crepe for this design?”

  “Maybe. But only she can answer that question. Just promise me one thing, Bridget—get the gown your heart wants, not what someone else wants for you. Promise?”

  “I do!” She giggled. “I mean, I do promise. Yes. I will get what makes me happy. I know it will be a hurdle for my daddy to jump—I mean, what kind of father wants to sit on a bale of hay to watch his daughter get married?—but he’ll come around. I know he will. Ooh, it’s going to be great, Katie!”

  “I agree.” I pulled the car off the feeder road and into the parking lot of the church.

  “Thank you. I wanted you to be the first to hear that I’m standing up for myself.” She paused a moment. “Now, fill me in on the baby. How’s she doing? Are you getting any sleep, or has that postpartum thing still got ahold of you? You’ve been on my mind all week.”

  “Postpartum thing?” Alva looked at me, eyes wide. “Huh?”

  My pulse quickened as I saw the fear in my aunt’s eyes. “The baby’s great, Bridget, but there’s something I need to tell you.” To my right I noticed a police officer guiding traffic into the church’s parking lot.

  “Oh, I know. You wanted to tell me that you’re sorry you looked so worn out the other day. It’s okay. I understand. And just for the record, I’m dying to see more pictures of your baby, Katie. The ones Brady showed me were a little fuzzy. Have you had professional ones done yet?”

  Aunt Alva stared at me, her jaw dropping. “What did that person say, Katie Sue?”

  A flicker of apprehension coursed through me as I pondered what to say next. Unfortunately, I couldn’t squeeze in a word just yet.

  “I want to see pictures of the baby,” Bridget repeated. “I’ll bet she’s blonde like you but is going to be tall like Brady.”

  Alva clamped a hand over her mouth, and I could read the panic in her wide eyes.

  I couldn’t avoid this any longer. “Bridget, there’s something I need to tell you. That whole baby thing was just a huge misunderstanding.”

  “Having a child is never a misunderstanding, Katie. It might’ve been an accident, but she’s a blessing—a living, breathing blessing. That’s how you have to look at it. The same thing happened to a friend of mine once, and she and her boyfriend eventually got married and had two more kids. It all worked out in the end, and I know it will for you guys too.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant. I’m just trying to tell you that Brady and I aren’t really . . .” I got distracted by the officer trying to direct me.

  “I’m sure you felt you weren’t ready to be parents, but you are. I’m guessing you’re better with children than you think. Am I right?”

  “No, you’re wrong. She’s terrible with kids,” Alva said. “Terrible. You should see her with Lori-Lou’s brood. Boy howdy, Katie doesn’t have a lot of patience. I keep t
hinking she’ll get better with time, but that doesn’t appear to be the case.”

  “I’m sorry . . . who’s this?” Bridget asked.

  “I’m Katie’s aunt Alva, and I’m mighty mixed up right now. Who is this? Are you a new character on the radio program?”

  Bridget laughed. “Well, I’ve been called a character a time or two, but not on the radio.”

  Alva shook her head. “I don’t understand what you were saying about Brady and Katie having a baby.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to say all along, Bridget,” I interjected. “Brady and I don’t have a baby. The person who has postpartum blues—the one you heard me talking about in the store the other day—is my cousin Lori-Lou.”

  “Well, for pity’s sake.” Bridget grew silent. “So, it really was a misunderstanding. That’s what you were trying to tell me.”

  The officer waved me on, but I hesitated when Bridget didn’t respond right away.

  “I see,” she said at last.

  Only, I could tell that she did not.

  “I’ll tell you the whole story next time you come in, I promise.” I waved at the officer, who seemed a bit perturbed that I hadn’t moved forward yet. I tapped the accelerator and headed toward a parking spot. “I’m so relieved to finally tell you. Brady and I have no children. Maybe someday, but not now.”

  “I wondered how you could have posed for the magazine cover if you were expecting, but I didn’t want to pry. Now I feel so ridiculous for making that assumption. Please forgive me.”

  “Nothing to forgive.”

  “Of course there is. I celebrated your good news in front of all your co-workers. Only, it wasn’t your news. Gosh, I messed this one up.”

  “I’m just glad we’ve got it all straightened out now. You were wrong about something, and I straightened you out. That’s what you have to do with your father.”

  She grew silent again. “You think?” she said after a moment.

  “I know. If you don’t straighten him out, you will lose total control, and I happen to know a thing or two about what that feels like. So be brave. When we hang up, call him. Tell him that you’re having your wedding in a field. With bales of hay.”

  “I had an allergic reaction to hay once,” Alva said. “As a girl. Broke out in a rash. Started sneezing. It was awful.”

  “Well, like I said, I’ll cover them with fabric,” Bridget reminded her. “No problem there. But just one more question for you, Katie, and then I’ll quit. Did I misunderstand the part about you and Brady getting married too?”

  As I pulled into the parking spot, I shot a quick glance at Aunt Alva, who looked stunned.

  “No, you got that right,” I said. “We’re getting married. It just had nothing to do with a baby, that’s all.” I shifted the car into park.

  “Whew! That’s a relief. I didn’t want to make any assumptions, but you had me nervous.”

  “Boy, if you think she’s nervous, you oughta get inside my head for a minute.” Aunt Alva whacked herself on the forehead with her palm. “Color me confused.”

  “I just got to church, Bridget, so I need to let you go. Feel free to call Nadia tomorrow, okay? And we’ll talk soon.”

  “Yes. That’ll be great. Thanks again for everything, Katie.”

  With a click the call ended. I turned the car off and leaned back against the seat, my heart in my throat. Oy vey.

  “Katie Sue?” Alva’s voice was tinged with nervous energy. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  “No. It was all a misunderstanding.”

  “Well, that’s a relief, but I must say those radio programs are getting more and more ridiculous. Who in their right mind would ever believe that a woman would get married in a field and have her guests sit on bales of hay? Surely those soap opera writers could write something more believable than that.”

  I sighed. “Alva, it’s the Bluetooth you were hearing.”

  “I’m hearing that crazy actress lady talking about having a wedding reception in a barn, and I’m just saying that a good writer could’ve come up with something more believable than that. Who celebrates their big day in a barn?”

  “People do weddings differently these days, Auntie. Even Joni is thinking about converting a barn into a wedding facility. It’s the trendy thing to do.”

  “Well, I’m clearly not trendy. And I’m awfully glad you and Brady are the traditional sort too. I’m looking forward to your wedding at the Baptist church, where I don’t have to wipe pieces of hay from my ever-bloomin’ backside when the ceremony’s over. And thank you very much for not holding the reception in a barn, where the smell of manure might wreck the whole ambience.”

  “Actually, since you mentioned my reception . . .” I reached into my purse and pulled out a tube of lipstick. “I have been thinking about suggesting to Brady that we hold our reception outdoors, because we want to offer folks the option of dancing if they like. Not in a barn, but something completely different.”

  “Outdoors . . . in summer?”

  I swiped on the lipstick and smacked my lips. “We haven’t settled on a final date yet, though we’ve definitely narrowed it down to sometime in August. I’m thinking about suggesting the evening, Aunt Alva, because things cool down at night. If we held the wedding at six, we probably wouldn’t even start the reception until seven. By then the temperature will be down.”

  “From a hundred down to ninety, maybe. Sounds about as loony as that whole wedding-in-a-field idea. Maybe you need a better writer too.”

  I felt my temper rise at once. “No, I don’t.” My voice started to quiver as my thoughts tumbled out. “I don’t think anyone’s been paying attention to what’s going on. Everyone’s been weighing in on our big day without giving any thought to what I want.”

  An awkward silence rose up between us, and I wanted to kick myself for lashing out at one of the few people who hadn’t—until now, anyway—tried to tell me what to do.

  “Auntie, I’m sorry,” I squeaked out. “I just wish I had the courage that Bridget and Crystal have, to stand up to all the people who are trying to tell me what to do. This is my big day, and every bride deserves her day. Her plan. Her dream.”

  “I’m so sorry, honey. You’re right, of course.” She reached over and put her hand on my arm. “Listen, I don’t care if you want to get married on the softball field in Fairfield, I’ll be there. What’s important is that you and your honey get what you want.”

  “Thank you.” I realized the tube of lipstick was still in my hand, so I shoved it back in my purse.

  “Not that I’m engaged yet or anything, but Eduardo has already talked to me about our ceremony. He wants it to be unusual. Unique. Nothing traditional. And you know what?” She turned to me and I noticed the shimmer of tears in her eyes. “I love that man so much. If he said, ‘Let’s get married on the moon,’ I’d figure out a way to do it. Getting the guests to and from might be a problem, but it’d be worth it, just to see the smile on his face. That’s all that’s important here, Katie Sue. If you’re happy—if Brady’s happy—then who cares what all the rest of us think?”

  I’d just about gushed, “Thank you, Aunt Alva,” when she added, “Even if we do melt into the pavement in the middle of August just so the two of you can be happy.”

  Oh well. Her heart was in the right place, anyway.

  11

  That’s Me

  For beautiful eyes, look for the good in others; for beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness; and for poise, walk with the knowledge that you are never alone.

  Audrey Hepburn

  We made our way through the crowded foyer of the church and into the sanctuary, where I settled into my usual spot in the eleventh row, with Aunt Alva to my right. Minutes later Brady joined us. He slipped into the spot to my left, gave my aunt a wave, and then planted a kiss on my cheek.

  “How’s your morning been?” he asked.

  I’d just whispered, “Don’t ask,” when the opening wors
hip song began. I rose and did my best to put some of the craziness of the week behind me.

  The service was great, from the music to the sermon to the altar call at the end. The message on turning the other cheek really hit the spot. With all the opportunities to forgive folks who’d offended me lately, I was spinning in circles just from turning the other cheek. No wonder I felt dizzy.

  Afterward, as Brady and I walked with Alva across the parking lot, I awaited her assessment of the morning.

  “I’m sorry, Katie,” she said as we drew near to my car. “I’m really trying to like this new church of yours, but I’ve just never been a fan of rock and roll.”

  “It’s contemporary worship, Auntie.”

  “I’ve heard folks call it that. But with all the ringing in my ears, who could tell what it was? I hope you don’t mind, but I don’t feel up to going to Lori-Lou’s for lunch today like we talked about. I’m worn out.”

  “Are you sure? I made lasagna last night. Just need to pop it in the oven when I get to her place. Lasagna is one of your favorites, right?”

  “Right.” She yawned. “But I need to take a little nap. I’m worn out from spending so much time with those kids. I don’t have it in me to help out today. I’ll just eat a sandwich and take a nap. Please give her my apologies.”

  “Of course.”

  Brady followed me home, and then we loaded up the lasagna, salad, and sodas into his truck to make the drive to Lori-Lou’s place. As we drove, I expressed my concerns about, well, everything. It seemed like everyone in my world was falling apart. Hopefully this season would pass.

  My first shimmer of hope came when Lori-Lou answered the door, fully dressed, hair combed, and a relaxed expression on her face. No tears, praise the Lord. Talk about restoring hope in a hurry!

  We all gathered around the table to share the meal, and I silently thanked the Lord that Lori-Lou appeared to be recovering from the hormonal swings. After finishing our meal, we headed into the living room so the guys could watch a game on TV. Off in the distance, the older children played with puzzles.