Every Bride Has Her Day

by Janice Thompson

  “Goodness. When you describe it like that, you almost make it sound like a trip to Disney World.” Nadia looked rather pleased at this notion.

  “Better! A kingdom for brides, where every wish can be fulfilled. Where a roomful of designers and seamstresses will whip up a gown fit for a princess and her prince.”

  “I should hire you to do PR for the shop.” Nadia gave me a wink. “I know, I know—that’s already your job. But seriously, Katie, you’re great at describing things. I think that’s why I chose your essay to win the contest in the first place.”

  “Thank you. I just love writing about Cosmopolitan. I love describing it to brides. It’s an ocean of white when you walk in the door. And the fabrics are so delicate, so pristine, that you’re scared to touch them—and yet, you’re so tempted to reach out and touch them because the shimmer and shine draw you in, like some sort of fairy-tale magnet. And don’t even get me started on the beadwork. Sometimes I stare at the different beads and crystals, just trying to figure out how many hours it must’ve taken to hand-stitch them into place. I would never have the patience, but man, they’re my favorite part. I could fill a whole room with them.”

  “That might be a bit much.” Brady quirked a brow.

  Nadia laughed. “Well, you’re very dramatic in style, I must admit. But I’ve loved that since the first day, especially the parts about your life in Fairfield—the way you talked about growing up in such a quaint, lovely place. Being a cheerleader. Being voted Ms. Peach whatever.”

  “Peach Queen.” I squared my shoulders. “Quite the honor, if I do say so myself.”

  “Well, your essay was so well written I felt as if I’d up and moved to Fairfield myself. That’s a real gift, to be able to use words to paint a picture for people.”

  I shrugged. “Never really thought about it.”

  “You should. Maybe you could write other things. Besides ads, I mean. Like . . . books. No, articles. You should write articles.”

  “I already do write articles about the shop for the local papers, you know. That reminds me, I’ve got another piece ready for the Observer.”

  “Awesome, but I meant more than that. Something bigger. What do you want to tell people, Katie?” She gave me an inquisitive look.

  “I want to tell them that the bride needs encouragement, but she doesn’t want to be plowed over. Every bride should get to have her own special day. It’s hers, no one else’s. Not to be selfish or anything, but no one really needs to tug her in one direction or the other. In the end, they’re not going to be the ones with the special memories—she is. You know?”

  “Every bride has her day. I like it.” Nadia shifted her purse strap to her other shoulder. “What would you do with that? Maybe a column or something? Newspaper?”

  “No.” Brady snapped his fingers. “Texas Bride magazine, that’s what. I say we talk to Jordan Singer about getting you on at Texas Bride for a regular column from the point of view of the bride. You’d be perfect for that, Katie.”

  “Whoa, whoa. How did we jump from me writing PR stuff for the shop to writing for a statewide magazine? I never said I wanted that.”

  “Admit it, you’d love every second. You’re so good at what you do, writing ads for the shop and doing articles for the local papers. But there’s more in you, Katie. Much more. Texas Bride would be a great platform for you. You know brides better than almost anyone. You see them every day, and now you’re going to be one.”

  I paused to think through his words. I did see a lot of brides. I listened too—to people like Bridget Pennington, who just wanted her big day to be the best it could possibly be. To a recent bride from San Antonio, who’d dealt with her crazy future in-laws. To Crystal, who defied the odds by pulling off a Gone with the Wind ceremony that no one would ever forget.

  “When the bride has her day, she comes away content. It’s simple, really, and you know what they say: ‘Happy wife, happy life.’”

  “Oh, is that what they say?” Brady slipped his arm around my waist. “Well then, I shall commit that to memory.”

  “I’ll embroider it on a sampler for you so you don’t forget.” Madge gave him a playful wink. “Kidding, kidding. But I think you’re right, Katie. Think about the opposite—the bride whose dream wedding is stolen out from under her. We’ve seen plenty of those. They come away with so many regrets.”

  “Yep. Someone needs to give each bride courage to go for it. To dream big. There’s a reason it’s called a ‘dream wedding,’ after all. No one can take it from her. It’s not theirs to take. It’s hers. It’s a day she’s dreamed of since she was a little girl. She’s planned for it for a lifetime. Her ideas matter. Her thoughts count.” I found myself overcome with emotion at this point. And if I had my way, we’d get out of this heat and go inside to chat about the joys of being a bride.

  “Every bride has her day.” Brady nodded. “Sounds like a great title for an article. I’m contacting the magazine myself. And while I’m at it, why don’t I ask Jordan if he wants to be our wedding photographer? He was there for the cover shoot. He was there for the proposal. Maybe he’ll want to be there for the big day. You never know . . . we might just end up on the cover again.”

  “How funny would that be—contest-winning bride and basketball-playing groom ride off into the sunset at their quaint outdoor reception.”

  “Sounds good to me. Very good.” Brady nodded. “I’m definitely calling him, if you’re okay with it.”

  “Very okay with it.” I thought back to all of the years I’d spent dreaming of my wedding. The scrapbook I’d put together. The magazines I’d pored through. The venues I’d checked out online. All of this to ensure I’d have the best wedding day ever. And now we finally had a plan in place for the perfect day. I could hardly wait!

  Brady glanced down at his phone.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Just a, um . . . a . . .” I lost him as he typed something into his phone. “Sorry, what were you asking?”

  “You just seem a little preoccupied. Please tell me you’re not contacting Jordan already. And let’s go inside out of this heat.”

  “Yep.” Brady shoved his phone in his pocket.

  A couple of seconds later, Dahlia popped her head out the front door. “What’s up, people? You going to stay in the parking lot all day? We have a business to run.”

  “She has a point.” I laughed and moved toward the door.

  Brady slipped his arm through mine and appeared to be slowing me down on purpose. “So, you believe that every bride should have her day, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “No matter which day of the week . . . or where.”

  “Right.” I gave him a curious look. “What are you trying to get at?”

  “If, say, someone you knew and loved decided to have her day in a random place at a random time, surrounded by the people she loved, you would agree that everyone else should be happy about it, even if the whole thing catches you completely off guard?”

  “Of course.” I gave him a suspicious look. “Why, Brady? What aren’t you telling me? Are you still hung up on that ‘let’s elope in Hawaii’ idea?”

  “Over my dead body.” Nadia touched up her lipstick.

  “Okay, well, who are we talking about here?”

  “Just remember your passionate speech a couple of minutes from now, okay?” he said.

  “O-okay.”

  Brady opened the front door of the shop, and I gasped as I took in the interior. “Oh. My. Goodness.” The racks of gowns had been separated, creating a wide aisle between them. I stared at several rows of chairs covered in gorgeous white satin covers, all facing the same direction. Seated in those chairs . . .

  Whoa.

  Mama. Pop. Queenie. Pap-Paul. My brothers. Their sweeties. And half the town of Fairfield, along with all of our local friends and relatives.

  “What in the world is going on?” My pulse quickened. For a moment I thought Brady had done the unthinkab
le.

  He squeezed my hand and leaned over to whisper in my ear, “Don’t worry, it’s not for us.”

  My heart slowed at once. Who, then?

  “I believe your services are required in the changing room, Katie.” He patted my shoulder.

  “My services?”

  “Yes, if you’re going to serve as maid of honor, you’ll want to look your best. Mama has the perfect dress for you, in a lovely shade of lavender.”

  “Lavender? I only know one person who likes lav—” I stopped mid-sentence and clamped a hand over my mouth. “Oh! No wonder she jumped and ran from the car! Are you telling me this was all planned ahead of time?”

  “Well, for about a week, anyway. Eduardo was ready a few days after he proposed. I had to talk him into slowing down long enough to give the rest of us time to catch up.”

  Mama walked my way and wrapped me in a warm embrace. “Hello again, Katie Sue. Long time no see.”

  “I thought you guys were in Eureka Springs.”

  “Yep. Then we moved on to Hot Springs. But it seems like no matter how far we roam, we keep ending up back home again. I believe it must be some sort of sign.”

  “Sign, my eye.” My father joined us, a look of exasperation on his face. “If everyone would stop getting married, I could enjoy my retirement.”

  “Well, wasn’t that a thoughtful thing to say.” Mama patted him on the arm. “That’s why I married you, honey—your kindness and consideration for others.”

  He grumbled all the way back to his seat.

  Mama glanced at me and laughed. “I thought your father was going to murder me in my sleep when I told him we had to drive back home, but I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  “Neither would I.” Queenie’s voice sounded from her chair. “So let’s get this show on the road.”

  “For pity’s sake, yes.” Lori-Lou wrangled her children while Josh held the baby. “Not sure how long I can keep this crew under control.”

  “But didn’t you just text me?” I asked.

  “Duh. I was trying to buy time for Aunt Alva so she could change. She wanted to surprise you.”

  “But . . . I’m the maid of honor?”

  “And I’m the matron.” Queenie pointed at her lavender gown. “Now, you get in that studio, honey, and put on your dress. We’re not getting any younger, you know.”

  No, we certainly weren’t. But if I didn’t get my act together, Alva and Eduardo wouldn’t have their big day. I gave my grandmother a nod and followed on her heels to the studio.

  19

  Love’s the Only House

  Success is like reaching an important birthday and finding you’re exactly the same.

  Audrey Hepburn

  We located Alva in the studio, dressed in the most gorgeous bridal gown I’d ever seen. She looked like something straight out of a Greta Garbo movie.

  “Alva!” I raced to her side and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I can’t believe you did all this without telling me.”

  “You put me through a doozy of a time, I tell ya. It’s not easy keeping a secret from you. But I knew you were plenty stressed already with your own wedding plans. Most of all, I just wanted to surprise you, to put a smile on your face. Looks like I pulled it off.”

  “No kidding. And what a surprise! Makes me wonder what’s next.”

  “We’re not having any children, if that’s what you mean. Now, tell me what you think of my dress. Eduardo made it. He’s been working on it for ages now, long before he even slipped the ring on my finger. That silly man assumed I’d say yes, and he was right!”

  “It’s exquisite!” I let out a little squeal. “This is just too much.”

  The gown was a beautiful ivory satin with a luscious sheen. I’d never seen a design quite like it, and I thought I’d seen just about everything Nadia, Dahlia, and Eduardo had ever come up with. This gown had a distinct Grecian look to it: A sweetheart neckline with sheer fabric overlay. Tiny pleats. Darling little pearls at the high waist. Totally perfect for Auntie.

  “What do you think of these sheer sleeves, Katie? Aren’t they glorious?” Alva chuckled. “Just enough to cover the jiggle when I raise my arms.” She lifted them to show me what she meant.

  Queenie rolled her eyes. “Sister, trust me when I say that see-through fabric doesn’t hide the jiggle. Not saying I don’t like the sleeves, just saying we have to be realistic, especially at our age.”

  “Who says?” Aunt Alva stuck her tongue out at my grandmother. “Anyway, I love the dress. Eduardo designed it just for me. He wants me to look like Greta Garbo when I walk down the aisle.”

  “If I recall, our parents wouldn’t let us see any Greta Garbo picture shows when we were young.” Queenie gave her a knowing look. “Too risqué.”

  “I’m in my eighties, Queenie-Beanie, and getting married for the first time in my life. I’d say I’ve earned the right to be a little risqué!” Alva slapped herself on the thigh and laughed so hard I wondered if the folks out in the shop could hear her.

  No. I could hear the music playing, piped in through the store’s audio system. No doubt they couldn’t hear us talking.

  “My favorite part is the little hat. What do you think of it?” She pointed to the fitted hat with the beautiful crystal design on the side. “Look, Katie. It’s a bird. You have to look close to see it, but the crystals form a lovely birdlike image. Eduardo says this hat is just like the one Greta Garbo wore in The Temptress.” Auntie giggled. “Imagine that . . . your aunt a temptress.” Her cheeks flamed pink, and Queenie gave her a smack on the backside.

  “I’m tempted to swat you again if you don’t let me finish fixing your hair. Now, hold still, Alva. And you, Katie Sue”—Queenie pointed at my slacks and blouse—“you need to change into your gown. Please and thank you.”

  Aunt Alva nodded, her eyes wide. “Yes, and hurry up, honey! I’m not getting any younger, you know. If you don’t change into that gorgeous lavender dress that’s waiting for you in the dressing room, I won’t have a maid of honor.”

  “What am I, chopped liver?” Queenie fussed with Alva’s hair and then stepped back to give her a scrutinizing look. “You would think I’m not even here at all.”

  “Of course you’re here, silly, and you’re my matron of honor. You’ve been fussing at me ever since I arrived. But we need this sweet girl or the ‘I dos’ won’t take place. Step on it, Katie Sue!”

  “Yes ma’am.” I saluted her and then sprinted to the dressing room, where I found the sweetest gown hanging up. I’d never been a fan of lavender, but this one had a swirly effect—sort of white and lavender all mixed together with teensy-tiny hints of soft green woven into the design. Eduardo must’ve had a hand in this one too, at least the color choice.

  Moments later I heard a light tap on the door. “You need any help in there, Katie?” Dahlia asked. She popped her head inside and gasped when she saw me wearing the gown. “Oh, it’s great! Even better than I’d hoped.”

  “Same here.” I chuckled. “Not that I’d ever laid eyes on it until today.”

  “Let me help you with the zipper.”

  “Yes, please and thank you.” I clamped a hand over my mouth and then laughed. “Oops. Sorry. Didn’t mean to say that. I got it from—”

  “Queenie.” We spoke the name in unison.

  “And Alva too,” I added. “I’ve learned from the best.”

  “And so have I. Can you believe we pulled this off? Alva didn’t want you to know. The whole thing was supposed to be a big surprise.”

  “Well, it certainly was—er, is! I’m in shock, to be honest.”

  “Alva thought it would be fun. I didn’t know myself until a couple of days ago. Just Eduardo, Brady, and Nadia knew. Oh, and Madge. She knows all things.”

  “I heard that.” Madge’s voice rang out from the other side of the door. “Right now what I know is this: Eduardo’s getting tired of hanging out in Brady’s office. That’s where we’ve got him holed up until he hears
Pachelbel’s Canon playing.”

  “Start the music, then.” I stepped back and gazed at my appearance.

  “Oh no, this will never do.” Dahlia left for a moment and returned with a hairbrush and barrettes with Austrian crystals. “We’re pulling this hair up. And don’t forget to touch up your lipstick.”

  I didn’t argue the point. Instead, I let her fuss with my hair while I swiped on a fresh coat of lipstick. Off in the distance I heard the strains of Pachelbel’s Canon fill the air.

  “That’s Eduardo’s cue. Let’s get Queenie and Alva and go out the back door. We’ll have to go around the Mexican restaurant to the front parking lot to make a grand entrance.”

  “In this heat?” I asked.

  “Yes.” She nodded.

  We joined up with Queenie and Alva and headed out the back door, then around the back of the restaurant. Just as we made our way into the front parking lot, a couple of cars pulled in and customers emerged.

  “Sorry, folks, but we’re closed until noon today,” Dahlia called out.

  “We are?” I asked.

  “Well, sure. Don’t need any interruptions,” Dahlia said.

  “If you come back at noon, you can have some wedding cake—on the house!” Alva hollered. “I’m gettin’ hitched!”

  “Congratulations!” a young woman in a red blouse and dark slacks called out. “This is so cool!” She pulled out a cell phone and started snapping pictures of my aunt, who posed in various positions.

  “C’mon, Alva. Let’s keep moving.” Queenie patted her on the back. “We’ll get plenty of photos later.”

  Dahlia inched the door open and popped her head inside, then gave us a nod. “Okay, ‘Wedding March’ is playing. I think it’s time to roll.”

  Queenie went first, disappearing from view.

  “Who’s walking you down the aisle?” I whispered to Alva as we took a step toward the door.

  “Who do you think, silly?” Alva looked at me with that lopsided grin of hers. “You are. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”