A Patron Saint for Junior Bridesmaids

by Shelley Tougas

  I sit next to her. “Yeah, cabbage smells like someone forgot to take out the garbage.”

  “Do you think that’s a bad first impression?”

  “For Justin? I think he’s going to have to get used to it.”

  She sighs. “You’re right. I don’t know why I’m so anxious. Why am I so anxious?”

  “Probably because Uncle Will and Grandma are going to embarrass you. It’s destiny. But he’ll get used to it.”

  Eden nods and chews on her thumbnail.

  “How did you meet him?”

  “We met in my support group for social anxiety. I know it sounds weird that a bunch of people who can’t function in social situations, and can’t talk to other people, get together in a group to, well, talk about being unable to talk to other people. But it helps.”

  That’s funny, but Eden speaks with such a flat voice that she’s not funny even when she is funny.

  “Did he ask you out? Or did you ask him?”

  She blushes and shrugs.

  “Oh, come on. You’re going to be asked a million times. You might as well practice on me.”

  “Okay.” She takes a deep breath, holds it for a moment, then exhales. “For a month we just smiled at each other. Then he said hello, so I said hello. Then after a few weeks, he asked how I was doing, and I said I was fine. A few weeks after that, he told me he had a good book about social anxiety, but he couldn’t remember the title, so he asked for my e-mail so he could send me the information when he found the book. So we e-mailed for weeks. Long e-mails. Sometimes two or three a day.”

  “So did he ask you out? Or did you ask him?”

  Another breath in, another breath out. “Grandma convinced me to ask him. She said he didn’t ask for my e-mail because of a book. He wanted an excuse for us to write each other, and later he told me she was right.” Eden smiles. “Grandma came on our first date because she wanted to make sure he wasn’t a serial killer.”

  “Wasn’t that weird?”

  “Yes. And no. I was glad. She kept the conversation going.”

  “I’m surprised she didn’t hire a private detective to investigate him.”

  “Hah! Guess what? She paid one of those online services to do a background check. Other than a parking ticket, it came back clean. But she made him promise to keep change in his glove compartment so he’ll always have money for parking meters.”

  I know Grandma and Eden are tight, but boyfriend advice from grandmother to granddaughter seems weird even for them. Eden never had close friends, so Grandma would take her places Friday nights. I used to think Eden hated going to church bingo and classic movies and all-you-can-eat buffets. But now I get it. Eden didn’t have anything else to do.

  A car stops at the curb. I see a guy with dark hair and sunglasses at the wheel. He just sits there with the engine running. Eden sends Cleocatra into the house and says, “That’s Justin. I’m going to talk to him before he changes his mind and leaves. You should go inside. This might take a while.”

  * * *

  Uncle Will thinks Eden is too young to get married, but Grandma thinks it’s the greatest thing ever. Grandma and Uncle Will never agree. We’re all Catholic, but they can’t even agree about picking a church, which doesn’t give me much hope for world peace. Uncle Will is Irish—100 percent—and he insists on going to St. Patrick, the Irish Catholic Church in St. Paul. Grandma is German, and she insists on going to St. George, the German Catholic Church, also in St. Paul. Since Grandma always wins, Aunt Maggie and Eden go to church with her at St. George, and Uncle Will goes alone to St. Patrick.

  At holidays, Uncle Will makes Irish soda bread and Grandma makes Wechen, which are German dinner rolls. It’s a bread standoff. Over flour and water! Uncle Will drinks Guinness beer—no need to mention it’s Irish, right?—and Grandma will only drink Beck’s. And when Uncle Will drinks too much Guinness, he slurs and pounds the table and reminds Grandma that Germany started all the wars and then lost them, and then she drinks more Beck’s and says if the Irish could grow something other than potatoes, they wouldn’t have starved 200 years ago. Every Christmas Dad says he wants to wrap up a package of screws and give them to Grandma and Uncle Will because they both have so many loose. I double-dog dare him to do it, but he just laughs.

  Mom comes from the kitchen with glasses of water, which she sets by each plate. “Mary, look in the bureau for the nice cloth napkins. We’re almost ready. I hope he gets here soon.”

  “He’s in his car. Eden is talking to him. Did you know he has social anxiety, too?”

  “Maggie told me,” Mom says. “Honey, go outside and tell them dinner is ready.”

  Then the door opens, and Eden and Justin step inside. He has brown-framed glasses like Eden, but Justin is short and chubby. He’s at least two inches shorter than Eden.

  His lips form a stiff smile. “Hello.”

  Mom shakes his hand. “So nice to meet you.”

  In seconds we’ve all circled around him, except Grandma, who’s getting food on the table. Justin turns licorice red when Aunt Maggie hugs him. He holds out his hand to Uncle Will and says, “Nice to meet you, sir.” But Uncle Will shoves his hands in his pockets, grunts a hello, and looks away. Eden is sweating buckets. Mom already shook his hand, and Aunt Maggie hugged him, and Uncle Will is staring at the picture of Jesus next to the door. Nobody knows what to do. Justin’s arm seems frozen, so I step between Uncle Will and Justin and grab Justin’s hand like he’d intended to shake hands with me.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say in a very grown-up voice. This is my first real handshake outside of church and, I guess, my first real job as junior bridesmaid. I rescued Eden and Justin from an embarrassing Uncle Will moment.

  Grandma calls us to the table.

  “Before we eat, I have a surprise.” Grandma claps her hands together. She takes a laptop from the bureau and turns it so we can see the screen.

  It’s Dad. He waves and says, “Hello everyone!”

  I can tell Grandma’s impressed with her technology skills. Her toothy grin stretches across her face. “We can’t meet Justin without Craig!”

  “Hi, Justin!” Dad waves. “Welcome to the family!”

  “You, too!” Justin says and immediately turns red. “I mean, thanks and hello to you, too.”

  “What?” Dad says.

  Luke sticks his face against the screen. “He said, ‘You, too. I mean thanks, and hello to you, too.’”

  Grandma puts the laptop on the corner of the table where there’s an empty chair and says, “He’s at McDonald’s because they have wireless.”

  Dad waves French fries at us. When we start to pray, Dad bows his head right there at his table in McDonald’s. In one quick mumble, we say, “BlessUsLordAndTheseGiftsAmen.” Justin’s barely opened his mouth, and we’re already past “amen” and eating. Grandma, Aunt Maggie, and Mom do their best small talk as dishes are passed around the table. They talk about Grandma’s book club and North Dakota and Aunt Maggie’s factory job and all the overtime she’s working this summer.

  Justin pushes food around his plate, taking only a few bites. Luke tells him, “Grandma’s gonna get mad. You can’t just eat the beef and not the cabbage even if the cabbage is disgusting.”

  The licorice color returns to Justin’s face. Grandma shrugs like it’s no big deal, even though we all know it’s a very big deal to not like Grandma’s food. Uncle Will says, “He doesn’t like German food? Well, now! There’s one thing I like about him.”

  “Will!” Aunt Maggie gasps.

  “What? There’s nothing wrong with liking one thing about the guy. I just met him. It’s better than finding a mountain of reasons to hate the boy.”

  “Dad,” Eden says. “Don’t be assuming German food is something not liked by Justin.” Poor Eden. When her anxiety kicks in, her sentences come out in reverse, like Yoda.

  Grandma scowls at Uncle Will. “Justin, don’t pay any attention to him. Mister Shamrock here thinks the potato should be its
own food group. You eat what you like.”

  Sweat is literally dripping down Eden’s forehead. I don’t think she can utter another sentence. I say, “Justin, Uncle Will makes the most amazing Irish food. Wait until you try his soda bread.” That gets a little smile from Uncle Will, but Grandma frowns, so I add, “Personally beef and cabbage is my favorite meal.” Then Uncle Will frowns. “But soda bread is my favorite bread.” Grandma’s frown deepens. “Streusel is my favorite dessert.”

  Dad’s voice cuts through the silence. “I can’t hear what you’re saying. What’d you say?”

  Uncle Will sort of shouts toward the laptop. “Justin likes Irish food.”

  “What?” Dad repeats.

  Now Luke shouts, “Justin likes Irish food, but he hates Grandma’s beef and cabbage and Grandma’s not even mad!”

  “That’s not what he said,” I shout.

  Mom leans toward the computer. “Mary was saying she loves Irish soda bread and streusel and pretty much everything that comes out of this kitchen. And Justin agrees. We all agree.”

  Justin stuffs a forkful of cabbage in his mouth and swallows without chewing. He looks at Uncle Will and says, “I like this meal, and I like potatoes, too. Very much.”

  Uncle Will points his fork at Justin and says, “Tell me something about yourself.”

  Justin’s voice is quiet but steady. “I just graduated from the university.”

  “With honors! Isn’t that wonderful?” Grandma asks nobody in particular.

  “And?” Uncle Will’s fork is still pointed at Justin.

  “I’m going to graduate school for biomedical research.”

  “Isn’t that fantastic!” Grandma says.

  “And I’ve been accepted to the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign.”

  “Isn’t it wonderful!” It’s Grandma. Again.

  “You’re moving to Illinois?” Uncle Will smiles wickedly. “I’m sure my only daughter will miss you very much when you move.”

  “Obviously Eden is moving,” Grandma says. “And we’re thrilled she’ll have this adventure and then move back to St. Paul because there are plenty of research jobs right here.”

  Uncle Will frowns while Aunt Maggie turns to Eden. “When were you going to tell us this?”

  Eden’s body seems to deflate. “Now is when I’m telling you.” She looks like she just fell down a flight of stairs—embarrassed and injured and confused.

  “Maggie, it sounds like she’s going to move back.” Mom pats Aunt Maggie’s shoulder.

  “Are you?” Aunt Maggie asks.

  Eden nods and shrugs and shakes her head, so I’m not sure what the answer is. I look at Dad’s face on the laptop. Usually he can turn our awkward family around when things get out of control, but he’s sitting there with his eyes half closed, caught in a blink. Great. The connection froze.

  Now what?

  Aunt Maggie is just about to say something when Luke starts coughing. Mom pats his back, and he spits a piece of beef on his plate. “You okay?”

  Luke says, “Sorry but it’s basically unchewable.”

  Everyone laughs, even Grandma and Uncle Will. Thank God for Luke. I promise a thank-you prayer to the Patron Saint of brothers or the Patron Saint of subject-changers, whichever is easiest to find.

  “Luke, that’s enough!” Mom tries to sound firm, but she’s still laughing.

  Grandma clears her throat. “Eden has some other news to share. First, she plans to stop going to college online. She’s going to enroll in the university and finish her degree in Illinois. She’ll attend classes with other students. Isn’t that wonderful?” Eden looks relieved that Grandma’s in charge.

  Grandma continues, “Eden and Justin will be swamped with school, and of course they wouldn’t dream of living together in a state of sin, so they will get married before school starts. That means we’ll have a wedding on August nineteenth.”

  Aunt Maggie’s mouth drops. “How is that possible?” She’s not shocked that she’s hearing these developments from Grandma—Grandma has always been Eden’s spokesperson—she’s shocked by the timeline. The date is ten weeks away. I don’t know much about weddings, but my family spends more time planning Christmas. Grandma wants our wish lists by Halloween.

  “I’ll help,” I say. Mom gives me a smile of approval.

  “Eden says she doesn’t want a splashy wedding,” Grandma says, “but I’m going to do my best to make it spectacular.”

  “Spectacular isn’t necessary,” Eden says. “We—” Uncle Will cuts off Eden with a frown and a booming voice. “Parents need to plan for these things. We don’t have thousands of dollars laying around. You’ll be lucky to get spectacular hotdogs.”

  I need to turn Uncle Will’s attitude around. He’s embarrassing Eden. “Hotdogs could be fun, Uncle Will.”

  “Will you boil the hotdogs or grill them?” Luke asks. “I don’t like black lines on hotdogs.”

  “Hotdogs will not be served at my granddaughter’s wedding. I’ve lived in this house rent free for years, and God willing, for many more years to come. The least I can do is pay for this wedding. It’d give me untold joy to give Eden a spectacular wedding.”

  Spectacular. The word makes Eden cringe. Justin squeezes her knee. Eden clears her throat and says, “We just want you and Justin’s family. No fancy dresses or things that are fancy.”

  Justin nods. He nods and nods and nods.

  “Don’t be silly,” Grandma says in her this-is-final voice. “You’re going to have a real wedding. You deserve it.”

  Uncle Will chews while Aunt Maggie stares at her plate. Mom says, “A small wedding seems suited to Eden’s personality.”

  Justin and Eden are both nodding now, so I say, “Yes, small. But spectacular, too. It can be both, right?”

  Grandma acts like she didn’t hear me. “Eden deserves a beautiful wedding with all of our friends and family, and that’s exactly what she’s getting. That’s what grandmothers are for.”

  Luke says, “I wouldn’t want a fancy dress, either.”

  “Of course not! You’re a boy.” Grandma rubs his shoulder. “But Eden is going to have a dress made for a princess. We’ll go shopping as soon as possible. We’re going to a dress shop—the kind that requires an appointment.” Grandma’s smile can’t get any bigger. “We all have jobs to do. Luke, your job is to cooperate. Can you do that?” Luke nods, and Grandma turns stern eyes toward Uncle Will. “Shamrock, your job is to stay out of the way. Bernie, you’ll be gone, and Maggie’s stuck with overtime this summer. That means I’m counting on you, Mary.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll help. I’ll even get a manicure if you want.”

  Grandma puts down her fork and clears her throat. “Being a junior bridesmaid is a solemn duty. It’s more than pretty nails and a hairdo. By the way, nail polish is fine, but you’re too young for lipstick, isn’t she, Bernie?” Mom nods. “I’ll have many jobs for you this summer.”

  I gulp. “Okay.”

  Grandma’s not done. “Mary Margaret Miller, you will be Eden’s right hand. You will be her support system. It’s a big responsibility. We’re all counting on you.”

  Immediately I think of my Patron Saints notebook and the wedding-related saints I’ll need to add. A page for the bride, a page for the groom, a page for the caterer. I’m sure a page won’t be enough for the Patron Saint of junior bridesmaids. She’ll get her own notebook.

  Part Two

  There’s Going to Be a Junior Bridesmaid

  Chapter Eight

  There’s going to be a wedding in 64 days

  There’s no Patron Saint for Junior Bridesmaids.

  How is that possible?

  I’ve been on every Catholic website. There are Patron Saints for unmarried people, for engaged couples, for brides, for young brides, for grooms, for newlyweds, for good marriages, for difficult marriages.

  Seriously? Marriage is one of the holiest sacraments in the Catholic Church. Marriage is so sacred the Church doesn
’t allow divorce! How can the Pope make a Patron Saint for everything related to weddings but miss junior bridesmaids?

  I search Google for maid of honor and bridesmaid duties. Here’s what I find: The maid of honor is the bride’s advocate. She provides emotional support during the many stressful moments and conflicts involved in wedding planning. Stress and conflict—two things that freak me out. There’s a huge list of duties, too. If there was a grown-up bridesmaid in the wedding, it’d be no big deal. I could be in charge of wearing a dress and holding flowers, and she could handle all the stress and conflict and all the jobs: plan a bachelorette party, throw a shower, keep the groom’s ring, help the bride with her dress, dance with the best man, give a toast at the reception, hold the bride’s bouquet … Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to be in the wedding. Maybe I should back out.

  But I can’t. The word “no” doesn’t exist in my family. The word for “no” in my family is “yes.” If Grandma wants me in the wedding, then I’m in the wedding.

  Eden and Justin don’t have the strength to stand against the hurricane-force wind that is our grandmother. If they need me to stand behind them, then I need a Patron Saint to stand behind me. I open my rosary box and pull out the prayer card with Pope Francis’s picture. “Dude, you have totally let me down.” I put the card back and say a quick prayer to Dominic Savio, Patron Saint of the juvenile delinquents. Dear Holy Saint Dominic Savio, I just referred to the Pope as a dude. Please forgive me.

  My phone dings with a text message from Mom. Just an hour ago we said good night and our goodbyes because she’s leaving early in the morning. She must be texting from Grandma’s extra bedroom. Her message says, Don’t want to bother you, but I forgot to say the plan for going to church is this: You go to St. George with Grandma, Maggie, and Eden. Luke will go with Will to St. Patrick because he needs a male influence. Love you! xoxo.

  I roll my eyes.

  Mom must think I’m stupid, but I see what she’s doing. She’s recruited Uncle Will to keep her secret about Luke not getting First Communion. And that’s why she’s leaving tomorrow morning instead of Sunday. Mom doesn’t want to go to mass. If she does, then Luke would go with us to Grandma’s church. Luke couldn’t take Communion, and Grandma would want to know why, and then Mom would have to admit he never went through First Communion like every good Catholic boy.