A Patron Saint for Junior Bridesmaids

by Shelley Tougas

“What’s wrong with your eyes, Mary?” Luke squints. “Your eyelashes are clumpy.”

  “Go!” I point at the door, and he stomps down the hall. This time I hear the floorboards.

  I remember the job of a bridesmaid. Emotional support during conflict and stress.

  “I’ll find something for you to wear. Want to lay down for a few minutes?”

  “I can’t. My hair will get flat.”

  Eden’s closet is filled with plain cotton shirts and, I swear, about a dozen pairs of khaki pants. There’s one dress, but it’s black with long sleeves. She wore it to our great uncle’s funeral. Toward the back is a collection of skorts, which tells me Grandma found a sale. Finally I see a real skirt. It’s a simple black wrap-around, and it’ll go with anything.

  “Here.” I hold out the black wrap-around skirt and a frilly tank top. “These look perfect together.”

  “I’m serious, Mary. I can’t do this. I can’t. There has to be another way.” She nervously twists the belt from her robe around her hand.

  “This is the cutest outfit ever.” I nearly squeak with enthusiasm. “Why haven’t I seen you in this? It’ll go great with your fluffy hair.”

  “I mean the wedding! I don’t think I can do a wedding. It’s too much.”

  “Oh.” I say a quick prayer: Dear Holy Saint Elizabeth, you are the Patron Saint for young brides. Please convince Eden that she’s not a bridezilla and that she can do this. Also convince the Pope to name a Patron Saint for junior bridesmaids, because I could really use some help. “You can do it. I know you can. You got through high school. You have a job, and you go to school, and you’re moving to Illinois. You can do anything, Eden.”

  “I’m skipping dinner. Tell them I’m sick.”

  I put the skirt and tank top on the bed next to her. “You can’t leave Justin hanging like that. If Justin can do this, then you can do this. You’re a team, right?”

  With her eyes closed, Eden takes a few deep breaths. She inhales through her nose and blows the air through her lips. Finally she opens her eyes. “I learned that in our support group. It helps.” She stands up and holds the clothes against her body. “Do you really think it looks nice? Or is it just because it’s the only skirt in my closet?”

  “I really love this skirt. Really.”

  “Because I also have some skorts.”

  I try to sound like Paula T, Wedding Consultant. “You are not wearing a skort to a wedding dinner.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Mary. I like this skirt.” I’m proud I actually did something to help the bride. Then Eden frowns and points out the window. “Unbelievable! Grandma’s driving away. She left without us.”

  I shake my head. “Grandzilla.” Eden actually throws her head back and laughs.

  * * *

  Grandma gives us a cold smile when we arrive at the restaurant twenty minutes late. Eden whispers to her for a minute; then they hug. Grandma can’t stay mad at Eden.

  Right away I can tell Justin’s parents are serious types. Their smiles seem forced, and they’re dressed like we’re all attending a business dinner. It’s ninety degrees outside, and his mom is wearing a black blazer. Their names: Jason and Jolene Jackson. Justin’s brother Joshua is the best man, but he couldn’t make it to dinner. Jason, Jolene, Justin, and Joshua Jackson. It’s kind of ridiculous, but I shouldn’t judge a family of “J” people since mine is overpopulated with Marys. There’s me, Mary Margaret. Then Eden Mary, Aunt Margaret “Maggie” Mary, Mom Bernice “Bernie” Mary, and Grandma Mary Nadine. Nope. No judgment from me.

  I wonder if Nick’s family does Vietnamese stuff like Grandma with her German meals and Uncle Will with his Irish soda bread. What do they serve in Vietnamese restaurants? Is it like Chinese food? My family thinks the fried rice from the food court is too spicy. I’m lost in thoughts about Nick when Luke kicks my leg. He’s balancing his spoon on his nose. I whisper, “Stop it. They’ll think we’re hillbillies.”

  “What are hillbillies?” He lets the spoon drop on his lap.

  “People who put spoons on their noses at nice restaurants.”

  The adults don’t notice. They’re gabbing about gas prices. Grandma’s laptop sits at the corner of the table. My parents’ faces are trapped in the screen, looking bored, but they smile and lean forward, trying to hear the conversation.

  “Mary?” Grandma asks.

  “Yes?”

  “Justin’s mother asked about your dress.”

  “Oh.” I need to pay attention. Bridesmaids can’t zone out of the conversation just because it’s boring. “It’s pink. There’s a ribbon in back, and the skirt has lace and beads and is quite large.” I look at Eden, who’s staring at her napkin. “And it’s very beautiful. Extremely beautiful.”

  “Sounds lovely,” Mrs. Jackson says. “Tell me about the wedding dress, Eden.”

  Eden breathes in through her nose and out her mouth before answering. “It’s white. The color is white or the candlelight shade of white. It’s a pretty white dress.”

  “It’s simple but elegant,” Grandma says. “Classic. You know how you see wedding dresses in pictures from twenty years ago and chuckle because they’re so tacky? This is a dress that will stand the test of time.”

  Aunt Maggie says, “I still love my dress. Doesn’t matter what anyone says.”

  “I wasn’t able to do much for my daughters when they got married.” Grandma’s smile fades and her voice turns coarse. “My husband was disabled, and both girls got engaged at the same time. We had a double wedding to cut expenses. My friends from church made soup and ham sandwiches for the reception and also helped me make bouquets and centerpieces with fake flowers. Those were tough times.”

  “Mother, we wouldn’t change a thing about our wedding. Isn’t that right, Will?”

  Uncle Will snaps to attention. “Right. Gas prices. Definitely too high.”

  Grandma shakes her head. “For goodness sake! We’re done talking about gas. Anyway, the only thing that matters is we have a spectacular wedding for a spectacular couple. Am I right?”

  The Jacksons sip water while Aunt Maggie elbows Uncle Will and whispers, “Pay attention!” He’s going to say something, and it’s probably going to be embarrassing, so I jump into the conversation. “You’re right. Uncle Will is right about gas prices, and you’re right about the spectacularness of the wedding.” I’m not even sure “spectacularness” is a word, but it makes Grandma smile.

  Two waiters enter with trays and put salads in front of everyone. Uncle Will frowns. “Is this one of those places where the food comes in shifts?”

  Aunt Maggie whispers to him. “Yes. We preordered dinner.”

  Uncle Will is not capable of whispering. He says, “It’s too complicated. When are we supposed to pray? Before the salad? After the soup?”

  “You can say a silent prayer right now. Silent,” Grandma says.

  “Keep my salad.” Uncle Will tells the waiter. “I don’t eat leaves. And you can bring me two beers.”

  “Will!” Aunt Maggie gasps.

  “Make it three,” Uncle Will says. “Save yourself two trips.”

  Luke hands his salad back to the waiter. “I don’t eat leaves, either.”

  “Luke!” I gasp just like Aunt Maggie.

  I expect Grandma to make Luke taste the salad, but she’s not interested in the food. She clears her throat. “Let’s talk about the music.”

  Justin and Eden glance at each other.

  Mrs. Jackson sits up straight. “Justin had mentioned having a harpist during the dinner and leaving it at that. It would be lovely background music. My niece plays harp, and she says she’ll do it for free as her gift to Eden and Justin.”

  “Perfect!” Grandma said. “Dinner music will be a nice touch. But I’m talking about the reception. A wedding without a dance is like half a wedding.”

  “I’m not much of a dancer,” Justin stammers. “Two left feet. That’s me.”

  “The people in our family aren’t dancers,” Mrs. Jac
kson says.

  I know Eden doesn’t want a dance, but I also know Grandma does. So what do I say?

  “Every dance has dancers and watchers.” Grandma chuckles. “The Collins family will be the dancers and the Jacksons can be the watchers. After a few beers, Justin will be doing the Chicken Dance with everyone else.”

  Luke stands to demonstrate the Chicken Dance. He flaps his arms like a bird, squats, jumps up, and claps, humming the tune as he moves. Everyone laughs. My parents aren’t laughing, though. Mom’s eyes are closed, and Dad’s hand is frozen mid air, like he was going to itch his nose right when the Internet connection broke.

  After Luke takes his bow, Mr. Jackson says, “We don’t drink very often. Justin thought the wedding could be alcohol free.”

  Uncle Will snorts. “You people can drink apple juice. My family will be drinking beer.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mrs. Jackson says. “Justin told us you’re very devout in your … church … so I guess we assumed you didn’t drink or dance.”

  Grandma and Uncle Will laugh. Aunt Maggie says, “Jesus turned water into wine at weddings. That’s the only endorsement we need.”

  “Jesus approves of polka,” Grandma says. “I guarantee it.”

  I feel sorry for Eden. Her face is the color of the tomato soup the waiters just delivered. Aunt Maggie says, “It’s going to be tricky finding a band on such short notice. We’re lucky we were able to find a church and a reception hall.”

  Here’s my chance. “Since you probably can’t find a band, maybe we should give up that idea and just focus on the ceremony and the food and the cake. How does that sound?”

  I turn to Eden so she can at least nod her agreement, but Grandma is already talking. “We’ll get a band. I’ll figure it out. Also, I think we should have an ice sculpture. I found a company that can do a sculpture of the heads of the bride and groom!”

  “Cool!” Luke says.

  “Grandma, how about—”

  She interrupts me and continues, “Fancy cupcakes are so popular these days. I thought we could get a small wedding cake and then a variety of cupcakes. We could order little plastic coins with the words Eden and Justin and press the coins into the frosting and then everyone would have a little keepsake from the wedding.” She turns to Eden. “What do you think, Eden?”

  Before Eden can blush, Aunt Maggie has something to say. “I asked the people at the reception hall if we can have a big screen in the corner so we can put together a slide show of photos.”

  I say, “Aunt Maggie, maybe we could—”

  Again, Grandma shuts me down. She lists the kinds of photos she wants in the slideshow—baptism, birthday parties, Christmas—and I notice Luke is trying to do the Chicken Dance with a spoon on his nose. I grab his arm and pull him back into his chair. “Stop!”

  “I’m bored,” he whispers.

  “If you don’t knock if off, I’m going to send a prayer to the Pope right now!”

  He presses his lips into a full pout, but he stays in his chair. Now it’s time to tackle Grandma. I squeeze my napkin and say, “You know, possibly a wedding shouldn’t have a dance if the bride and groom aren’t dancers.”

  Uncle Will says, “The wedding is for the couple, but the reception is for family. We have three hundred relatives coming to this, plus whoever you people are inviting. What are they supposed to do? Knit and sip apple juice? There will be a dance, there will be a band, there will be beer.”

  “Oh my,” Mrs. Jackson says, “such a large wedding. Your church must be the size of an amphitheater.”

  “There’s no such thing as a small Catholic church,” Grandma says. “And there’s no such thing as a small Catholic wedding. Is there, Eden?”

  Eden is saved by the servers, who bring in trays with plates of lasagna. They clear the soup bowls and serve our dinner. Under his breath Uncle Will says, “BlessUsLordAndTheseGiftsAmen.” Aunt Maggie whispers something to him. He holds out his glass of beer, clears his throat, and says, “A toast to the bride and groom.”

  We clink glasses and say, “Cheers!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  There’s going to be a wedding in 26 days

  Grandma has cooked a huge breakfast: eggs, sausage, fried potatoes, fruit, and homemade kolaches, a German sweet bun. Mom and Dad are here for Eden’s shower, and having all of us in the same house feels like Christmas. I can’t stay mad at Mom even though it’s her fault the body of Christ is in my rosary box. The second we hugged and I smelled her—that mix of hairspray and mint gum—I felt like crying. I’ve been missing her. Instantly I decided I wouldn’t tell her about the Communion wafer. After months of stress and sadness, she finally looks relaxed and happy. I don’t want the stress and sadness to come back. I’ll think of something.

  I miss Dad, too, but it’s harder with Mom. When I think about her, I get needles in my stomach. Award-winning nice girls don’t stay mad at their moms. They fill up their moms’ Patron Saint pages with prayer stars. I promise to pray for her three or four times a day, whatever it takes to catch up to the number of stars on Dad’s page.

  Luke is too excited to eat. He’s constantly interrupting with random things. I’m glad Eden’s at work because all his yammering might be stressful. Uncle Will tells Dad about the gas prices on the west coast, and Luke says, “Grandma and me went to the waterpark and we went down the tallest slide on this raft and Grandma screamed ‘help me Lord’ the whole time.”

  “Luke, have some manners,” Mom says. “Uncle Will was talking.”

  Uncle Will laughs. “Let the kid talk to his dad.”

  “And we’re going to a museum next week and I think it will be boring but Grandma says it will be good for my mind,” Luke says. Every day, Grandma has an agenda for us that includes parks or the library or a swimming pool. She even plays soccer with Luke in the backyard. He’s in the best summer camp of his life.

  “It will be good for your mind.” Dad rumples Luke’s hair. “And Mary, what’s been the highlight of your summer so far?”

  “Eden and I are working on a massive puzzle.”

  Luke nearly shouts, “Mary spends all her time in Nick’s driveway!”

  “Who’s Nick?” Mom asks.

  “The neighbor boy,” Luke says. “He’s from China.”

  “He’s Vietnamese, Luke. And it’s not a big deal.”

  Mom and Dad swap looks. Dad says, “I’m glad you have a friend here, but I don’t want you unsupervised in either house.”

  I feel my face heating up and want to melt into a puddle underneath the table, but Grandma barks, “Of course she’s not unsupervised inside his house. Or this house! What kind of grandmother do you think I am?”

  “Why?” Luke asks. “Do you think they’ll kiss?”

  “Luke!” I kick him under the table.

  “That’s enough.” Grandma’s voice makes Luke shut his mouth and sit still. I give a silent thanks to Saint Ann, Patron Saint of grandmothers. Grandma says, “Let’s change the subject. Have you found a house?”

  “It’s crazy,” Mom says. “The oil boom has brought in so many people that housing is scarce, but we have a lead on a house we can rent. How about Eden and Justin? Have they found a place in Illinois?”

  Without a pause, Grandma bursts into tears. I’m stunned. I’ve never seen Grandma cry. Luke and Dad stop chewing and stare. Mom rubs her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” Grandma says. “I’m happy for Eden. Really. It’s just … I’ll miss her. That’s all.”

  “I can hardly stand it myself.” Aunt Maggie wipes her eyes with a napkin.

  Luke hugs Grandma. “We can visit Eden on the computer.”

  “And it gives us a reason to go to Chicago,” I say. “I’d love to go there.”

  “Of course.” Grandma sniffles. “But ever since my husband died, God bless his soul, it’s been Eden and me going to Friday night bingo and Tuesday bargain movie night. We shop together and have lunch. She’s my best friend. Is that ridiculous?”

  Maybe it’s not
ridiculous, but it’s weird. Still, we shake our heads no. Poor Grandma. She’s spent all her time being Eden’s friend instead of being with people her own age. Now Eden has Justin, and Grandma’s got nothing to do on Friday nights except argue with Uncle Will about German beer. Sometimes it’s hard to feel sorry for Grandma. This isn’t one of those times.

  * * *

  Officially, I’m hosting the shower since I’m the junior bridesmaid. That’s what the invitation said, but Grandma planned everything. My only assignment is decorating. While Grandma, Mom, and Aunt Maggie prepare food and clean, Luke and I tie balloons to a chair Dad moved to the front window where Eden will sit like some sort of bride queen. I’ll be in a folding chair next to her writing down who gave her which presents.

  Grandma hands crepe paper to Luke and me. “String this up so it looks nice. Hurry because your dad and Uncle Will are ready to take you fishing.”

  No boys allowed at this shower.

  At two o’clock, the guests began to arrive: Eden’s friend Emma from the hospital laundry; Mom and Aunt Maggie’s cousins, Kate, Bridget, Mary Ellen, and Mary Alice (more Marys!); and Grandma’s church friends Elaine, Connie, and Beth; and a coworker of Aunt Maggie’s named Tracy.

  Eden perches in her special chair, the balloons floating above her head like pastel clouds. Immediately Grandma announces the games, which is probably supposed to be my job. I’m happy sitting quietly next to Eden. Then Grandma calls on me.

  “Mary, I need you to be my assistant.” She hands me a bowl filled with uncooked rice and tiny safety pins. Then she gives me a blindfold. “We each get one minute to find as many safety pins as possible.”

  Cousin Bridget claps. “I love this game! You can barely feel the difference between the safety pins and the rice.”

  I tie the blindfold around her eyes, swish the bowl to make sure everything is mixed up, and put it on her lap.

  Apparently the game loves her, too, because nobody pulls out more pins. Even with a Band-Aid on her finger, she finds twelve pins. Mary Alice (or is it Mary Ellen?) finds only one. I get five, but I don’t try very hard. It seems tacky for the junior bridesmaid to win. For her prize, Bridget gets a big candle scented like pumpkin spice. Everyone gushes over the smell, and Mom says, “Wish I’d won this.” Mom doesn’t even like the smell of pumpkin pie. Does she ever say anything and mean it?