Toss the Bride
Page 23
Maurice wore an emotional expression, something not often seen on his face. I was tempted to reach over and hug him, but he quickly composed himself and talk turned back to business.
With my change in status to Maurice’s partner, we will both need to hire assistants. While we are on our two-week honeymoon, Maurice is going to sift through résumés and set up some interviews. He seems excited to have a new challenge. While I court the “different bride,” he can go after the top-shelf money brides who want things a little more traditional. Maurice will also work less because he can trust me to handle my weddings. I know that working fewer hours—and staying out of a certain café—are two of the conditions that Evelyn has set for Maurice to move back home. He has been living in one of those extended-stay motels and is desperate to make things right again with his wife.
Iris breezes into the apartment a few minutes later, shaking me out of thoughts about work. She picks up my bag and bursts into tears. Startled, I ask what is wrong.
“Oh, I’m just so emotional today. I am happy for you, the sky is bright blue, it’s a perfect October day, you’re finally taking this huge step—everything!”
I hug Iris. “I would have never gotten to this day without you. How many calories did you feed me while I wailed on and on about my love life?”
“Too many, I’m sure. But I was happy to do it. Now, get out there, marry that man, and send lots of his cute friends my way.”
On the drive over to the salon, I sit quietly in the passenger seat. A little song plays in my head: Today you are getting married, today you are getting married. We pass the street where I will live after today. I think of Annette, my golden bride. She always remembered the street address of the house she was supposed to live in with her sweetheart. I know that I will also cherish the sound of our new address: 1411 Adair Street.
The past two months have been a whirlwind. We had Baker Land’s wedding and all of the media hoopla surrounding marrying off a celebrity. She was pretty fun to work with, but by the end, I really did not feel like she got the wedding of her dreams. There were just so many people butting in with their opinions and changing Baker’s wishes behind her back.
After all of our starts and stops in the engagement department, Avery and I decided to just go ahead and get married. Neither one of us wanted something huge or fancy. We wanted to keep the guest list small—something that failed to happen, thanks to Babs—and the wedding simple. I think our guests will enjoy themselves. As for me, I am looking forward to tomorrow, when I wake up as Avery’s wife. That will be a good day.
While my hair is twisted and prodded into a sleek pile on top of my head, Iris snaps a dozen pictures until her stylist sits her down and goes to work. I feel so lucky to have a good friend with me during these crazy hours before the wedding. I spent about three or four days at the Lelands’ house this week working on wedding stuff and visiting with my parents and in-laws-to-be. I love them all, but the bridal buzz was killing me. I could not take a step without someone saying, “Macie, come look at the wedding favors. They were just delivered!” Or, “Macie, the caterer called. Do you want the silk bows tied tightly on the chair covers or sort of loosely?” For my mother’s part, I have been really proud of her. She jumped right in, even though the Lelands can be a handful. My dad and Mr. Leland mainly steered clear of wedding madness. They took a classic car out for a spin or played golf.
After the makeup artist finishes up, we grab a quick bite to eat at a little sidewalk café. Iris remarks that with our casual clothes and overdone makeup and hair, we could be taken for a couple of out-of-place hookers. This makes me spit out a mouthful of water, which only makes Iris laugh harder.
“Can you believe we have to be dressed and at the botanical gardens in one hour?” Iris glances at her watch.
My heart bangs in my chest. One hour until I am with Avery again, this time for good. Rather than have our photos taken after the ceremony, we will be taking them before. Avery and I are not too worried about the “don’t see the bride” rule. This way, we can go straight to the reception without having to wait. I think we will look a little fresher, too, for the pictures. After everything is said and done, I am still a girlie girl, and I want to have a fabulous wedding album.
The hour passes quickly. All of a sudden, Iris is lifting the wedding gown out of its bag. Gwen’s design is stunning. The candlelight satin creates a slim shape, offering a square neck and a deep back. Tiny pearls crisscross the garment. A detachable train of matte satin gathers at the waist and is held in place by three delicate rosettes. I am near tears. I cannot believe this beautiful dress is mine to wear.
“Let’s get this thing on, Cinderella.”
While Iris holds up the folds of fabric, I step into the dress, feeling the heavy fabric move against my skin. It is a garment unlike any other. When she zips up the back panel and pats down the buttons on top of the seam, I get a little shiver. Today I am getting married, today I am getting married, today I am getting married.
“Absolutely beautiful,” Iris says, near tears again. She shakes her head back and forth. “You look like a bride.”
“Your dress is gorgeous, too,” I say. “Gwen is amazing, don’t you think?”
Iris wears a scarlet tea-length dress of matte satin with a matching silk band at the bust and hem. Strappy heels, and a gemstone necklace I gave her as a gift, complete the ensemble.
“It’s time to go get you married,” my best friend says.
And then, just like that, the minutes slip away like before. But this time, I welcome the tick tock of the hours. Avery’s dad sends a car, whisking us away to the Atlanta Botanical Garden and the rose garden, where the outdoor ceremony will take place. My mom and dad see me for the first time, and we have a special family minute, just holding hands and talking. Iris walks up to us with my veil. With more than a tear or two, my mother gently nestles the veil into my hair at the back of my head.
I feel like such a fairy princess. Although our part of the garden is sectioned off with tasteful white ropes, visitors can still see our party coming and going. “Ooh, Mommy, a bride!” I hear one little girl squeal. The photographer walks in between the empty white chairs, taking shots of family members. The heady scent of blooming roses fills the air. Mr. and Mrs. Leland arrive with more of their family. I look back toward the garden entrance. Where is Avery?
Maurice appears at my elbow. He whispers, “You’d better come with me.”
I do not like the look on his face. I turn red and follow Maurice away from the rose garden. He leads me down a short path until we stand beside the walled Japanese garden.
“Your groom would like a minute alone with his bride,” Maurice says. He makes a little bow and then disappears.
Avery steps through a small opening in the wall. He looks so handsome in his tuxedo that I gasp and feel nervous, excited, scared, happy—all at once. I finger the smooth lapel of his jacket and smile up at my almost-husband.
“Can you believe we’re doing this?” he asks me.
“I know. It seems so right but so very strange.”
“You’re beautiful, Macie,” Avery says, his eyes filling with tears. “You look very lovely.”
I spin around to show off my gown, but catch a heel on the gravel pathway. I stumble toward Avery, who stops my fall and then hugs me to his chest. “Let me be the first one to kiss the bride,” he says.
And that is how Maurice finds us a few minutes later. “Okay, people, plenty of time for that later. Macie, you’ll need lipstick. See Iris. We have to get these pictures made, let’s get moving!”
The rest is pretty basic for anyone who attends as many weddings as I do. There are violins and flowers and well-wishers. Women in big hats sigh as they remember their own weddings years earlier. I listen to the minister, who urges us to love and forgive, laugh and trust. Avery cries and so do I. When it is over, trolleys decorated with white ribbons ferry guests next door to the dock in Piedmont Park. Beneath strands of white ligh
ts strung in the trees, guests mingle in the early night air to the sounds of big band music. I dance and laugh with friends from Cutter. My parents slow dance like champs—who knew they could waltz?
Avery finally tells me about our wedding trip. We will be having the journey of a lifetime—two weeks in Australia and New Zealand. I am beyond thrilled. I knew we were going somewhere a passport was needed, but the other side of the world? Iris squeals when I tell her. We munch on slices of her magnificent cake. Once again, I am overwhelmed by how much goodness there is to life. Everyone I love dances or stands within a few yards of me. Avery twirls around the wooden dock flooring with two young, giggling second cousins.
Every bride remembers her wedding as a blur, and I am no exception. Through it all, the platters of shrimp and salmon, the toasts and dancing, the kisses from family and friends, I always feel Avery’s eyes on me. We touch hands once, near the end of the reception. Little clumps of people still sit around tables talking under a clear, moonless night.
“Nice ring,” I say, turning Avery’s hand over to catch a glimpse of the plain, platinum band.
“You, too. Are you ready to head home? I feel the need to carry someone across the threshold.”
I smile, reaching for my new husband. In my mind, we fast-forward another hour until we climb the steps to our new home. If anyone is out and about on this late evening, they would see a bride and groom stepping across the wide front porch where many an after-work conversation and Saturday morning brunch will take place in the years to come.
If our anonymous neighbor watches a few seconds more, he or she would witness the groom gather his bride into his arms and push open the old blue door. Then the scene goes dark and the neighbor walks on, perhaps remembering something from long ago. A few yards down, a dog barks just to be heard. Our new home, our new street, goes to sleep on this quiet night in October.
THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS.
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TOSS THE BRIDE. Copyright © 2006 by Jennifer Manske Fenske. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
Chapter three originally appeared, in slightly different form, as “In the Okefenokee,” in Nantahala (Spring 2003).
www.stmartins.com
First Edition: January 2006
eISBN 9781466864344
First eBook edition: January 2014