“Molly, it doesn’t sound like he did anything wrong,” Logan tells me with a face that pleads, don’t shoot the messenger.
“But ... he was trying to talk me out of getting married!” I explain.
“No, he really wasn’t,” Justin tells me. “He was just telling you that you didn’t have to do anything you didn’t want to do.”
“He was being a good friend,” Logan adds.
Crap. There are two things I really hate: 1) being wrong, and 2) admitting when I’m wrong. I look up at Justin and Logan, who are nodding at me like parents encouraging their child to learn a lesson.
“Damn it,” I say, and they know I get it because Logan hands me the cordless phone and Justin points at my bedroom. I take the phone and walk to my room, head down, figuring out how I am going to manage to eat this enormous slice of humble pie.
Brad’s cell phone rings twice before he answers it by saying, “You realized you’re wrong?”
“Yes,” I pout.
“And?”
“And I’m sorry.”
“I knew you would be.”
“I’m sorry I upset you ... just miscommunication, I guess.”
I cannot believe how mature and understanding he is being, but I just decide to take it.
“Claire has been hypersensitive, too. I guess it’s just something that happens to brides,” he continues.
The mention of Claire’s name upsets my stomach, as always, especially the comparison that I am anything like her. I need to figure out a way to stop that response; obviously she’s not as evil as she was six months ago, since Brad appears to be allowed to talk to me and see me in public now.
“It must be,” I say, grateful that things with Brad are going to be okay. “Thanks for being so understanding,” I say humbly. It is a relief to me that he is acting like his good old self. “How’s your planning going?” I ask, in an attempt to be selfless.
It takes all my energy to act happy for Brad as he cheerfully chats about his wedding plans. The truth is, that besides the pain that comes from knowing what a horrible person he is marrying, there is also the pain of knowing that even though what he has may be bad, at least it’s real. It’s more than a little hard for me to deal with the “realism” of Brad’s wedding in contrast to the “fakeness” of my own, but somehow I manage to hold it together.
45
A “Date” With Justin
It has been easy to lose sight of why I originally got into this wedding nonsense ... in fact, it feels easier all the time. With all of the “unfun” requirements and demands of wedding planning, it has been an effort for me to keep my “eyes on the prize” and remember that this is my chance to experience being a bride and truly relish it. That is, up until this week when things have become much more fun and I am constantly reminded of why it is worth it to lie to everyone I hold near and dear. Most days it feels worth it again.
Now, with two months until the big day, the lists from Martha are getting shorter and the items on them are more enjoyable—they are the kind of tasks that made me long to be a bride. Instead of long lists of tedious and stressful decisions like selecting florists, caterers, and photographers, my mind is now occupied with much more pleasant subjects like hairstyles, makeup, and shoes.
Today, Justin and I are at Capella Salon on the Upper West Side to have my hair and makeup run-through. The girl who will be doing my hair and makeup for the big day admits that we are the first couple to come in together ... obviously what she doesn’t know is that we are also the first couple where the “future husband” is paid to act as such. That’s okay, though. The truth is that I really need Justin’s advice on these important decisions.
I am really glad that he has come along, and he definitely seems to be enjoying it, but Eden, the hairstylist, probably wants to kill us both. Every time she picks up a section of my hair, Justin says, “Eh, eh, eh,” and tells her a different way to do it. He might have been annoying to her, but in the end I LOVE the hairdo they have created. Plus, I think it will look stunning with my dress ... poor Eden almost lost it when I described my dress in front of Justin. I felt like saying, Believe me, Eden, my wedding-day luck cannot get any worse.
Once the hair is finished, Eden moves on to my makeup, again with Justin in her face the entire time, and once again this pays off because it is one of the few times in my life that I have had a professional makeup job that didn’t look whorish. When it is all finished, Justin whips out his Polaroid and takes pictures of me from all angles to be sure that Eden will see exactly how everything should look on the big day.
We leave Capella and I feel sort of silly with my ultrafor-mal hair and makeup in jeans and a sweater. Justin insists it looks fabulous and treats me to dinner to prove it. It’s fun to have a night with just the two of us. We talk about some wedding stuff and we talk about some Logan stuff. In the beginning we got to be such good friends because it was this “us against the world” feeling and because we had this huge secret that nobody else knew. Once we let Logan in on the secret and Justin starting spending more of his time and energy helping Logan through his stuff, I felt grateful but I also started to feel slightly left out.
After dinner, we decide to swing by “our place.” With all the insanity over the past few months (and my embarrassment at the attention we get whenever we go there), we haven’t had as many of our regular breakfasts as we used to. Tonight it’s no more crowded than it is in the morning, but it’s a different-looking crowd. On the weekend mornings, it’s filled with people in expensive sweat suits reading their papers and eating muffins while their dogs sit patiently at their feet. At night, it’s people in trendy clothes stopping for a shot of espresso to keep them going through an active night of clubs and bars. It is also a different staff and nobody realizes that we are the engaged Starbucks celebrities. We squeeze past all the twentysomethings with their caffeine jolts to our table where we sit down with our decaf, nonfat lattes to share a gingerbread man. I insist on treating ... now that Justin refuses to take money from me, I feel bad and maintain that I must pay whenever we go out. It’s only fair.
Justin and I chat excitedly about all the fun wedding stuff that is finally happening. With our invitations in the mail, many response cards already back, and my bridal shower a few weeks away, our gift registry at Bloomie’s has quite a dent in it. Okay, I must admit, I’m that person who cheats and goes on to view our registry to see what has been purchased. It’s just so exciting, though! Although Justin gets a good laugh from the fact that I’ve been checking up on the list, he’s also excited to hear about the loot that he will be bringing home.
We also laugh about the response cards we’ve received and the funny things his friends and family have said. He decided to inform most of the important family members and friends that the invitations were for the play he is doing, but then he decided to “shock the pants” off a couple of people, and it is clear by the RSVP enclosures that their pants are definitely gone. Just wait until the wedding day.
I have to admit that mindlessly chatting about all these details helps take my mind off the things that normally torture it. You know what they say about idle hands? The same goes for idle minds. If I can keep myself completely occupied, it’s much easier to cope than when I am just open to thinking of all the things I’m doing wrong. I guess it’s the upside of having to take care of so many wedding details that I hadn’t expected when I began this crazy journey.
46
The Much Anticipated Shower
It’s weird how, with all this planning, I hadn’t really made myself mentally prepared for what it would be like to be the absolute center of attention. I mean, we’ve been doing all this work and obviously I desperately want to be a bride or I wouldn’t have gone out and hired a fake, gay fiancé, but in all my dreaming of being the bride, I failed to think about how that meant 400 eyes would be on me.
Today, I am a nervous wreck because it’s kind of the warm-up to the wedding ... the bridal shower. Now
don’t get me wrong—I am insanely excited about the shower. A bridal shower was one of the main events I was longing for that led me to make my fake wedding decision—I mean, by the end of the day I could very well own a French whisk—but now that the day is here and I am getting ready, I am realizing that it’s a little scary.
My mom was a complete sweetheart and bought me a new outfit for the occasion. It’s an adorable sky-blue dress from J. Crew. The top has a flattering V-neck with an embroidered band around the waist and an A-line skirt to the bottom of my knee. For some reason it’s uncomfortably hot in Manhattan today ... or I am uncomfortably sweaty from nerves, so I put my hair up in a highish ponytail to keep from passing out from heatstroke. Justin approves of my outfit, so at the very least I can rest assured that I look good.
Mom and Jamie are throwing me the shower at the same restaurant where we had Jamie’s baby shower (which now feels so long ago). I’m trying not to be a Jamie and feel disappointed that they didn’t find a different place for me ... and the truth is that the restaurant was great and the service was fabulous, so it really is the perfect spot. The biggest difference between Jamie’s shower and my shower is that the hostesses today are far calmer than I was. Apparently they both remembered to purchase my gifts before the day of the shower ... show-offs.
They arrive at my apartment, with Kate, only ten minutes after they said they would and they are both calm, collected, and looking fabulous. How my sister got herself and her baby ready on time and looking adorable amazes me ... see what I mean about motherhood really bringing out the best in her? Honestly, Kate’s outfit is a little cuter than mine, but I am determined not to be jealous of someone who doesn’t even have teeth.
Together, the three of us make our way downstairs and into the Explorer, which Mom has semilegally parked. She must have picked Jamie and Kate up on her way to my apartment because Kate’s car seat is already strapped in the backseat. I can’t help but be amused at how Jamie now leaps for the backseat to sit with her daughter with the same insistence with which she took the front when she was expecting ... and when we were kids, too—she was the queen of yelling “shotgun” the night before. I kind of suspected she used her pregnancy as an excuse to get the coveted seat.
We all pile in and make our way across town. Because it’s the weekend, traffic isn’t too bad and we get to the restaurant five minutes before the time on the invitation. We hardly have our purses down when my Aunt Belinda and her daughter Michelle, one of the biggest bridezillas of all time, arrive. Suddenly, I am very shy. I decide to concentrate on what is in front of me, so I greet Belinda and Michelle and ignore that out of the corner of my eye I can see the room filling up.
Once everyone has arrived and has been greeted, I relax a bit and start to enjoy myself. It’s so much fun finally being the bride! I tell the story of how we met, our “first date,” our engagement ... everyone wants to hear every story twice, and luckily, I don’t mind telling. They ask me about wedding details and honeymoon plans (of which there are none ... obviously, but I just say he’s going to surprise me). Everyone sits down for a lovely lunch and then, the moment we’ve all been waiting for: the presents!
I joyfully unwrap each package to find the items specifically requested and already adored. All the guests politely ooh and aah as I hold up pink rubber spatulas and three-tiered cookie plates. And as I open, Jamie uses all the ribbons and bows to create an adorable rehearsal bouquet for me, and I secretly save the nicest pieces of wrapping paper and all the gift bags.
I am truly touched by everyone’s generosity. Today finally feels like payback time for all the years that it hasn’t been my turn. I know I sound so selfish and shallow, but unless you have been miserably single for a decade while your friends were all showered in affection, you can’t understand where I’m coming from ... if you’ve been there, you know. It’s nice to be on this side of things at last.
Then everyone is served slices of delicious chocolate cake with two hot-pink hearts that say Molly in one and Justin in the other. The whole event feels like it lasts about thirty minutes. When the final guest leaves, I look at my watch and am shocked to see that three hours have gone by. Talk about time flies when you are having fun!
47
The Countdown Begins
Time continues to fly and before I know it, it’s June. I have two weeks of school left before summer vacation, so I decide not to stress about any wedding stuff until I am on break. Yeah, right. I stress morning, noon, and night. The kids offer me a small distraction, but it’s been warm and sunny out and not a single person is thinking about school.
It’s hard to believe how quickly this school year has flown by, and it’s crazy to think about how fast my fake engagement period has passed. Besides the obvious wedding-related nerves, I’m feeling really sad that my engagement is almost over. I wish I’d been able to afford to rent Justin for longer. Even I realize how ridiculous that sounds, but being engaged has been so much fun, even if it has been a lot more work than I anticipated. Plus, there is the looming dark cloud that hangs over me, reminding me that at the end of my fake wedding day, I have to go home alone. Once again, I’ll be face-to-face with the emptiness of being single.
My days are filled with the trying job of keeping my students under some semblance of control and getting them ready to start the fourth grade ... no small task. Surprisingly, though, the ten days fly by and before I’m ready, the yearbooks are being handed out and it’s the last day of the school year. The last day of school is always bittersweet for me. Like any normal human being, I’m thrilled to be starting a three-month vacation ... but it’s also hard for me to say good-bye to the kids I’ve grown so attached to over the past nine months.
The kids, of course, are never sad to say good-bye. They run around the room like wild animals, signing yearbooks and eating cake. I am always sure to sign each student’s book and present them with their third-grade graduation gift: an erasable pen.
Pen is the preferred writing instrument for the fourth grade and the erasable pen is a helpful segue from pencils. I am always amused by how, at age nine, being given permission to write in ink is so monumental. It’s funny how things like that work ... like in second grade you learn cursive and you can’t wait to learn it and you think you’ll never print again ... but almost every grown-up I know prints everything they write. You pretty much use cursive to sign your checks and credit card slips and nothing else.
Finally the end of the day comes and I watch my students walk out the door and prepare myself, knowing that a whole different group of kids will be walking through it next fall. Some parents are kind enough to give “end of the year” teacher gifts and a few others know I’m getting married, so I have a small pile of presents to get home and the sad task of taking down all my classroom decorations. For some reason we have to remove everything over the summer, even though we have the same rooms each year. I’m sad to see the kids go but try to console myself by thinking about what all the coming weeks hold. EEK! I’m getting married ... well, having a wedding ... in two weeks!
48
Two Weeks to Go
The next day I find myself at Barney’s with my actual wedding dress on my body for the final fitting. It is so much prettier than I even remember it being! My mother, my sister, and Helen all look on in awe. Then Helen takes the delicate tulle veil out and attaches it to my head with a small, pearl crown. Needless to say, my mom and Jamie burst into tears. I have too much on my mind to be my normal, overly emotional self.
Martha’s lists have gotten long again and these items are much more hands-on and time-consuming. How ridiculous is it that I now long for the easy days of hiring DJs and videographers? Nowadays, updating the caterer with guest counts as little response cards fill the mailbox and writing thank-you notes for the many gifts already received take up my time.
I am amazed at what an angel Justin is, because really, his role is finished. Once we got engaged I needed him to be at fewer events because o
ur “love” was proven; however, he has remained an awesome friend and partner in all the wedding planning. Secretly, I think he must enjoy doing it, because he’s over at my apartment as much as ever.
I take a final look at myself in the dress and try to imagine how it will feel putting it on on my wedding day. Honestly, it’s hard to imagine. It’s hard to without risking throwing up, anyway. With Helen’s help I step off the seamstress’s platform and take the dress off, careful not to stick myself with the few pins she put in. All the stress of the past month has caused me to drop a few pounds, so the dress needs to come in a touch. I leave the dress with Helen and join my mother and sister for lunch upstairs at Fred’s ... they proclaimed to be too hungry to wait for me to get changed and went up to secure a table and a basket of bread before I had the dress off.
Mom and Jamie are already sitting at a table when I find them. The wedding stress has really been getting to me, so I am hoping for one relaxing lunch, free from wedding talk ... too bad I don’t get that. They both have “Wedding Day Itineraries” in front of them and a third is lying in front of what is to be my seat.
As soon as I sit down, Mom begins.
“Now, girls,” she says, and I silently swear that I will be so glad when Marion is out of her life and the “nows” stop. “Marion has printed up wedding-day itineraries for the bride, mother of the bride, and maid of honor.”
“Matron of honor,” Jamie corrects her, but Mom doesn’t seem to notice ... she’s too focused.
Not Quite A Bride Page 21