by Tara West
Huh?
"Ahhh. We've found a fourth bridesmaid."
My heart stops beating for an eternal second when I see Nora's gaze fixed on Karri.
Karri takes a step back. "M-Me?" she stammers. "You want me to be a bridesmaid?" Despite Karri's incredulous tone, there's a wistfulness in her gaze. I don't like it one bit.
"I don't think so," I say as I square my shoulders and glare at Nora, then Karri.
"I remember you." Nora crosses over to Karri and settles her hand on her arm as if they're old friends. Then she flashes me a wide grin. "You two were practically joined at the hip when Christina was in high school."
Karri tilts up her chin. "We were besties."
"Things change," I groan as I cross my arms.
Nora's demeanor suddenly shifts, and I'm reminded of the way weather in Texas can go from sunny and calm to cloudy and stormy within the blink of an eye. "Beggars can't be choosers, Christina." Her mouth hardens as she points a finger at my chest. "You need a fourth bridesmaid."
***
"Are you coming out or what?" Grace is pounding on the fitting room door where Violet has barricaded herself.
I've got a wedding-induced migraine, so I'm nursing a ginger ale while I sink back in a cushy, oversized chair, wondering how the hell the day of my dreams is turning into my worst nightmare. Tia has just revealed to Marie the shocking news that she thinks Grace and Violet may be lesbians. Marie is sulking in a nearby chair. After she begrudgingly tried on the red dress we chose, Marie refuses to try on anything else, claiming the dresses Grace and I like are for "putas." I'm not sure what a "puta" is, and I get the feeling I don't want to know.
Grace has already changed back into her jeans and turtleneck, but she looked incredible in the shimmery red silk dress. It had a V neck, tapered waist, and just the right amount of swish when she twirled. Not to mention the fact that her long, lean legs looked absolutely stunning in it. The best part is I think this bridesmaid's dress will complement the red flowers on my gown. I can see why Marie doesn't like it. Like me, she's short, but she's got a much thicker build. When Grace twirled and the iridescent colors caught the light, she reminded me of a rose in full bloom. Marie looked more like a turnip that's been sprayed with a water hose.
Finally, the door to the dressing room creeks open, and Violet, or what was once Violet, hesitantly steps out. I jerk up and slosh ginger ale down my shirt, letting out a low whistle at the bombshell before me.
"I look stupid." Violet glares at Grace who looks as stunned as I feel.
The salesladies gave Violet a wig of straight goth-black hair with cropped bangs, hooped earrings, and someone even painted her face with mascara and cherry lipstick to match the dress. The red heels compliment Violet's mile-high legs.
She looks runway model perfect. If it wasn't for that pained, constipated look in her eyes, I'd say Violet makes a damn fine girl.
Grace's gaze travels the length of her girlfriend, and her bright eyes darken as she licks her lips. I know Grace is thinking about dressing room sex right about now.
"Babe." Grace stroke's Violet's slender arm. "You look good enough to eat."
I hear Tia whispering even louder to her niece. "I told you they're lesbians."
Violet's shoulders fall, and she hunches awkwardly while kicking the carpet with a spiked heel. "It's not me."
"But you're beautiful." Grace turns to the plump, thirty-something saleswoman, who's beaming from ear to ear as she hovers behind them. "Do you sell these wigs here?"
"We sure do," the woman says.
Violet tugs at the wig until it's sitting at an awkward angle on her head. "Can I take it off now?"
Grace gasps and swats Violet's hands while adjusting the wig. "Don't you want to look sexy for me?"
"Lesbians," Tia hisses again.
Oh, dear God!
I can only imagine Tia's panicking how to explain all of this to the family priest. First a "soiled" bride and then lesbian bridesmaids in "puta" dresses.
Violet jerks the wig off her head and storms back into the dressing room. Grace tries to stop her and nearly gets her hand caught in the door.
"I'm not wearing this damn wig," she hollers from behind the door.
"Stubborn jerk!" Grace punches the door and then storms toward me and flounces into a nearby chair. Groaning, she hangs her head in her hands.
I don't want to turn around, but I'm sure Tia and Marie are sharing disapproving glances.
Karri comes out of the adjacent dressing room. Sadly, the dress isn't doing much for her. The bright red only makes her pale complexion look more sallow and the circles around her sunken eye sockets more pronounced. And her cotton candy hair clashes with that bright apple dress in the worst way. She looks like a mutant circus snack.
I cringe when I hear Marie's raucous laughter behind me. I still can't believe I allowed Tia to bulldoze my wedding plans. That I allowed Marie to have any part at all in my wedding. The bitch should be lucky she's even invited, and now here she is making fun of my bridesmaid dresses, actually pretending she wants to be in my wedding? Now that Karri has been pulled into this, I feel like I'm about past my breaking point.
But what pisses me off the most is that I've allowed this wedding circus to continue. I didn't put my foot down from the start and demand to have my wedding my way. What the hell is wrong with me? Seven months ago, when I walked out on my domineering ex-fiancé and controlling mother, I vowed I'd never allow anyone to push me around again. Now here I am right back where I started, the wimpy pushover Christina. I don't know if it's the pregnancy hormones turning me back into the old Christina, but I don't like her one bit.
Karri flashes me a hesitant smile. "Isn't it pretty?" She says as she bunches the fabric in her hands and spins around. "I feel like we're back in high school, and we're prom dress shopping."
Those days are long gone, I want to tell her, but I don't. Something about Karri's half smile looks so pathetic, I actually feel more pity than anger toward the girl who screwed my ex-fiancé and then ran out on her family.
Kari spins another slow circle and her face falls as she stops to stare at herself in the mirror. I'm thinking maybe she doesn't like the reflection of a washed up druggie staring back at her, but she reaches across her body and settles it on one pale shoulder. The shoulder with Tyler's name scrawled inside a heart tattoo.
I remember the day she got it. It was our first night clubbing after she'd had Tyler. We hadn't stayed out late, mostly because I insisted she needed to get a good night's sleep, so she would be alert for her baby the next day, but she'd insisted on stopping off in that tattoo shop. I remember how angry I was she'd spent a hundred bucks on a tattoo when she was always complaining about the cost of diapers. But anger turned to empathy when she emerged from the artist's chair with a tattoo dedicated to her baby boy.
Nora, whom I'm pretty sure had been napping just moments earlier, sets down her empty champagne glass and rises from the sofa on wobbly legs. She walks up to Karri and slowly circles her, looking sideways at her like she's an errant dog who's been caught humping the pillow cushions. "You'll have to tone down your hair."
Karris' eyes bulge as her hands fly to her scalp. "My hair?"
Nora's collagen enhanced lips twist into a puffy scowl. "It's too pink. It will detract from the bride." She waves at me with an impatient flick of the wrist. "This is her day, not yours."
Really, Nora? Because it seems more like everyone else's day.
Karri's bottom lip turns into a pout. "But it matches the dress."
I fight to keep from laughing out loud. Karri's never had great fashion sense, and I've always suspected she was color blind, too.
Karri looks at me with eyes as big as a little lost lamb's. "What do you think I should do, Christina?"
Her question catches me off guard, maybe because it's the first time anyone other than Grace actually cares what I want.
"What do I think?" I ask as I clench my hands and slowly rise. "Does a
nyone care what I think?" I do a visual sweep of the room, disheartened by the blank stares. Grace pops her head up and rises to stand beside me. Just as I thought. Other than Grace, nobody else cares.
"Of course we care, darling," Nora slurs as she sweeps her arm with drunken flourish toward everyone.
Tia swears something in Spanish and Marie snickers. Karri drops her gaze to the floor and then sulks away. A distinct ripping sound comes from Violet's dressing room.
I cock my hand on my hip and glare at Tia and Marie. "What I think is I need a drink. A big, strong one."
Tia gasps and shakes her head.
This time I don't repress the urge to hold back my feelings. I roll my eyes so hard, I imagine the whites are scraping the ceiling. "But I can't drink because I'm pregnant, so I'll have to settle for some chocolate." I grab my purse off the chair and turn to Grace. "Are you ready to go to lunch? I'm hungry."
"Yes, please." Grace doesn't bother saying good-bye to Violet as she grabs my hand and we head out the door.
"Where are you going?" Tia calls behind us, but neither of us look back as we jump into Grace's car and peel out of the lot.
***
Grace and I are sitting across from each other in a cozy booth at a posh little café. Country Christmas music filters in from speakers all around the café. I actually don't mind it so much. George Straight's Christmas Cookies song is one of my favorites. It brings back a fond memory of Karri's mom baking sugar cookies with us when we were kids.
I like how they've decorated the place with pinecone wreaths and mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. We've already gotten our drinks, and I'm anxiously awaiting my order. Grace has promised me "The World's Best Brownie." I so wanted a double latte with an extra heaping of whipped cream and shaved chocolate, but I've opted for an organic green tea with stevia instead. Andrés would be proud of me... well, except for the brownie part.
Marie has already texted me three times asking if I'm coming back to the bridal shop. I have no idea how Marie got my number. I'm assuming Tia gave it to her. I don't need the added stress right now, so I choose to power down my phone rather than answer her.
"I don't want Karri and Marie as my bridesmaids, and no offense, but Violet really doesn't look happy in a dress." I take a sip of my tea, and try to swallow it without tasting. I've never gotten used to the odd flavor, and I suspect the tea gets its green coloring from runny diaper doo. I swear this stuff leaves a pungent aftertaste that's almost as bad as kissing Jackson.
Grace pulls a face, looking as if she's just swallowed a lemon wedge in her organic green tea. No, wait, maybe it's the tea. "I guess it's not her thing," she says with an exasperated breath.
Now I feel bad. I play with the string on my stinky tea bag and slump in my seat as I think about how this whole wedding is going down the toilet. Most of my bridal party is made up of people I don't want (or else people who don't want) to be in my wedding.
"Then don't make her wear it."
I think back to Violet as she came out in that dress and wig. Other than that twisted scowl, she makes a hot chick. Too bad she doesn't want to be in my wedding. Then again, maybe I don't want two lanky beauties outshining me on my special day. It's bad enough I'll probably be bloated and "soiled."
"I was trying to help you. I want you to have enough bridesmaids." Grace flashes a woeful smile, the kind of smile I'd give to a three-legged dog or a homeless baby. Okay, maybe I went a little overboard with the homeless baby part, but the smile oozed pity, and the fact that my wedding is turning into a charity case is over-the-top humiliating.
"I did have enough." I square my shoulders and turn up my chin. "I had you. I don't want anyone to do anything they don't want to do. I want my wedding to be happy and fun." Images of Violet ripping off her wig and Marie's smug smile flash through my mind. I pound the table with my fist. "I want red flowers on my dress. I want fucking tamales!" I cringe when I hear a gasp at the booth behind us, and I drop my voice to a strained whisper. "I don't want this wedding. Not like this."
Grace's blue eyes turn as dark as a stormy sea. "Do you want me to tell them to back off?"
"No." I groan as I push aside my tea cup. "That will piss them off even more."
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know." I feign a smile. "Eat chocolate." I really wish the waiter would hurry up with my brownie. Maybe if I get enough chocolate in my system, I'll forget all of my troubles in a sugar induced haze.
Grace frowns. "You look terrible. Aren't you sleeping?"
"Just feeling a little under the weather," I mumble. I reach for my stinky tea and stare into the steamy green liquid. Truthfully, it's hard to sleep in that big bed alone, especially when I'm forced to endure listening to my fiancé's night terrors in the other room.
"You're rushing this wedding."
I jerk my head up to see my best friend eyeing me pointedly.
"It's a little too late for the lecture." Smirking, I pat my stomach.
Grace responds with a patronizing scowl.
I'm tired of pretending I'm drinking liquid vomit, so I set my tea down for good, grimacing as it sloshes all over my hand. "What about you and Violet?" I ask with a note of accusation in my voice. After all, she's got no room to criticize Andrés and me for getting married so soon when she and Violet started talking about marriage months ago. "You two have been dating as long as Andrés and I have."
Now it's Grace's turn to avert her gaze. Uh, oh. I was hoping their little argument in the bridal shop was no big deal.
When her eyes gloss over, I clasp her hands in mine. "What's wrong?"
"I think we rushed things." She sniffles. Oh, crap. Grace is one of the strongest women I've ever known. Other than the time her parents disowned her after she came out, I don't think I've ever seen her cry.
"You two used to seem so happy together."
Grace grabs a cloth napkin off the table and dabs her eyes. "The honeymoon's over. Now she's taking in all these troubled teens."
"But that should be perfect for you. Isn't that why you're studying to be a therapist?"
Grace dabs her eyes again and then blows her nose.
I jerk back at the sound that comes from her nose, a cross between a dying whale and a fog horn. Wow. That's something I've never, ever seen her do. Grace had been raised to be a prim and proper southern belle.
"Yeah," she says as she daintily folds the napkin and sets it to the side, "but Violet doesn't want my input on how to deal with them. It's like my opinion doesn't matter."
I look at the busboy cleaning a nearby booth, and I think about warning him to use rubber gloves for our table, but Grace needs me at the moment, so calling out the Hazmat team will have to wait. "Andrés and I went through that, remember? I didn't listen at all to him."
Grace sinks into the booth and rubs her temple. "You guys worked through that, but I don't know if this is fixable. And it's not just that. She's always so busy, we hardly do anything together anymore, unless it involves the ranch."
I think back to last night, and every other night these past few weeks, when Andrés has had to work late. I have been telling myself things will get better when he learns the ropes, but Andrés has been working there for almost a year. What if these long shifts are permanent? But I push those dark thoughts aside. Andrés will make time for us. He has to.
"What are you going to do?" I ask, when in reality, I know I'm asking myself the same question.
"I'm going to give it a little more time and try to see if she can understand my side, but we're definitely not getting married anytime soon." The hopeless look in Grace's eyes is enough to break my heart.
"I don't blame you," I barely rasp, choked up all of a sudden. I decide to blame it on the tea, and not the bad feeling I get about this wedding. I burp up the rancid taste of old stevia and pungent tea. Ew. Guess that's my karma.
I want to curl up into a fetal ball and roll away from this whole conversation when Grace looks at me again with that pitiful
smile. "It was only a few weeks ago that Andrés walked out on you. Are you sure you're ready to get married so soon?"
I don't want to answer her question, so I look away, and then damn, I'm burping up tea again. I should have had the latte. Despite the café's noisy chatter and clatter of forks scraping plates, I feel like I'm trapped inside a glass bubble with Grace, and she won't let me out until I tell her the truth, but I'm not even ready to face the truth myself. Everything about this wedding feels wrong, and the bubble around me is closing in, cramping my space and making it hard to breathe. I'm forced to ask myself why I'm doing this. And I don't just mean the shrimp puffs and annoying bridesmaids. Why am I marrying a man who is clearly overworked and overstressed?
Because you love him, Christina, a voice inside me echoes. And it's true, I do love him more than life, but I still can't help but wonder if we're making a mistake.
Grace slaps a white envelope in front of me, startling me.
She flashes a crooked smile. "I'm sorry. We came to this lunch to celebrate right?"
"What's this?" I say as I pick up the envelope and dump the contents on the table.
"An early wedding present," she says with a wink.
I gasp when I recognize the airline printout. "Tickets to Vegas? Grace, these must have cost a fortune. I can't accept these."
"Too late." She arches back against her seat, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. "They're non-refundable. Besides, Violet helped me pay for them."
I'm completely stunned. Vegas. Wow. I've always wanted to go. That was my original dream for my twenty-first birthday. I'd hinted to Jackson more than once, but he said he didn't like to gamble, as if my twenty-first birthday was supposed to be about him.
"So is this for our honeymoon?"
Grace laughs out loud. "Would you listen to yourself? These tickets are for whenever you want. I'm not the one to tell you where to honeymoon."
I shrug half-heartedly. "Everyone's making all the wedding decisions for me, I guess I fell into habit. I've always wanted to go to Vegas, though." I clutch the tickets to my chest and smile. "Thank you. A Vegas honeymoon would be perfect."