The Less Than Perfect Wedding

by Sam Westland

  Fortunately, my mother was the first one to back down. "Well, your sister's on her way," she finally said, plopping down on another of the chairs at the front of the room and crossing her arms. "She'll be inside in just a minute."

  As my sister was finally done with whatever she was doing in the parking lot and heading towards the front door, I saw a long, massive sedan pull into the parking lot - Judy was here! Bustling out of her car with her ever-present big fur coat hanging lightly off her shoulders, Judy arrived at the front door with just enough time to hold it open for my sister to enter, and then followed her inside.

  I couldn't help but observe the wildly different manners by which the two women greeted me. Susan gave me a brief moment of eye contact before sweeping her gaze around the shop, taking note of who was here, and then settled down sullenly into one of the chairs. She clearly looked as though my mother had been the driving force behind her presence here. Judy, on the other hand, immediately swept me up into a bear hug, crushing my face into the fur of her coat.

  "Oh, Danielle, I'm so happy for you!" Judy espoused loudly into my ear as she squeezed me. "This will be so much fun!"

  "Thank you," I wheezed, finally managing to fight my way free. "I'm happy that you could make it, Judy."

  After releasing me, Judy turned and gazed around at the other members of my bridal party, still wearing her wide grin. "So, let's get this started!" she cheered. "Where's the sales lady? Let's get this party going!"

  Claire and Sally glanced towards the back room, where the employee had been last spotted. "Shacklett!" Claire yelled out.

  We waited, but no one appeared around the corner. "Shattle!" I tried next.

  Still nothing. We both turned towards Sally, who stood up from her chair, set the binder down on the seat behind her with great care, and then took a couple apprehensive steps towards the back of the shop. "Shuckle?" she called, her voice wavering slightly.

  An instant after Sally's call, the woman finally popped around the corner, her mouth still twisted down into a puckered frown as she surveyed us. "We're all here," I spoke up. "Can we see some of the dresses?"

  For a moment, I could have sworn that the tall, gaunt woman (Shuckle, I supposed?) was considering turning me down, kicking all of us out of the shop so she wouldn't have to deal with the inconvenience of selling her merchandise. But after a long sigh, she waved me back, and I headed towards the back of the shop to pick out some gowns to try on.

  *

  I had never been one of those girls that spent their childhood poring over wedding magazines, trying to pick out the perfect outfit, the perfect flowers, the perfect location, the perfect dress. This didn't mean, however, that I didn't have a pretty decent of the sort of dress that I was after. I wanted something simple, elegant, obviously white, and I was going for a sheath style. As a child, I had stumbled upon a picture of a Victorian ball, all the women in poufy outfits, and had instantly decided that I was never going to wear anything that ridiculous.

  A bit of online searching had revealed a dizzying array of different styles and price ranges for wedding gowns. My mouth fell open in horror when I realized that some of the "pretty dresses" I had found after following a labyrinth of links cost more than my car! There was no way I was going to spend that much on a stupid white dress that I'd only wear a single night of my life. I was going to find something comfortable that didn't make me look too bad, something that I could move around in without falling flat on my face, and something that wouldn't require my first-born in payment.

  Unfortunately, it didn't seem that finding that perfect dress would be as easy as I had hoped. Heading towards the fitting areas in the back of the shop, we passed by rack after rack of pristine white dresses. I could discern no sort of pattern in their distribution, at least from the ones turned at the ends of the racks to be visible to me. I supposed that we would have to rely on the uncertain help from Shuckle, who had scurried off ahead of us, quickly disappearing into the wedding-themed jungle.

  We eventually arrived at a back area, after pushing through the myriad of dresses, and found several couches laid out around a slatted door, probably leading to a changing area. Judy immediately flopped down on one of the couches with a sigh of relief. "Lordy, this shop is bigger than I expected!" she exclaimed as she sank into the couch cushions.

  Susan sighed but took a seat on the couch as well, making it obvious that she was picking the furthest seat from the dressing room. If she wasn't going to be the center of attention, she clearly didn't want to be in the group at all. Claire plopped down front and center, giving me an encouraging smile, and my mother settled into a nearby armchair. Sally was still doing her best to not get too close to my mother, perhaps fearing a spontaneous bout of yelling, and she eventually settled in on the same couch as Claire and Judy, her big wedding book still clutched to her chest.

  Once again, there was no sign of Shuckle. I started to turn around and look for her, my mouth opening, but before I even had the chance to speak, she came popping out from between two aisles, springing up like a Jack-in-the-box. I had no idea how she was able to move so quietly. "And what would we like to see?" she asked, staring hard directly into my eyes.

  I tried to look past her piercing stare. "I was thinking about something simple, maybe a sheath style?" I asked, remembering the words from my internet searches. I remembered how the full, gigantic, awkward dresses were typically labeled as ball gowns. There had also been a category called "mermaid" or "trumpet," where the dress flared out for the hips and then came in tighter at the knees, but I couldn't imagine managing to stay on my feet in anything like that. I'd look like a lamp, and go toppling over like one as soon as I tried to take a step!

  "Lace?" the woman retorted. It took me a minute to realize that it was supposed to be a question.

  "Um, not too much," I replied. Her eyes were still staring at me, as if she was attempting to break into my thoughts by force, presumably to read telepathically what dress I really wanted. "Again, something simple."

  "Straps?"

  I shrugged; I really didn't have a preference. It was really just a dress! I again found myself thinking. Can't I just try on a few, find one that I liked, and then buy it?

  Out of nowhere, Shuckle materialized a flexible measuring tape, which she wrapped around my various body parts without even a word of warning. I'll admit that I definitely tensed up when she lunged forward towards me without a warning, but instead of wrapping the flexible tape around my neck, she simply pulled it around my bust, waist, and hips. After mentally noting the measurements, she clicked her tongue at me, and then disappeared off into the wilderness of dresses around us.

  I turned to Claire, opening my mouth to make some comment about the sales woman's weirdness, but she was back before I could even speak. This time, the flutter of the dresses she bore under her arms betrayed her, and I managed to turn back around to meet her before she was at my shoulder unseen. She thrust the dresses in her hands out, into mine.

  "Try these," she ordered, pointing towards the dressing room. Without much choice and feeling cowed by the commands, I nodded, and stepped in through the slatted door.

  The dressing room was at least pleasantly roomy, with several hooks to hold the other dresses and my street clothes. The other three walls all sported mirrors, giving me a trio of views of myself. Through the slats of the door, I could still hear everything that was going on outside as clear as if I was standing in the middle of the couches and armchairs.

  "Aren't there supposed to be drinks and things at this?" That was my sister's voice complaining. "Shouldn't we all be having champagne and cheering every time she comes out or something?"

  "Danielle didn't want this to be a big thing," replied Sally, kindly attempting to cover for me. Honestly, I hadn't even thought about it. I'd assumed that there would be champagne or something on hand, maybe a cash bar over in the corner of the boutique. My assumptions had clearly been wildly inaccurate. Sex in the City lied to me! I thought brie
fly before I turned my attention back to squeezing into the first of the dresses that had been shoved into my arms.

  "Whatever." My sister again. "At least I came prepared. I'll be back."

  I could hear a set of retreating footsteps as I wiggled my arms through the straps and attempted to reach behind me to somehow zip up the of the first dress. I wasn't too hurt by her leaving. I had done the proper thing and had invited her; what Suzy chose to do after that was totally up to her. Finally managing to get the dress at least covering all the important bits, I turned and stepped out of the dressing room.

  As soon as she laid eyes on me, Judy burst out in clapping. "Oh, you look amazing! So beautiful!" she enthused, gushing with pleasure.

  Claire and Sally were both nodding, but just as I had predicted, there was a frown glued to my mother's face. "I don't know," she said, in that wheedling little tone of voice that she used for needling insults. "It just makes you look a little . . . Hippy, doesn't it?" Her hands dropped down to her own, considerably wider, hips to emphasize what she meant.

  I glanced down at myself. I wasn't quite sure what my mother was talking about. Sure, the dress showed off my hips, but wasn't that the point? Having a narrow waist and a nearly hourglass figure was one of the few things I was actually quite proud to be able to show off. Perhaps this was intended to make me feel bad about myself, but if so, it had missed the mark.

  Just as I turned to head back into the little dressing booth, Susan came running back up, a bottle clutched in each hand. She glanced at me, her eyes sweeping over my new outfit in white, and then returned her attention back down to what she had brought to the party. "I got drinks!" she announced.

  I just sighed and kept on heading back into the booth, the dress forcing me to take small steps to avoid possibly causing any tears in the fabric. Judy, however, clearly hadn't yet figured out our family dynamic. "Susan, what do you think of this dress?" she trilled to my younger sister. "Isn't it lovely?"

  Susan took another quick glance at me, shrugged, and went back to pulling the seal off of one of the bottles. "Yeah, looks like a wedding dress," she gave in. She reminded me of the kid at the back of the high school class, the one that everyone knew was destined to drop out before the end of the year, when called upon by the teacher. She had to say something, but she'd do her best to get away with the bare minimum. And no matter how much we pushed at her, Susan wouldn't say anything much better.

  Still, Shuckle kept on disappearing and returning with more handfuls of white cloth and lace, and so I began the longest day of clothes shopping I have ever experienced. I remembered back when I was shopping for a prom dress in high school, doing my best to find something that toed the line between "making all those boys jealous of my 'womanly gifts' on display" and "oh my god, Becky, she's totally being a slut". I had thought that finding that perfect dress was hard. But that was a cakewalk compared to this.

  *

  This was hell.

  Dress after dress flew on and off my figure, blending together into a never-ending stream of tight seams, sticky zippers, strained buttons, and miles upon miles of frilly, frustrating, bothersome lace. I was spending most of my time alone in that hot little dressing booth, struggling to cram my body into a variety of different little prisons. Sequins cut at my skin, pearls left red indents, and one especially frustrating zipper showed its vendetta against me by taking a small bite out of one buttock. The more dresses I tried on, the more convinced I became that my body was a one-off, weirdly shaped and awkward in every single regard.

  When I emerged from the dressing room with each new garment somehow fastened around me enough to cover up most of my embarrassing body, I would get a smattering of comments, all of which seemed to be blending together. Susan would grunt out something unintelligible that was obscured further by the booze she was gulping down, Claire and Judy would be nothing but compliments and encouragement, and my mother would make another cryptic remark about how the dress didn't look quite right on me. These comments would flit about my head, ducking in and out of my ears without leaving any impression on my brain, and would be completely forgotten by the time I'd managed to squeeze into the next dress.

  Finally, after yet another dress had received the usual bag of mixed reviews, I stopped and threw up my hands. "This is going nowhere!" I shouted, startling Shuckle as she came bustling up with yet another handful of white. "Look, none of this is helping me make a decision! I don't even know what I'm looking for any more!"

  Both Claire and Judy opened their mouths to respond, but surprisingly, Shuckle beat them both to it. "The dress chooses the woman," she snapped in her acerbic tones. "When you find the right dress, you will feel that it suits you."

  I turned to stare at her. "That was how I felt with the first one!" I complained. "So why can't I just get that and not have to try on a million more?"

  "The first one has felt the best, compared to the rest of these?" Claire asked, repeating what I'd just said back to me.

  I nodded. "Yeah. It was the right shape, the right size, and it fit great. And when I was wearing it, I totally thought about walking down the aisle in it, and that would be completely all right with me."

  My mother held up a finger. "Are you sure that you don't want to try just a few-"

  "No!" Claire cut her off - probably the only person in the room willing to do so and risk her wrath. "The bride has final say, and if she likes the first dress, then we can get out of here before Susan pukes on it!"

  At those words, we all turned and looked at my younger sister. After bringing in a couple bottles of wine, she had resolutely decided that it was her duty to finish them so nothing would have to be carried out. She had made it nearly all of the way through the first bottle before being stalled, mainly by the fact that her fingers couldn't seem to close around the bottle any more. I was thankful that my mother had driven her to the shop.

  Doing our best to work around the dead weight of my younger sister, we found the original dress that I had felt suited me so nicely. As soon as it was out, my mother spoke up, badgering Shuckle about pricing. The saleswoman was doing her best to answer the questions, but the full frontal assault of my mother was slowly but surely battering down her hastily erected defenses.

  "I want to make sure my daughter gets every extravagance!" my mother insisted. "Price is no issue!"

  "Price most certainly is an issue!" I broke in. "Mom, you promised you'd stop trying to spend all of Dad's money! And we're not going to just throw money away because you're upset!"

  "I'm doing this for you!" my mother retorted, but my interjection gave Shuckle enough time to scuttle away with the dress. Hauling my sister bodily up out of the couch where she was on the verge of passing out, we began trooping back up to the front of the store to provide payment information.

  At the cash register, my mother waved the rest of us away, and I eventually gave in and decided to not fight this particular issue any longer. Shuckle and my mother began doing some sort of arcane dance with credit cards, while Claire helped me load the dress into my car. Susan was deposited into a chair in the front of the shop, where she immediately slumped over and began snoring faintly. Judy followed me out, holding the door and nearly bursting with excitement as she bobbed up and down.

  "Ooh, I'm so happy for you!" she burbled. "Now that you've got the dress, you're another step closer to walking down that aisle! Don't you feel so happy?"

  I wasn't quite sure what I felt. Ordinarily, I would feel happy, but the weight of dealing with all of my family, all the hassle and complications of this wedding, were starting to wear me down. I still couldn't wait for the wedding - but now I was looking forward more to it being over than to the actual day itself. I was anticipating not saying "I do," but getting to leave the chapel afterward.

  Of course, I couldn't say any of this to Judy. "I do feel happy," I told her. I wish it hadn't been a lie.

  The Bachelor(ette) Parties, Part I

  *

  It was barely a week
before the date of the wedding, and I felt like I was being stretched in twenty different directions at once. I would go to work each morning with my bag stuffed full of last-minute details to review - making sure that the seating charts were correct, drafts of Father Hemsley's sermons, all typed with horrible punctuation and spelling into a single paragraph in an email that he would send to me, and the horrendous mish-mash of a first draft of my wedding vows that I was procrastinating on writing. Between calls and documents at work, I would pore frantically over these documents, all of them spread out across my desk and occasionally sloughing off into loose puddles of paper on the floor. Inevitably, I'd be forced at the end of the day to cram them all back into my bag to haul home, no more progress made than if I had simply forgotten them that morning.

  Even at home, my life was being consumed by this wedding. As an event planner for Habitat, I should have been able to handle this challenge. I had thrown larger galas than this before! But somehow, even with Sally acting as my assistant and taking care of much of the coordination between the various vendors, I still felt as though this wedding would win out over me. I would eat whatever dinner Alex prepared, he would pop a movie into our television to watch, and then I would be on the floor poring over my charts before the second-act twist had even resolved itself.

  About half the time, I wouldn't even make it to bed; I have sleepy recollections of Alex reaching down, shaking my shoulders, half-supporting me as he managed to rouse me to the minimum level of wakefulness to get me off the rug in the living room of our apartment and down, around the hall, into bed. As soon as we reached the bed, I would flop forward into the soft comforter, leaving it to my long-suffering fiance to haul me up and roll me far enough onto the furniture so that I wouldn't fall off onto the floor halfway through the night. I would often wake up the next morning still half-clothed, tucked into the covers as my fiance slumbered beside me.