“You’re serious?” she finally asked.
Sunny slowly nodded. “I bought the dress before you said I should wear a tux. I don’t know why I didn’t say anything earlier. Guess I thought you would be…”
Laughter cracked through the room. Brandy slapped her hand on her desk, her grin so wide that it frightened poor Sunny, who continued to sink farther into her chair.
“Holy crap, Sun, you got me good.” The laughter continued as Brandy flung herself back into her swivel chair and almost knocked the whole thing over. Figurines rattled on the desk. A paper almost lost its spot on the edge. Sunny’s eyes were drawn to the diplomas and certifications hanging above her fiancée’s head. “I thought you were serious for a moment. Damn. Can’t say I’m mad about it, though. I really needed a good laugh recently. Phew.”
Sunny didn’t know whether to cry or barge out of Brandy’s office. She doesn’t believe me? How can she not believe me? She held one hand against her chest and promised herself that she wouldn’t cry. Not in front of Brandy. Not over something as important as this.
“I’m not joking,” she said.
It took Brandelyn a few more seconds to finally stop laughing. When she did, it was with confusion swimming in her dark brown eyes. “What?” she asked, humor drained from her face.
Sunny folded her arms, hoping it would propel her posture as she took her stand. “I said I’m not joking. I don’t want to wear a tux at our wedding.” Our wedding. That was the operative word here. Brandy wasn’t the only one getting married. Maybe Sunny had a few other things she cared about. There was meeting in the middle and making concessions, but it wasn’t up to Sunny to give up what went on her own body. “I’ve already bought a dress I really like, you know, like you’ve got a dress, too. I’m letting you know that I’ll be wearing it to the wedding.”
Brandy remained silent.
“I know it’s always been your big vision to wear a big, fluffy princess dress and marry someone wearing a tux… ‘cause you love the optics, the aesthetics, whatever… but maybe I don’t want to play that role. Maybe I’d like to feel like a princessy girl on my wedding day?”
Brandy gripped her pen in both hands. Was she about to snap it in half? Maybe this was when Sunny should start running. “It’s so unlike you to be that kind of woman.”
“That kind of woman?”
Sunny didn’t trust the look on Brandelyn’s face. Was she about to snap at her? Cry? Ask why Sunny dared to humiliate her in private like this? Sunny hated how she could only sit there and guess her fiancée’s reactions. I hate that this is a thing. Standing up for herself and what she wanted at her own damned wedding shouldn’t have been this dramatic. How could she marry a woman who didn’t respect her wishes? Who said things like, “It’s so unlike you to be that kind of woman,” when Sunny announced that she wanted to wear a dress?
Brandy softly lowered her pen to her desk. Her prim and proper posturing was more snotty, big city doctor condescending to her small town patient than one fiancée talking to the other. “I didn’t mean it that way,” she said, that terse tone striking Sunny right in the heart. “I mean… you have never come across as the kind of woman who wants to wear a dress for any occasion, let alone a wedding.”
“Would’ve been one thing if you let me make that decision, you know. Instead, you basically told me what I would be wearing. How could you assume something like that?”
Brandy gasped.
“I’m sorry.” Why was Sunny apologizing? She wasn’t the one fighting for her right to pick her own outfit at her own wedding! “It’s not fair. You get to have the image you want for your wedding. So, what, because I get a wedding outside of a church, I have to wear whatever you want me to in return?”
“It’s not like that. I genuinely thought you would want to wear a…”
“Why? I’m not that butch.” If the contest were between her and half the women in Paradise Valley, she definitely lost the competition. Sunny was positively femme compared to the likes of the sheriff and certain EMTs screeching down Main Street on a bad day. Not that Sunny put much stock in those representations. She simply wore what she liked, styled her hair a certain way, and didn’t give a shit if a well-meaning guest mistook her for a young man. Words like “butch” and “femme” had their place in Paradise Valley, but to Sunny Croker, she was content to do her thing and hope nobody gave her crap for it.
She never thought that a woman she might soon marry would be at the top of the crap-slinging list. But Brandy loved her traditional roles. She loved tradition, period. Even the wedding had to be a certain way to cater to that old school vision Brandy had been brought up with and never thought to change. Aspects of it were attractive, honestly. While Brandelyn was egalitarian in terms of who paid for what – and for God’s sake, she was the one who popped the question – she very much believed in one of them being the firm, steady provider and the other a more homemaking type. The irony came when self-proclaimed femme Brandy was the provider and sometimes-called-soft-butch Sunny the one into gardening, cooking, and housekeeping. Was it different because Sunny still ran her own business and always had her hands dirty? Or was it different because she fulfilled Brandy’s fantasy of the rural rube who might not have the best education, but had the respect of everyone in town because they were a good person?
Honestly, Brandelyn couldn’t follow her own rules, so she could piss off.
“Apparently, I’ve made an error of judgment.” Brandy wouldn’t look Sunny in the eye. Did that mean she truly conceded her attitude? Or that she didn’t find Sunny worth looking in the eye? “I had been making plans based on what I assumed you would want. Besides, you put most of the wedding planning in my hands. Or do you remember absolving yourself of those responsibilities?”
“Only because it was like having too many cooks in the kitchen!” Sunny rethought that. “More like too many cooks in your kitchen. I always hate trying to bring a little bit of myself into this wedding. I might step on your toes, or ruin your childhood vision, or whatever is the issue with me wanting to get married at the house or wear a dress. I bet if I asked if we had fewer orchids at the wedding, you’d die.”
“Why do you have to come for the orchids like that?”
“See? That’s what I’m talking about. Look, Bran, I don’t care if the wedding colors are pink or purple or blue or whatever. I don’t care if you want a whole bouquet of sunflowers. We could have vegan lasagna served with a side of rainbow sprinkle cake. You want to throw real rice instead of birdseed? Be my guest. Let’s watch those birdie bellies explode.”
“What are you going on about?”
But Sunny wouldn’t let up. Not when she looked her fiancée right in the eye and said, “How do I know that the only reason you’re marrying me isn’t because I check your boxes and nothing more? What if I grew out my hair and started wearing skirts for here on out? Would you still love me?”
Brandy’s jaw fell. “Where is all of this coming from? Have I ever treated you as someone less than human? Because that’s what you’re making me sound like right now.”
Honestly? Sunny didn’t know. She had worked herself up into such a frenzy that she second-guessed everything she thought and knew about her relationship. What if it was true that Brandy loved her, not for who she was inside, but how she looked on the outside? Because Sunny completed her precious aesthetic? What if she was willing to call off the wedding the moment Sunny walked down the aisle in a dress? Right now, the plan was for her to play the freakin’ groom in her little tux and without her mom or dad to give her away. I’m supposed to stand up there with Anita and look pleased as punch to have my impending wife coming at me.
Sunny stood up, making sure she still had her phone before she walked out of Brandy’s office. She’d be damned if she stayed around any longer and made a bigger fool of herself. Brandelyn had helped her plenty with that so far.
Chapter 11
BRANDELYN
“Can you believe that?” Bran
dy scoffed over her glass of red wine at dinner. While her stepfather grilled on the patio, Brandelyn sat with the women in her family, drinking wine, snacking on fresh grapes a patient delivered earlier that day, and going over the strange altercation Brandy and Sunny had a few hours ago. “She says all this stuff out of nowhere and runs away! She won’t respond to my texts or calls.” Brandelyn was “this” close to driving over to Waterlily House and confronting Sunny, but she knew that would be a terrible idea. When Sunny was ready to apologize, she’d contact her fiancée.
“Sounds like cold feet to me.” Cathy motioned for one of her daughters to refill her wine glass. Smoke from the charcoal heating up the grill rolled across the patio with the next breeze. Brandelyn’s stepfather waved his hand and grinned when his grandsons laughed. The boys went back to tossing a ball around Brandy’s backyard. Brandy tipped the bottle of wine into her mother’s glass and shook her head. “What?” Cathy continued. “She’s making up stuff to whine about, isn’t she? Starting a fuss for no reason other than to break off the wedding.”
Brandy almost choked on her wine. “Break off the wedding? She’s having a little snit. I highly doubt she’s going to call anything off.”
“I didn’t say she would. I said she’s getting cold feet and testing the warmer waters. Everyone does it, dear! Don’t you remember how Lizzie was at city hall when she got married?”
“Why do you have to drag me into this?” Lizzie snapped.
“Because I remember you crying in the women’s restroom on the fourth floor! Baaw, baaaaw, I don’t wanna marry the man who knocked me up although literally the only reason I’m pregnant was so he would finally marry me!”
Lizzie turned around in her seat with a scoff. “I was hormonal, all right? Matt absolutely creamed my hormones that first time I was pregnant.” Her oldest boy now tackled his brother, the two of them screaming in boyish delight. A neighbor peered over the fence before going back to minding his business. “You can’t blame me for that. Or are you trying to imply that Brandy’s lady is in a family way?”
“Elizabeth Meyer, you watch your mouth,” Cathy said with a huff. “Don’t go spreading things like that in a town like this.”
The thought of Sunny cheating on me with a guy, let alone getting pregnant with one, is so outrageous that I want to laugh. It would be Brandelyn’s first time laughing since the events in her office. “This isn’t about any of that, okay? She’s basically accusing me of being a Bridezilla and trying to tell her who to be. You just don’t do that in lesbian relationships. Not that I expect any of you to understand that.”
Her family didn’t take offense. They merely nodded, as if to say, “Naturally, we know nothing about it.”
“We women are delicate creatures, no matter who you pair yourself up with.” Cathy tipped back her wineglass while her daughters and niece waited for her to complete that thought. Knowing Catherine Meyer, it would either end with a poignant expression, or explode in offense. “Weddings are a big deal. I don’t care if you grew up in a cave off the grid and know nothing of traditional customs, you care about your wedding day.”
Is she judging me? Brandy honestly couldn’t tell. Sometimes, her mother was such a master of passive-aggression that she put most of these Oregonians to shame. She often attributed Cathy’s mannerisms to motherhood, incarnate. Particularly a mother of grown women who kept dragging their drama out into the open. Not that you would know anything about that, right, Mom? Brandy could remember those Halcyon days of catching her grandmother scolding Cathy for this and that. Sometimes in public, usually in the middle of their home kitchen. Grandma was dead now, but if Brandelyn closed her eyes and imagined that old woman with blush caked on her face and plastic jewelry hanging from her wrists, she heard the berating tone.
“What are you trying to say?” Brandelyn finally cast her bait, hoping Cathy would bite.
She merely hoped she didn’t catch a wallop of a judgmental fish.
“You keep saying that Sunny put the wedding planning ‘into your hands.’” Cathy shook her head. “You make it sound like she wants no say, or that you two have such syncretic tastes that you could vote to get married by a man in a purple rabbit suit and Sunny would think it the coolest thing since the Model-T. Also, I wouldn’t believe you. Because for a woman to give up that much control of her own wedding, it means one of two things.”
Brandy didn’t ask what those two things were. Her mother would be more than happy to inform her.
“Either she’s a spineless toboggan who can’t stand up for what she wants…”
Lizzie leaped in to finish the thought. “Or you’re such a monster about it that it ain’t worth it, sis.”
Brandelyn slammed her half-empty wineglass on the table. A few yards away, her stepfather declared the burgers almost ready. Did anyone have those plates of veggies for him to throw on next? Anyone? Kids? Grandkids?
“I’m not a monster,” Brandy said, ignoring her stepfather alongside everyone else. “I would greatly appreciate it if you all didn’t run around declaring me a Bridezilla, either. I’ve got enough problems with my fiancée acting like I am one.”
“Because it’s not like enough people saying it’s true actually makes it true, right?” Lizzie asked with a scoff. “You’re something else, sis.”
“What are you talking about?”
The way Brandy barked that nearly brought the backyard to a standstill. Her stepfather looked up from the grill, eyes blinking away the smoke. Her nephews and youngest cousin halted their roughhousing and looked like they were about to be chastised for playing too much. Even the nosy neighbor scurried back down his fence and acted as if he weren’t listening in on Brandelyn’s drama.
“Look, Bran, we didn’t wanna say it…” Cathy uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. For her to abandon her favorite relaxation pose, she was serious about what she was about to say. “You are being difficult. I didn’t know that your fiancée wearing a suit was your idea.”
“How could it not be her idea?” Brandelyn’s defensive nature sprang up as if it had been summoned by pentagram and a few choice words in Latin. A relative for every judgmental point of the star! Even Brutus’s little tail shook as if he prepared for a fight against a summoned demon. “You don’t know her as well as I do,” Brandy continued. “That is very Sunny. I’ve only seen her wear a skirt like three times since I’ve known her. The thought of her wanting to wear a dress is absolutely preposterous.”
“Gee, a woman wanting to wear a dress at her wedding is preposterous.” That was Monica’s grand contribution to the conversation. “What will they come up with next?”
“You guys seriously don’t get it!” How could Brandy get them to understand the Sunny that she knew? How was she expected to wade through the semi-offensive comments born of ignorance? “Lots of women wear suits to their weddings around here. It’s not a big deal.”
“Apparently, it is to your woman,” Cathy chided.
Brandelyn looked at the people staring her down like she was an unholy mess. Really? They were doing this? All Brandy cared about was having a nice wedding. Why couldn’t her mother see that she truly had everyone’s best interests in mind? She makes it sound like I’m pushing some selfish agenda on everyone! Shouldn’t her mother be happy that Brandy held the reins on this wedding? She said so herself that she was grateful that Brandy was having a “traditional” wedding. Why weren’t they on the same page?
“Look,” Cathy recoiled from the look on her daughter’s face, “it might be time for you to step back from the wedding planning and check in with your fiancée. She grew a damn spine and tried to put her foot down about something. That’s when you have to listen. If you can’t listen to her now, then what good is it going to be when you’re married, she’s screaming, and you’re pretending you don’t hear anything?”
“She has put her foot down about things,” Brandy mumbled. “Why do you think we’re getting married at her house instead of in the church?” She honestl
y expected her semi-religious family to be aghast that no church weddings were on the docket. Then again, after Lizzie’s city hall affair…
“This sounds much more personal than a church vs. home wedding,” Monica said with a snort. “The woman doesn’t want to wear a suit. Who are you to tell her that she has to?”
“That’s not the issue!” Brandelyn slapped both hands down on the table. “I would never tell her what to wear!”
“Okay, but, like…” Here came that haughty, snotty tone Lizzie especially loved when she finally got to hold something over her big sister. “It doesn’t sound like you’re holding a gun to her head, Bran. Sounds like you’re making her mad with the assumptions.”
“You don’t take criticism well, so…” Monica continued.
“What does criticism have to do with anything?”
Seriously, what was this really about? Everyone danced around some truth they were so afraid to tell Brandelyn, as if she were going to explode from the bad criticism she apparently couldn’t take. This is ridiculous. Since when is everyone ganging up on me? I don’t have time for this. Her wedding was a week and a half away. It was too late to make major changes, anyway. Why was everyone prancing about on their tip toes? Did they really think Brandy was a “Bridezilla?” Brandelyn the Bridezilla. It had a ring to it, didn’t it?
Her stepfather brought over a plate of cooked hamburgers. As if he were about to get yelled at for daring to encroach on sacred, feminine space, he gingerly placed the plate in the center of the table, careful to avoid the glasses and bottle of wine. “Anyone figure out where those buns are yet?” he whispered.
“I’m not a Bridezilla,” Brandy muttered, elbows on the table and hands fisting her hair.
“There’s a bag of buns on the counter,” Cathy told her husband. “Don’t mind my daughter. She’s grumpy because she doesn’t take criticism well.”
“I’m not a Bridezilla.”
“That’s right,” Lizzie said. “If you keep telling yourself that, it will come true.”
June Bride (A Year in Paradse Book 7) Page 8