Mine Are Spectacular! (31 page)

I finally go upstairs to our bedroom and try to catch my breath. My wedding day. But I've really got to do something about the puffiness under my eyes. I sneak back downstairs for two tea bags, steep them and come back up to rest for five minutes with the warm, wet English Breakfast bags on my face. I've been reading about this cure for years. Though maybe I should have used a different flavor. If it doesn't work as a beauty treatment, I'd rather have a mug of Constant Comment waiting for me.

“Sara?”

There's a little knock on the bedroom door and I sit up, but the tea bags seem stuck to my eyes. It takes me a moment to peel them off, and when I look in the mirror, I do a double take. I should have read the fine print. The puffiness is gone, but it looks like the tea bags are still attached because the skin all around my eyes is now stained a pale brown. I sigh. At least I won't need as much eye shadow. Nothing's going to get me upset today.

I turn away from the mirror, and realize the person at the door has walked in and I'm face-to-face with the last soul in the world I expected to see today. The surprise wedding didn't startle me. I was cool and collected in the face of Mimi and the Brownie scouts. Not even the little house being constructed in my living room got a rise out of me. But now I'm caught off guard because James is in my bedroom.

“What are you doing here?” I ask my ex plaintively. And I know he's my ex, because we took care of the legal work right after Hong Kong.

“I wanted to see you,” James says. But did he want to see me this way? I catch him looking curiously at my raccoon eyes.

I take a deep breath. “You can't see me. It's my wedding day.”

“I think technically it's the groom who's not supposed to see you. At least once you're in your dress.”

“Then my luck should be holding,” I say. “Even I haven't seen me in my dress.”

“Great. Then we'll all get to see it at the same time,” James says.

“You're staying?” I ask, panicked that James's showing up this way will spoil the day for Bradford. But apparently not.

“Bradford invited me to the wedding,” James says with a smile. “He thought it sent a good message to Dylan that we're all friends.”

“He invited you?” I ask. So Bradford was thinking about more than the cucumber sandwiches in planning today. He was considering everybody's feelings. And suddenly, I have a warm glow from head to toe. If I had any doubts about marrying Bradford—which I don't—this would have wiped them all away.

“He called me last week, and we had a good talk,” James says. And then he pauses. “Sara, this time you picked the right guy.”

I smile. “Maybe you were the right guy, too. Just at the wrong moment.”

James fumbles in his pocket and pulls out a piece of lined paper that I immediately notice is covered with Dylan's crayoned scrawl.

“What's that?” I ask.

“Something I wanted to show you before the ceremony. Dylan gave it to me last week.”

I take the paper hesitantly. With everyone back from Hong Kong, we've had a happy household. And Dylan has seemed on top of the world. He's repeated over and over James's comment about how special he is because so many people love him. But who knows what really goes on in the head of a seven-year-old.

“Read it,” James says as I unfold the slightly crumpled paper which James himself has obviously opened and closed a dozen times.

Dear Daddy,
I read out loud, hearing Dylan's little voice in my head.

Mommy's getting merried and I'm happy. Mommy said I can call Bradford whatever I want. I want to know if it's okay with you if I call him Daddy. He loves me just like you do. I love him, too. And I'm helping plan the weding.

Love,
Your son Dylan

He's carefully signed his name in script for the first time and I look up with tears in my eyes.

“You okay?” James asks, smiling at me.

“Dylan spelled wedding wrong,” I say, because I'm too sentimental right now to say anything else.

James laughs. “He's a good boy. But in case you didn't notice, he spelled ‘married' wrong, too.”

I reach for a tissue to wipe the tears. I guess everybody cries at weddings. The good kind of crying. And this is definitely a good cry, because when I finish wiping my eyes, I notice the tea stains finally coming off. Tears with benefits.

James gives me a hug, wishes me luck, and leaves the letter behind as my wedding gift. Priscilla will never be able to top this. No matter what kind of vibrator she buys.

I wash my face and quickly put on some makeup. Given how sentimental I'm already feeling, I choose the waterproof mascara, just in case.

“Ready to get dressed?” asks Skylar, bursting in, holding a white plastic garment bag.

“I can't wait to see what you picked,” I say. “I know it's going to be perfect.” Oh damn, I'm going to start crying again. Already.

Excited, Skylar rips open the bag to pull out her idea of a dream wedding gown.

“Look,” she says. “Dolce and Gabbana.”

The skirt is exquisite—layers of peau de soie satin with delicatedly appliquéd flowers and just the hint of a swirling lace train.

“I really get to wear this?” I ask. “I've never had anything this gorgeous.”

“I'm glad you like it,” says Skylar, thoroughly pleased with both herself and my reaction. “And you'll be really happy. It was on sale.” She's got my number. And I hope she has my size. Last time we went shopping together, she was a size 0. Which already puts me in the plus category.

But I slip into the skirt, which remarkably, is a perfect fit. I'm spinning around in front of the mirror admiring how beautiful it is—when I realize there's a little something missing.

“The top,” I say, looking into the now-empty garment bag. “It did come with one, right?”

“It did,” Skylar agrees, “but it was way too matchy. Nobody does that anymore. I had a much better idea.”

Skylar pulls out a small shopping bag from a teen store called Razzle-Dazzle. Not a place where most brides shop. At least I hope not.

“This is going to be so-o-o perfect,” she says, practically jumping up and down in anticipation. “Try it on.”

She hands me a garment so small that I can't imagine what part of my upper body it's possibly supposed to cover. I hold the white stretchy fabric in front of me by its teeny spaghetti straps. It's a T-shirt, and it's mine—which I know because across the front, emblazoned in rhinestone studs, is the word bride
.

“I love Razzle-Dazzle,” says Skylar triumphantly. “They'll write anything you want on a T-shirt. I thought this would be appropriate.”

I can't argue about the appropriateness of the word—but the teeny T is another matter. Still, Skylar has worked on this outfit so intently that I can't disappoint her.

I pull on the T-shirt and look in the mirror. Yup, it's form-fitting, but mercifully, my navel isn't exposed. And even though the top is tighter than anything I've worn before, I stand up a little straighter and smile. Maybe the real point isn't how I look but how I feel. And right now, sure and secure and surrounded by people I love, I'm convinced I don't look half bad. In fact, I look pretty good.

“This is spectacular!” I say to Skylar.

“Magnificent! Perfect! Unbelievably . . . like . . . so cool!” she exudes. “I'm going to go get dressed, too. I'll send Kate up in five minutes when it's time for you to come down. Sara, I really love . . .” She stops, suddenly embarrassed by her own emotion. “I really love all of this.”

“Me, too,” I say, and I give her a kiss.

I walk around the room, looking in every mirror I can find, and for the first time in my life, I don't see anything at all about myself that I want to change. Did I always have such nice shoulders? Probably. I just never thought to show them off before.

As I'm preening in front of the mirror, Kate rushes in, carrying a huge bag containing makeup and heaven knows what else. But when she sees me standing all aglow, she tosses it aside.

“There's nothing I could possibly do to make you look any better right now,” Kate says admiringly. “If everyone were as happy as you, I'd be out of business.”

She's right. But then I look at my friend, who less than twenty-four hours ago broke up with her billionaire. “You look suspiciously good yourself,” I tell her.

“I'm happy, too,” she says. “You wouldn't expect that, right? But I'm looking forward to the future. I don't know exactly what it's going to be, but I'm ready for it.”

“Whatever happens next, it's going to be great. I'd bet on it.”

“I'm betting on it, too,” says Kate. And then she gives me a little smile. “By the way, your friend Kirk is terrific. He's funny and he's been so supportive. Something Mr. You-Know-Who never was.”

I'm glad we reached the point so quickly where we don't even say Owen's name out loud. And as for Kate and Kirk—well, I kind of like the idea. Has a certain ring to it.

Downstairs, I hear someone starting to play the organ. I didn't know we had one. I look worriedly at Kate.

“What's going on down there?” I ask. “I thought this was just us.”

“It is just us. All the people who love you,” says Kate.

“Okay.” I give her a kiss. And then trying to keep my voice from breaking, I say, “You've been the best friend in the whole world. Thank you for being with me every step of the way.”

“Just one more step we need to take,” Kate says, linking her arm in mine. “You ready?”

“Finally, I am,” I say emotionally.

I start to follow Kate out the door and wonder why she seems so much taller than usual. I look down at my feet. Maybe it's because I'm not wearing any shoes.

“Um . . . Kate,” I say, coming to a complete halt. “I can't go.”

She turns around. “Come on, honey. Don't worry,” she says. “You're fine. It's just cold feet.”

“Very cold,” I tell her, pointing to my toes.

Kate looks down and starts to laugh. “Well Skylar's only fourteen. She can't think of everything. Let's just grab something from your closet.”

I think about it for a moment, but I have a better idea. Today's my day to be just me. Comfortable with myself. And who's ever really been comfortable in satin-bowed Jimmy Choos?

“I think I'll stay like this,” I say.

“The barefoot bride,” Kate agrees. “I don't know why, but it's you.”

As we walk down the staircase, the music goes from organ to cello. Then a violin. And I swear that's a French horn.

“Do we have a ten-piece orchestra in there?” I ask.

“No, Aidan brought over the Baby Magic Keyboard. He's pretty good at it. We just told him he couldn't play any Raffi songs.”

When we get to the closed French doors to the living room, Kate gives me another hug. “All you have to do is walk down the aisle when the doors open,” she says. “I'll be sitting inside.”

Kate disappears and I wait anxiously for my cue. Aidan plays “The Wheels on the Bus” and “Pop Goes the Weasel≵—which sounds particularly good on the cello—but clearly those are the warm-up songs while everybody takes their seats. Because then Aidan stops and there's quiet for a moment. Someone pushes open the French doors, and just then, from the CD player, comes my entrance music. My eyes fill with tears as I hear Louis Armstrong croon “What A Wonderful World.”

Bradford couldn't have made a better choice. And I couldn't have made a better choice than Bradford.

I start to move slowly forward down the aisle.

“You look beautiful,” whispers Berni as I walk past. Baby A apparently agrees, because she gurgles approvingly from her spot in Berni's arms. Next to her, Aidan is cradling Baby B. And on the other side, Berni's mother Erica is holding the hand of a handsome older man who I'm guessing is her new beau, Doug.

I turn my head to the other side of the aisle, where Dylan is sitting up very straight. He's wearing his blue blazer after all and clutching a small box in his hand as if it contained the enchanted ring from
The Lord of the Rings.
He's right. To us, these will be just as magical.

Skylar is sitting next to him, grinning and looking exquisite in a long flowing skirt and a T-shirt that matches mine. With one difference. The rhinestones on hers spell out daughter. As I walk by, she points to the sparkly word, then points to me. I gulp. I'm glad I thought to wear the waterproof mascara.

The Brownie troop has decided to stay, and the girls are throwing rose petals into the aisle. Not a bad idea since the white runner is now decorated with a few tic-tac-toe boards that they must have drawn earlier. Nearby, James is sitting on the edge of his gilded chair, flanked by Priscilla on one side and Mimi on the other. Poor man. Even seven years in Patagonia shouldn't require that kind of penance.

I raise my eyes to the end of the aisle and see the now beautifully decorated canopy, covered with tulle fabric and garlands of flowers. Bradford, unbearably handsome, is standing in front of it, looking straight at me and smiling. We lock eyes for a long moment, and when I demurely look down, he follows my gaze—and sees my bare toes peeking out from under my elegant swirling skirt. He laughs, then comes partway down the aisle to get me. Offering an arm, he takes me toward the altar and the minister—a man in a white robe trimmed with gold braid who's preparing to perform the ceremony.

“KIRK?” I say, a little too loudly.

I glance over at Bradford. I know Kirk plays a surgeon on TV, but how does he get to play the minister at our wedding?

“Don't worry, this is all legit,” Kate whispers to me. Then she adds admiringly, “Kirk can do anything. He's very smart. He takes courses all the time.”

That's good enough for me. I can't worry. But just in case I might, Bradford points to Kirk's Internet-earned official state license, now pinned to the side of the canopy.