The Less Than Perfect Wedding (9 page)

"Don't forget, dear, that as soon as you've had the dress fitted, you can't put on any more weight, or it won't fit," my mom told my voicemail in a singsong voice. She was clearly going to say more, these words just the opening salvo in yet another long diatribe, but I quickly mashed my finger down on the 'delete message' button before she could speak any further.

The next message, however, immediately grabbed my attention. "Hello, yes, is this Danielle Jansen?" came the voice of an older man, speaking in kindly tones that I instantly recognized. "This is Father Hemsley, and I'm calling because I have a few questions about the wedding sermon. I received your requests, but they seem a little, well, odd."

My brow furrowed as I listened to this message. I hadn't even realized that Father Hemsley was still even acting as the priest at Sacred Father, much less that he would be the one administering the wedding sermon for Alex and me. I also had definitely not given any sort of requests to him about what I wanted him to say! Immediately, I suspected that this was another play by my mother.

Father Hemsley was still speaking into the phone. "And now, I just need to leave my number. Does this machine record it automatically? Do I need to do something? Well, I'll just recite it anyway, in case this doesn't work for some reason." He slowly gave the number of the church, which I jotted down in my spiral notebook (which, by this point, was getting very full!). "Okay, well, call me back," Father Hemsley finished. "Gee, I hope this was recorded. Now, how do I end-" The call clicked off abruptly. Father Hemsley must have found the right button.

As soon as the answering machine was done reciting its messages, I picked up the receiver and punched in the number that Father Hemsley had left. Unfortunately, all that I heard at the other end was a long beep, followed by the church's pre-recorded response: "Thank you for calling Sacred Father Church, you have reached us outside our normal hours. If you want to reach us, the best chance is before or after mass on Sunday."

I didn't bother trying to leave a message. It was Saturday night, and I knew what we would be doing the next day. "Alex!" I shouted. "Don't stay up too late tonight - we're going to church tomorrow morning!"

*

The next morning, after sitting uncomfortably through a long and thoroughly unfamiliar service in dressy, itchy clothes, Alex fidgeting alongside me, the service at Sacred Father finally, mercifully, drew to a close. Clambering up out of our seats and stretching muscles that were sore from sitting in place too long, we made our way forward, fighting against the flow of the crowd as they made their way out of the church.

At the altar, Father Hemsley was sorting through his notes from his sermon, a pair of half-moon spectacles riding low on his nose. I hadn't seen him in a few years, and I couldn't believe how familiar he looked; he had gained a few more wrinkles, but he still had his straight white hair flowing back over his head, the slightly crooked nose, and the kind eyes, all framed in wrinkles, crow's feet, and laugh lines. He wore his vestments like a second skin, the collar perfectly starched. He glanced up as we made our way up the two shallow steps to the raised altar.

"Ah, Danielle!" he greeted us as we approached. "So good to see you again - you look just like how I remember, from when you were younger! It's been a while since you've last warmed our pews, hasn't it?"

And there was that little needle of guilt, just enough to make the inner Catholic inside me cringe. "Yes, well, the last couple years have been busy," I said, trying to shrug off the little voice that was telling me to apologize to Father Hemsley. "In fact, that's one of the reasons that I'm standing here, now. Father, I'd like you to meet Alex, my fiance."

My husband-to-be stepped forward, obediently offering his hand, and Father Hemsley took it in a firm, hearty handshake. "So good to meet you, my son!" he said. "And I must congratulate you on returning to the path of righteousness, after the trying times that you've been through!"

The brows of Alex and I both furrowed in astonishment. "What?" we both said together.

Father Hemsley cocked his head slightly at us. "Yes, just as you've told me previously," he said. "Alex, you were a serial cheater and philanderer before you found Danielle, and rejoined the path of righteousness. That's why you wanted me to give a speech focusing on the power of commitment, and why marriage is a sacred bond that should never be broken."

Alex and I exchanged a look of confusion. I made a little squeaking noise, but I couldn't quite muster up the ability to form coherent words and sentences. Fortunately, my fiance was a little quicker on the uptake than me.

"Father, um, you may have received the wrong signal, here," he stammered out quickly. "I don't know when you got these requests, but we've changed our minds on what we would like you to talk about."

"Are you sure?" Father Hemsley inquired. "Your requests seemed quite specific." He rustled through the stack of papers sitting on top of the pulpit. "I'm sure I have them here somewhere. They came in an email, I remember, but I can never quite keep track of all of those, so I print them all out." As he tried to lift up the untidy stack to look at the papers towards the bottom, a handful of sheets came cascading down over the side of the pulpit, scattering across the raised plinth.

"It's okay, you don't need to find the sheet," I tried to interject, as Alex dipped down to scoop up the fallen papers. "Father, really, I didn't send those requests!"

I don't know if the elderly priest didn't hear me, or if he was simply choosing to ignore me and focus on his search, but he suddenly held up a sheet of paper triumphantly. "Ah, here it is!" He squinted down at it, pushing his spectacles up on his nose and holding the paper a few inches away from his face. "Yes, it's just as I remembered. 'Fire and brimstone,' it says right here."

Carefully, slowly reaching out, I eased the paper out of Father Hemsley's hands. "Father, do you think that we could speak somewhere a little more private?" I asked, folding the printed email in half and tucking it away in my purse to read later.

Father Hemley blinked at me a couple of times. "Of course, of course," he said. "My office is right this way." He tottered off to the side, and we followed him into a small office off to one side, in which a rickety wooden desk and chair were nearly buried beneath more papers and books. Somehow, Father Hemley managed to wedge himself back behind the desk, while Alex and I stood uncomfortably in front of it, trying not to knock over any of the unstable stacks of paper.

After scraping himself into the seat behind his desk, Father Hemley peered up at us over the rims of his spectacles. "Now, what's wrong with the sermon that I've written?" he asked. "I have already started on it; I'm sure my notes must be somewhere around here..."

Before the dear Father began to rummage through his stacks of paper once again, I jumped right in. "Father, we were hoping that you could speak more about acceptance, and maybe about the importance of putting others before yourself." I had given up on subtly hinting to my family that they should respect me, and was now going for the obvious sign.

"Yes - I've never cheated on Danielle, or on any other woman!" Alex cut in. "And I certainly don't have any plans to!" He reached back and wrapped one arm around my waist, tugging me in closer.

Father Hemsley peered at us. "Are you sure? I did have some lovely bits down here about burning in Hell forever. I was quite proud of them, in fact." Once again, he began rummaging through the papers spread in a thick layer across the desk.

It took an inordinate amount of time, but Alex and I finally managed to convince the dear Father that he needed to make some sweeping changes to the sermon. As we finally left the tiny, cramped office, heading out to our car, all alone in the parking lot, I was rummaging in my purse for the sheet of paper that I had grabbed from the priest, the email that had contained my mother's original sermon 'suggestions.' As I climbed into the passenger side of the car, I could feel myself growing angrier and angrier as I read the paper. As Alex climbed into the driver's seat next to me, I began reading passages out loud, my tone shocked and furious.

"Listen to this!" I fumed. "'Marriage is a lifetime vow, and breaking it is a one-way ticket to Hell . . . Infidelity used to be punishable by death by stoning . . . Cheaters will burn!' How dare she try and use our wedding to say these things about my father!"

Alex started up the car, but didn't put the vehicle in gear right away. For a long minute, he put his head down on the wheel in front of him. "Honey, can I say something about your mother, without judgment?" he asked quietly.

I looked sidelong at him. "You know what? Go right ahead."

Both hands on the wheel, Alex hauled himself up slightly, still slumped forward. "Your mother," he said slowly, "may be the devil."

I knew that I should defend my mother, knew that I should stand up for my family. But as I crumpled the email printout in my hands, I just couldn't quite motivate myself to do so.

The Dress

*

With the wedding only a couple of months away, I could put it off no longer - it was time for me to finally buy my wedding dress. I knew that I would have to invite my mother along, and I was fairly certain that my mother would bring my sister as well. Between my mother's attempts to control everything around her, and my sister's determination to be the absolute center of attention, I didn't doubt for a second that I would have my hands full.

For this reason, I decided that I would have to weight the bench in my favor. Sally was coming along, of course, since she knew all of the colors and themes that would be included in the wedding, but I suspected that she wouldn't be able to stand up against my mother's iron-willed determination to have her own way. Claire, on the other hand, didn't give a crap about staying on my mother's good side, and I knew that she wouldn't hesitate to shut my sister up. She truly was an invaluable friend.

In order to help weight the bench in my favor as well, I decided that I would also invite along Judy, my older coworker and newest self-appointed wedding assistant. Judy didn't know much about what was happening with my parents, but I was hoping that, as a fellow older woman who had instead chosen to remain single, she would be able to show my mother that it wasn't all doom and gloom in the future. I really hoped that Judy's internal happiness wouldn't end up irrevocably altered.

Thanks to a bit of online research, I learned that wedding dress shopping was not as simple as walking into the nearest bridal store and trying a few things off the rack; I had to call ahead and speak with a rather snooty woman with a fake-sounding British accent, setting up an appointment time. I had to let the woman know how many people would be in my party, the date of my wedding, and what price range I was looking to shop in for my dress; I felt as though I was applying for a credit card.

Finally, the appointment was confirmed, and I quickly sent out a mass email to my mother, sister, Sally, Claire, and Judy to let them know the time and location. I received two confirmations (Judy and Sally), a list of "Helpful tips from the Internet on buying a wedding dress" (Claire, bless her heart), an all-caps rant about how this should be family only (thanks, Mom), and a badly misspelled complaint about why the shop had to be in my town, instead of closer to my parents' house (love you too, sis). I permitted myself one long, drawn-out sigh, and then closed my computer and tried not to think about the chaos that loomed ahead.

On the day of my properly scheduled appointment, I swung by Claire's apartment to pick her up, and the two of us headed over to the store. I was aiming to arrive early, definitely not wanting to be the last person to arrive to my own shopping trip. We pulled up fifteen minutes early, only to find Sally waiting anxiously by the door, her giant binder clutched against her chest like a shield.

"Hi, Sally," I greeted her. "Have you met Claire? She's my best friend, and maid of honor. Claire, this is Sally, my wedding planner."

The two women shook hands, Sally still looking nervous and Claire giving her a smile, trying to put the poor woman at ease. I pulled open the door to the bridal shop, and we made our way inside.

Inside the front room of the shop, the door had barely closed behind us before a tall, gaunt woman came bustling out from the back room, her face stuck in a perpetual sourpuss glare. "Yes, excuse me, can I help you?" she sighed in our general direction, looking frustrated that we had dared inconvenience her by entering.