Not Quite A Bride (21 page)

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Authors: Kirsten Sawyer

BOOK: Not Quite A Bride
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42
Too Many Distractions
N
eedless to say, the two-week holiday break that I thought would be devoted entirely to wedding planning hasn't exactly turned out that way. It's just impossible to think about wedding bands and photographers with Kate in the world. I have spent almost my entire vacation at Jamie's house staring at the baby sleep, staring at the baby eat, staring at the baby stare at me. She is beyond amazing.
I've also been amazed staring at Jamie. I never quite realized just what a born mother she is. She is so natural with Kate. There is only one thing she needs constant, and I repeat
constant
, reassurance about. Her fear of peeing in public has been irrationally replaced with the fear that Kate is an ugly baby and she can't see it. She is convinced, as is probably true, that all mothers think their infants are stunning, no matter how monkeylike they actually look. Fortunately, in her case, Kate really is an exceptionally beautiful baby, but we still have to reassure Jamie at least twenty-five times a day.
So ... here it is, New Year's Eve, my vacation is more than 75% over, and I
need
to get some wedding planning done. I've forbidden myself from going to Jamie's; in fact, I've forbidden myself from leaving the apartment before Alex and Steve's New Year's Eve party tonight. Right now, I am sitting in front of the television, looking at tapes of wedding bands ... for the most part, they are making me want to shoot myself. Marion explained to me the importance of finding a band that had experience emceeing events, because more important than the music, they would be leading the entire evening. She gave me a stack of tapes of “Plaza Approved” bands, but so far, every single one of them has at least one member with a mullet and boasts their renditions of “Part Time Lover” and “Still the One.” They are so dorky that they make Adam Sandler in
The Wedding Singer
look studly.
“Ugh,” I grunt miserably.
Lately, anything and everything to do with the wedding has been causing a hard and uncomfortable knot in my stomach. I'm quickly realizing that wedding planning isn't all fun ... it isn't even half fun, and without the balance of actually being in love, it is often a big disappointment. There are some times, usually at moments like this, when I start to think that my decision might not have been a good one.
“Pull it together,” I command myself. “Eyes on the prize ...”
I think hard about why I am doing this—I need to think of something positive right now!
“Kate in a flower-girl dress,” is what I finally come up with.
I take a deep breath and decide that her sweet baby smell is exactly what I need to pull me out of this funk, so I put the rest of the wedding planning aside and head off to see my niece.
Of course, I spend too long with her, so I am rushing like a maniac to get ready for Alex and Steve's party on time. It is definitely worth having to hurry, though ... the infant was able to cheer me out of my wedding-planning depression with a single,
Ah-goo.
I already have my outfit for the evening selected ... actually, specifically purchased with the help of my gay fashion team, Justin and Logan. It's a black satin slip dress with sequins sewn in loops around my body. All the hems of the dress are sewn in magenta and I've even splurged and purchased a pair of magenta satin shoes to complete the look. They are extremely high, pointy, and strappy, and I can't walk too well, but I look amazing hobbling around in them. There is a very real possibility that I could freeze to death in my mad dashes between homes and cabs, but the floor-length velvet coat that Justin gave me for Christmas greatly reduces this risk.
What is taking so long in this getting-ready process is that Justin and Logan also decided that I needed to wear my hair curly tonight. This is trickier than it sounds because although my hair will dry wavy when left to air-dry, I cannot go out with it damp tonight because it will freeze ... and frizzing is also a huge risk. I have every product I own on it, and I'm using a combination of every hair-styling tool ... I think eventually it will be cute—either that or completely fall out—keep your fingers crossed.
Justin is dressed in the black leather pants I gave him for Christmas. I secretly think he looks a little too gay in them, but aside from looking gay, he definitely looks fantastic and I know he loves them, which makes me happy. He's paired them with a dark-red, button-front shirt and black Prada loafers, and even though I know he has no interest in me or anyone of my gender, it's hard not to think he looks incredibly sexy.
Logan, our “third wheel” for the night, also looks fantastic. I guess Justin is helping him to hone his gay fashion instinct because I have never seen him so well dressed. He has on gray flannel slacks and a black cashmere crew-neck sweater that nicely shows off that he has added working out to his busy schedule of sitting on the couch watching TV and sitting on the couch reading. He is also wearing the identical Prada loafers that Justin has on. I swear, they have become the Gay Bobbsey Twins.
As we walk into the party, which is already in a pretty full swing, I swear that heads turn and look at me, flanked by the two best-dressed guys in the room. It's a good feeling. We break from our entry formation so that Justin and Logan can go get drinks, and I cruise the room, looking for my friends. Before I can find anyone, a server comes around with a tray of icy-cold vodka shots and I take two ... what the heck? It's New Year's Eve. The first familiar face I see is Brad. I take a deep breath and hope he's here alone as I approach him.
“Hey, stranger!” I greet him warmly.
He turns around and stares at me blankly before finally muttering, “Molly, wow,” under his breath and then, “Hey there,” at a normal volume. I can't help but smile.
For the third time in our friendship ... the first was the day we met and the second was that infamous night junior year ... I notice how handsome Brad is. He is wearing a blue shirt that brings out his sparkling eyes and I feel a little twinge. It must be that I see him so infrequently now that I forget what he looks like. When we were hanging out all the time, it was easier to ignore, or not notice, his looks.
“You look great,” I tell him.
“No,
you
look great.” I smile and feel another little twinge. Damn those vodka shots. “So, where's Mr. Molly?” he asks.
I feel slightly let down for a second at the reminder that we are both there with significant others, mine being exceptionally significant because of his fakeness.
“At the bar with Logan. What about Claire?” I ask, and hold my breath.
“She actually went to Aspen, Colorado, to ski with her family for the holidays.”
Hallelujah. The party will be fun!
“Why didn't you go?” I ask, hoping that the reason is that he has freed himself from her evil clutches since I know he does in fact love to ski.
“Work,” he answers blandly.
We chat idly for a few more minutes before Alex comes up to greet me. She looks stunning, as always, with her pale, freckly white skin and shockingly natural black hair. Alex has clearly had plenty of vodka shots and she is cracking us up.
I love seeing all my friends dressed up and all together for the holiday. I must admit, we clean up nicely. The vodka, and later champagne, flows freely and everyone is having a fantastic time. It feels like we've only been there a couple of hours when Steve clinks some glasses together and informs us that it's time to turn our attention to their big-screen TV because the ball is about to drop in Times Square.
In a vodka-happy blur, I turn toward the TV as Justin comes up behind me and whispers in my ear.
“Molly, we're gonna have to kiss at New Year's.”
My heart jumps ... I hadn't thought about this important detail, but he is right. Obviously, all couples kiss at New Year's, engaged ones with presumably more passion than most, and since I'd shot my mouth off and informed everyone we do it every day, they are probably counting on us to provide the celebration fireworks. I nod in agreement and everyone starts counting backward from ten. It'll be okay, I tell myself ... it'll be nice to have someone to kiss.
“3-2-1-Happy New Year!”
And as “Auld Lang Syne” begins to play in the background, Justin takes me in his arms and we share our first kiss. He is an undeniably good kisser, but it is one of the grossest experiences of my life. It's a lot like being forced to French kiss my brother. We pull apart and I see that we have matching looks of disgust on our faces, which we quickly erase as I turn to kiss my brother (on the cheek, of course) and he shakes hands with Brad and then we switch and he hugs Logan, warmly, and Brad and I kiss (on the cheek, of course). I then grab another glass of champagne from a passing server and take a large, celebratory swig.
43
Registering
A
month and a half later, it's hard to believe it's already Valentine's Day and the wedding is four and a half months away. The pride I'd had at completing all the items on the six-months-ahead list has vanished because I have hardly made a dent in the “four-to-six-months-ahead” list. Considering it will be time to hit the “two-to-four-months-ahead” list in two weeks, I am frantic about getting stuff done.
I need to: arrange for wedding-day transportation (I'm not quite sure what that entails, but Martha says to do it), order the invitations and book the calligrapher to address them, register for gifts (hooray!), find the attire for Jamie and Logan that Justin specifically selected so long ago, choose the favors, and reserve accommodations for out-of-town guests.
Although Justin has been swamped lately, he has promised to take me back to Bloomingdale's to officially register as our Valentine's Day date. I have been warned it can't go too late, though, because he has also promised to take Logan to his first “Gay Valentine's” at a gay bar. As the older sister, I have asked to specifically be left out of any details regarding this adventure.
I'm trying to stay “up” and excited about my Valentine's Day, but a little part of me feels completely miserable—364 days a year, having a fake, gay fiancé is fantastic. On Valentine's Day it completely sucks ... it really rubs my nose in the fact that I am alone. I'm trying to stay focused on the wedding and not think about this, though.
“Eyes on the prize,” I tell myself as I lay out clothes. “Bridal registry, bridal shower, being the bride.” This is getting harder every time.
Thinking about the wedding brightens my spirits a little. Hey, I might be alone, but at least I'm a bride. I finish dressing just as Justin rings the buzzer, so I head straight downstairs to meet him. We decide that grabbing a slice of pizza is a good Valentine's dinner for us since restaurants create insanely pricey menus of substandard, heart-shaped ravioli. Then we head off to Bloomingdale's, which is relatively empty at 7:00 P.M. on Valentine's Day, sans the few anxious-looking men purchasing last-minute gifts for wives or girlfriends.
As we make our way upstairs to housewares, I think about Tiffany's ... I had wanted to register there, but for the first time my mother disagreed with Marion and said that it really would be better to register at Bloomingdale's because they have a great variety of prices for people to choose gifts from. As much as I'd had my heart set on filling the apartment with Tiffany crystal, she had a point ... I remember when my friends Elizabeth and Anthony got married and the cheapest thing on their Tiffany registry was a $250 crystal coaster ... I was bothered.
So, we make it through the displays of plates and glasses to the Bridal Registry department, where a Bloomingdale's employee, ironically named Tiffany, sets us up on the computer. Once she has our names, wedding date, and shipping address, she gives us a few quick instructions on how to work the scanner gun and then sets us loose in the store. Holding that scanner gun is quite a feeling of power!
We get down to business quickly. Martha is kind enough to include a registry guide in her magazine, so I pull it out of my bag and we follow her instructions to the letter. She recommends starting with china, so we start with china. I have been looking at china for years and years while purchasing gifts for everyone else in the world, so I have a pretty good idea of what I want. Simple, elegant, platinum trim ... it's an easy decision for me. We're already off and running.
We continue to scan like crazy, adding kitchen utensils for me, kitchen utensils for Justin—we even scan in a couple gifts for Logan. We select two sets of towels: pink Ralph Lauren ones that I will keep and sapphire-blue ones for Justin. My head is practically spinning from all the stuff we've selected and scanned ... I wonder if that scanner ray is affecting my brain? Then, just as I think maybe I have a second wind coming on, Justin announces that it's time for him to meet Logan, and like that, BAM, my Valentine's Day is over.
We take a cab back to my place, but Justin doesn't even walk me to the door because an excited Logan comes bouncing down the front steps as soon as our cab pulls up and we seamlessly switch seats. The cab speeds away with the boys waving happily out the window, and I head upstairs alone. Inside, I remove my sweater in favor of an old, well-broken-in sweatshirt, and I grab the pint of Ben & Jerry's I'd stashed earlier in the day out of the freezer. Then Tiffany and I settle in for our double date with Ben & Jerry while we watch cheesy, romantic eighties movies. It's much like most of my previous Valentine's Days, but I'm okay ... I swear.
I honestly don't know why being alone on Valentine's Day is harder this year than in the past. I mean, this year I'm engaged! I'm months away from my dream wedding!! It seems like this should carry me through this Hallmark holiday, but instead it seems to be making it worse. More than usual, I feel the hard knot in my stomach reminding me that I am living a lie and that what matters is being with someone you love, not just being a bride. I take a deep breath as I take a big, chocolatey bite ... I probably should have bought two pints of Ben & Jerry's.

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