Not Quite A Bride (24 page)
Authors: Kirsten Sawyer
49
One Week to Go
T
he first thing on Martha's “One-Week-Ahead” checklist is to finalize the seating plan. This is why Justin and I spend most of our free time arranging little Post-its with guests' names around cut-out cardboard circle “tables.” This sounds like a pretty simple task, but it's really not. It's like putting together a puzzle.
he first thing on Martha's “One-Week-Ahead” checklist is to finalize the seating plan. This is why Justin and I spend most of our free time arranging little Post-its with guests' names around cut-out cardboard circle “tables.” This sounds like a pretty simple task, but it's really not. It's like putting together a puzzle.
Actually, it's harder because with a puzzle at least you know there is a correct place for every piece. In this puzzle, you can have eight pieces perfectly placed together and then you remember that piece number four's date slept with piece number two's current boyfriend three years ago and the whole thing gets scrapped.
I'm kind of surprised that Martha leaves this grueling task until the end ... I guess it's because that's when you have all your guest responses, but still ... this is impossible! And in our case it's even harder because there is a whole section of guests that we need to keep totally separate in case, God forbid, they decide to stay for the reception and think that they can share their thoughts on the “play” openly.
To make a hard week harder, I get a call from Brad. It's Wednesday night and Justin, Logan, and I are huddled around the coffee table looking at seat assignments and eating huge deli sandwiches when the phone rings. I assume it's Mom with more guidance on where her friends and family members should be seated, so I answer the cordless without taking my eyes off table six.
I'm surprised when it's a man's voice ... Brad's ... on the other end.
“Oh, hey, Brad,” I say in the friendly manner we've been able to uphold since our last post-blowup talk after the post-office incident.
“Molly,” he says numbly, “we need to talk.”
“Okay, sure,” I tell him, not realizing there is any problem. I cover the phone with my hand and tell Justin and Logan that I will be right back as I head toward my bedroom. “What's going on?” I ask as I stretch my sore back on my comfortable bed.
“Claire told me that you and your sister were very rude to her at Barney's last week,” he almost shouts accusingly through the phone.
You've gotta be shitting me.
“You're kidding, right?” I clean up my sentiment a tad.
“I am not kidding, Molly. I thought we'd been over all this. I thought you understood that I am going to marry Claire and you were gonna deal with it.”
“I do and I am!” I retort defensively.
“Really? Well, it seems like you don't. Don't you understand how important it is for you to keep peace with Claire if you really want to be friends with me?”
Am I getting this right? I have to suck up to Claire so that she will allow Brad to be my friend? No way!
“That's ridiculous,” I reply, getting angry. “If anyone was rude to anyone, it was your bitchy little fiancée being rude to my mother!”
Perhaps adding the “bitchy” description wasn't 100% necessary, but I feel it is accurate.
“How do you figure?” Brad snaps.
“She insulted my mother by saying that she had nothing better to do than plan my wedding.”
“That's a lie!”
“No, it's not!!”
“Yes it is, and I know it is because I talked to your mother this morning when she called to be sure I'd be at your rehearsal dinner and she said how lovely it was to run into Claire.”
Damn my mother for being the sweetest person in the world.
“My mother is just too sweet to tell you what a two-faced bitch you are marrying,” I say with a superior tone.
“Yeah, right. This is it ... I can't do this anymore. You are a different person and not someone that I like.”
“You are the different one, Brad!” I yell as I feel tears start to fall.
“Whatever you want to believe in your little Molly fantasy land. I'll be at your rehearsal and your wedding because I wouldn't hurt your family who has been so wonderful to me, but that is it ... we are finished!”
“FINE!” I yell.
“FINE!!” he yells back and slams down his phone.
Since I'm on a cordless I have nothing to slam it down on, so I press the “off” button really hard and then throw the phone at the wall as I burst into sobs.
Justin and Logan are at my door in a flash. I tell them the entire story, starting with seeing Claire at Barney's last week. Unlike the last time I came to them with a story about the awful Bradley Lawson, this time they completely agree with me.
“What has gone wrong with him?” Logan asks, and I shrug miserably.
The boys console me, but the truth is that I am just plain exhausted. Exhausted from wedding stuff, exhausted from Brad stuff, just exhausted from everything. I slip into a hot bubble bath kindly drawn up by Justin and then get into my bed while my wonderful brother and fake, gay fiancé finish the table assignments for me.
50
Another Apology
B
rad may be in the process of having his soul sucked out by the human she-devil, but down at the core he is still a good person ... and still a shadow of the person I knew and loved. And that person has always been very up-front ... when he's wrong he says it; when he's right he fights for it. I am greatly relieved when he shows up at my door Thursday morning with an apology ... because that's the right thing and the thing that I would have counted on the old Brad to do.
rad may be in the process of having his soul sucked out by the human she-devil, but down at the core he is still a good person ... and still a shadow of the person I knew and loved. And that person has always been very up-front ... when he's wrong he says it; when he's right he fights for it. I am greatly relieved when he shows up at my door Thursday morning with an apology ... because that's the right thing and the thing that I would have counted on the old Brad to do.
Logan and Justin are both working today and so I have the apartment to myself and some downtime to try and relax and not think about all the insanity that is going to happen over the next couple days. The ladies of
The View
are doing a good job distracting me with a fashion show of “butt-buster” denim as I enjoy a bowl of Apple Jacks. When the buzzer rings, my heart falls because I am certain that someone or something outside my door is going to destroy the serenity I have been able to create this morning.
The View
are doing a good job distracting me with a fashion show of “butt-buster” denim as I enjoy a bowl of Apple Jacks. When the buzzer rings, my heart falls because I am certain that someone or something outside my door is going to destroy the serenity I have been able to create this morning.
I am both nervous and surprised when the voice coming through the intercom is Brad's and he's asking to come up. In the few seconds it takes him to climb the staircase, I straighten up what I can in the roomâit's still an overly cluttered disaster, an unavoidable problem in a small apartment with three occupants.
“Hey, Mol,” he says when I open the door. “We need to talk.”
My first thought is a defensive oneâwhat have I done to upset him now? But then I notice that he seems sad and invite him in and offer him a cup of coffee, which he declines.
“What's going on?” I ask, when we are seated on my couch. We're sitting side by side, but we both have a leg curled underneath so that we can face each other.
“I'm sorry about the way I attacked you the other day.”
I can't help but smileâthis is the good old Brad. He knew he was wrong and he is admitting it and apologizing.
“We're all under a lot of pressure right now,” I say, giving him an easy out.
“I guess that must be it.”
It seems like he's gotten off his chest what he came to say, yet he still seems sad and a little distant and distracted.
“Is there anything else?” I gently coax him.
He hesitates for a moment. “I really miss you, Molly ... we've been like a roller coaster the past few months and it's hard for me to deal with. I hate not having you in my life.”
Relief pours over me like floodwater ... that's exactly how I feel.
“Me, too! I've been miserable.”
I look deeply into his sparkling blue eyes that don't seem to sparkle quite as much anymore, and I feel him looking into mine ... if I were a cheesy person, I'd tell you I could feel our souls connect. I do feel something, though ... it's like we're caught in a trance.
“I need you in my life,” I almost whisper, our eyes still locked.
I've continually tried to deny how much my life sucks without Brad, but the truth is that I
do
need him and was crushed by the feeling that he didn't need, or want, me anymore. Brad opens his arms and I lean across the couch and snuggle into them. It has always amazed me how we fit together like a puzzle ... it's like we were made to be best friends.
do
need him and was crushed by the feeling that he didn't need, or want, me anymore. Brad opens his arms and I lean across the couch and snuggle into them. It has always amazed me how we fit together like a puzzle ... it's like we were made to be best friends.
“Me, too,” he answers in the same whisper.
When I pull back from the hug, I look into Brad's eyes and something is different. I feel a tingle, or a twinge ... and an overwhelming feeling of anticipation. With our eyes locked, my breath is taken away. I lean a little closer to him and close my eyes slowly. Before I open them again, I feel his lips on mine. They are warm and soft and I can't help thinking how ironic it is that our lips fit together like puzzle pieces, too.
Then it hits me ... our lips fit together like puzzle pieces! And I think it hits him at the same time, because we both jump back slightly and stare at each other, wide-eyed. We hold the stare for a split second before mutually grabbing each other and kissing again, this time harder and deeper. It feels amazing ... but then I remember that these are Brad Lawson's lips that are sending sparks through my body. We jump back again at the exact same time.
“How dare you?!?” Brad accuses me, his voice full of terror.
How dare I what? I was most definitely the one
being
kissed.
being
kissed.
“You kissed
me
!” I answer in my own defense.
me
!” I answer in my own defense.
“Why did you do that?” he questions in a panicked voice.
“I didn't do anything!”
“Damn it, Molly! I thought being friends could work ... but obviously it can't,” he says as he jumps off the couch and moves farther away from me as fast as he can, stumbling over all the stuff filling the apartment since Justin and Logan showed up.
Still in a fog of confusion, I try to replay in my head what happened so that maybe I can gain some understanding. I'm not gaining anything but more confusion, though.
“I gotta get outta here!” Brad yells as he clumsily makes his way to the door.
I stand, but before I can get another word out, he is out the door and heading down the hall. He gets halfway to the stairwell before turning and literally running back to me. His lips on my lips stop him from getting through the door and we have another amazing but confusing kiss. When we pull apart, I see that the twinkle has returned to his eyes.
“Why do I keep doing that?!?” he exclaims. “I've gotta get outta here!”
He heads down the hall again, this time not turning back. Once he is out of my view, I close the door and sink to the floor in front of it. I sit on my floor, my hand on my lips, bewildered and confused ... what just happened here? The strange thing is that it's almost identical to how our infamous junior-year kiss went down ... and I let him run off down my hall then, too.
51
The Rehearsal
U
nfortunately (or maybe fortunately), I don't have much time to think about Brad or his visit or the kiss (okay, kisses), because the day before the wedding day is a busy day if you do everything on Martha's list. It's an even busier day if you also have to plan how to be left at the altar gracefully, which for me includes learning how to act. It is darn near impossible to accomplish any of these things when you are paralyzed with fear.
nfortunately (or maybe fortunately), I don't have much time to think about Brad or his visit or the kiss (okay, kisses), because the day before the wedding day is a busy day if you do everything on Martha's list. It's an even busier day if you also have to plan how to be left at the altar gracefully, which for me includes learning how to act. It is darn near impossible to accomplish any of these things when you are paralyzed with fear.
Martha's list includes: confirming everything with every single vendor, getting a manicure and pedicure (I know that's enjoyable, but it still takes time and effort), having the rehearsal, attending the rehearsal dinner, getting everything together for the next day ... it's a lot of stuff. With Justin and Logan's help, I think we are going to manage to get it all done ... I think. It's funny how in the beginning they were unsure about my plan, but I was positive and gung-ho; now that the time has finally arrived, they are relaxed and ready for “showtime,” as Justin keeps calling it (I think he might actually be starting to believe we are in a play), and I am a complete nervous wreck.
Logan and Justin make all the confirmation calls for me while I sit on the couch with my knees bundled up at my chest, rocking back and forth. At least I've been so swamped and stressed with wedding details that I haven't even had time to be swamped and stressed with the Brad thing ... I'm trying to look on the bright side here.
All the vendors are good to go on wedding day ... I'm not sure if that is a blessing or a curse. Once all the calls are made, the boys gently unfold me and take me out to get my nails done. We must be quite a sight ... two gay men flanking a paranoid girl in the whirlpool footbaths. People probably think we escaped from some sort of institution; ironically, the belief that I should be committed isn't completely inaccurate. I must admit, though, that when we walk out of the nail salon we have the thirty most gorgeous toes and fingers in the city ... and the relaxing spoilage by the manicurist does help to calm my nerves a bitâplus, my nails could not look more adorable. My fingers have a perfect French manicure ... the manicurist said it is the most popular for brides. On my toes, I did something a bit more fun. They are pale pink with little white flowers to match the ones in my bouquet. Since my dress is long, nobody will really see them, but I will know they are there and, I must admit, they do cheer me up a bit.
Of course, as soon as we get home and I hear the message from my mother on the answering machine with yet another “last minute” list, my shoulders dart right back up to my ears. Logan takes care of calling her back and explains that I am just a little stressed right now. Mom, of course, freaks out, but Logan smooths things out nicely.
Then the boys help me get dressed for the rehearsal dinner. The rehearsal dinner for my weddingâone of the many events in life I felt I was being robbed of by being the only girl placed on this earth without a soul mate. Now that mine has arrived I am feeling like perhaps I was being spared.
I am hardly functioning, so Justin and Logan treat me like their personal Barbie doll and get me perfectly dressed in a stunning off-white silk slip dress that the three of us had chosen a few weeks before. I try to do the yoga relaxation breathing that Justin has been teaching me, and it works a little ... enough for me to put my own gold strappy sandals onto my blistered feetâthanks to Martha's instruction to break the wedding shoes in around the house. I'm not sure her method for breaking them in includes as much frantic pacing as I've been doing lately.
We are out the door and arrive at The Plaza only fifteen minutes late ... impressive, considering one member of our party (me) has to be cared for like a child. Jamie and Bryan, with an actual child, only arrived a few minutes before us. Of course, Mom and Marion were close to hysterical that we weren't there at six o'clock on the dot. Oh well, I think they are lucky I made it at all.
In a flurry, Marion ushers everyone to the room where the ceremony will take place and immediately starts pointing us in a hundred different directionsâshe's like a pastel-clad drill sergeant. She starts the rehearsal with everyone standing where they will be for the ceremony. Justin and I are front and center, looking at each other. Jamie stands at my side and Logan is at Justin's. Once Marion is convinced that everyone will be able to remember their positions twenty-four hours later, we practice the exit. Walking down the aisle on Justin's arm only serves to rub my nose in the fact that tomorrow I will be at this alone ... my misery increases. After we exit, Jamie and Logan follow, and then Mom and Dad ... simple enough. Dad actually isn't rehearsing because there is a game in the bar that he is interested in and he insists that since he didn't mess up Jamie's wedding he'll be able to handle mine. I'm not bothered by his absence, because the truth is that none of us needs to practice any of this anyway because it won't be happening.
Marion makes us run through the whole walk-in, stand-in position, and walk out twice more before she is satisfied that we are prepared for the big day. After the wedding party has been dismissed, Mom and Marion take me upstairs to show me the room where I will be getting ready for the big day. When we arrive at the room, I'm surprised to see that it has double doors leading into it ... in my experience, only suites have double doors. I am certain we don't have a suite and just chalk it up to how classy The Plaza is ... until Marion opens the doors to a room, actually rooms (plural), bigger than my apartment ... it's not just a room, it
is
a suite. My breath is taken away. The room is amazing. Not only is it huge, it's ... well ... grand. “Grand” is the only way to describe it.
is
a suite. My breath is taken away. The room is amazing. Not only is it huge, it's ... well ... grand. “Grand” is the only way to describe it.
A knot instantly forms in my stomach. Reserving a regular room at The Plaza was a splurge, given the pittance left in my wedding fund, but I felt like it was crucial to the day. I mean, what feels splendid about getting dressed for your wedding in your own apartment? And then what would I do ... take a cab here in my gown?? It felt worth the money to be able to get ready in the very hotel where my (fake) wedding would be taking place. Now I am panicking because clearly there has been some sort of a miscommunication with Marion and I am going to have to pay for this suite, which is surely beyond my budget.
I look to my mother, who is beaming at me, and I feel bad that I am going to have to let her down with the information that we are not going to be able to spend the morning in this amazing room. Don't ask me why this riddles me with guilt and the rest of the fake wedding is okay. I am about to break the news when I hear my father's voice behind me.
“Surprise, baby! What d'ya think?”
It takes me a second to catch on, but I finally piece together my mother's beam and my father's words. This suite is their gift to me ... on my wedding day. I whirl around and throw my arms around his neck. “Oh, Daddy! It's so beautiful. It's wonderful!” I exclaim as I start to cry and wrap my arms around my mother as well.
It really is the perfect room to put on the perfect dress for the perfect wedding ... my tears of joy turn into sobs of sorrow when I remember that tomorrow will not end perfectly. It might end perfectly according to my plan, but that certainly is not a perfect storybook ending. Mom and Dad, and Marion, don't realize my sobbing is anything more than happiness and excitement, so Mom and Marion cheerfully continue the tour of “your suite,” as they call it.
It has a dining room with a large enough table that Mom has arranged for the seven of us (me, her, Dad, Jamie, Kate, Bryan, and Logan) to have a room-service breakfast. After that, I will be moving to the large dressing area in the huge bathroom, which includes a whirlpool tub, to have my hair and makeup done ... another surprise, the gang from Capella will be coming to me. The suite has a comfortable living room with a big TV and a view of Central Park for me to relax in and have friends come by, if I choose. The final room is a large master bedroom with an enormous king-sized bed where Mom drops another surprise on me ... Justin and I will be spending the night in this room! I'm going to vomitâwithout a doubt. The emotional cost this will have on my parents is bad enough, but now they are actually enduring monetary costs as well. My deceit sickens me.
Of course, I'm not actually given time to go to the bathroom and heave up the nonexistent food in my traumatized stomach, because Mom and Marion whisk me out of the suite as quickly as they whisked me in; it's time to get to the rehearsal dinner. These women are sticklers for their schedules.
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