Not Quite A Bride (25 page)

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Authors: Kirsten Sawyer

BOOK: Not Quite A Bride
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52
The Rehearsal Dinner
W
e hurry down to a private room in one of the hotel's nicer restaurants where Justin and Logan are already warming up the bar. Justin rushes to my side, as a good fiancé would, and I joyfully—well, I try to make it joyfully—tell him about our amazing wedding night suite. I am impressed with his acting skills, because he puts on a reaction for Mom and Dad that seems like a normal amount of excitement for a man to have the night before his wedding. Once we are alone, though, he checks to make sure that I am holding up all right. So-so is the most positive answer I can give.
Slowly, our ... okay,
my
closest friends and out-of-town guests arrive at the dinner and I put on my happy face to greet everyone. I am holding it together for old family friends and relatives. I'm even okay when Lauren and Alex run up to me, screeching with excitement. It's when Brad walks in that my “okayness” is challenged, once again.
Claire is clinging tightly to his side and I can tell right away that she is in one of her “moods.” Whenever I say “moods,” I mentally make little quotations with my fingers because “moods” are what Brad has referred to them as, even though I am convinced that they are actually just her personality. Needless to say, Brad and I haven't spoken since the kiss and his completely freaked-out exit.
They politely approach me as soon as they walk in, but there is something strange. Brad seems totally preoccupied and confused ... and he seems to be avoiding looking at me. When he says hello he looks at his feet; when he says good-bye he looks across the room. With my wedding one day away, his being eight days away and the obvious conclusion that his future wife and I will never get along, he has become utterly uncomfortable around me. He is polite, but I feel like the familiarity and warmth are gone. I feel like he wants it to be there, but he doesn't know how to make it happen. Of course with Claire it was never there, so I'm not completely shocked when her greeting to me is:
“So, you really are getting married at The Plaza. I figured I would just believe it when I saw it.”
My jaw drops open and I stare at her for a second before shifting my gaze to Brad, who just laughs, stupidly, as though this were a funny joke, and stares intently at his shoes. Is he blind? Is he deaf? Does he still think I am the liar about Claire's horribleness?!? I honestly don't have the strength for this tonight, so I just turn and walk away from them. As I make my way across the room I can hear Claire making a snotty remark and Brad not responding to it. My heart breaks in two that such a wonderful person will be vowing to stay with a complete bitch 'til death do them part.
Except for the Brad/Claire run-in, the rehearsal dinner is lovely. Like the shower, it's a good preparation for how the big day will be. I manage to put out of my head the knowledge that the next day will be one of the worst of my life, rather than one of the happiest, and end up enjoying the evening ... as much as I can.
I'm still an emotional wreck, but that's not anything completely new for me. I cry when my dad gives a toast, I cry when my mom gives a toast. I cry when Justin and I get up and give a toast to Mom, Dad, Jamie, and Logan. I cry so much that there is a chance I can get in a boat and row myself away from this awful situation I've created on a river of my own tears. Jeez, have I become melodramatic or what?!?
Aside from me, the mood for the evening is festive. I take time to look around the room and see that everyone, except Brad and Claire, of course, is having a great time. In typical Harrigan fashion, the wine is free-flowing and the food is plenty. I'm exercising enormous amounts of self-control at the bar, although I am aware that getting smashed might be the best thing for me. I have to stay focused and keep my energy up because I have a ton of work to do tonight, plus tomorrow will be hideous enough without a hangover. After this rehearsal, Justin and I have a rehearsal of our own ... we have to rehearse how things are
really
gonna happen tomorrow.
53
The
Real
Rehearsal
J
ustin, Logan, and I finally get home after about two more hours of roasting and toasting than I would be up for under the best conditions. We are all exhausted but we know how much work still lies ahead of us. We walk in the apartment and Justin immediately puts on a pot of coffee as I feed Tiffany some leftover salmon I'd swiped from The Plaza for her.
We each fix ourselves a cup and sit down around the living room coffee table to plan things out. The morning—for me, at least—will go pretty much according to Marion's schedule. I'll arrive at The Plaza on time, with Logan, and we will have breakfast with the family in the amazingly beautiful suite. Then I will get ready as planned and be downstairs for the ceremony at the appointed time. Justin's morning will be completely different.
Justin will be free ... once he leaves my apartment tonight, our contract will have come to an end and he will no longer be indentured to me. It's strange to think that he won't “have” to hang out here anymore, because it always feels more like he wants to. Although we agreed in the beginning and all the way through that we want to remain friends, we've realized that Justin does need to get out of the picture for a little while to let the wedding fiasco blow over and to make it seem like he legitimately broke my heart.
Once we have the outline of our game plan in order, it's time to get to the trickier part. I need to learn how to act ... specifically, act shocked and shattered that Justin is abandoning me at the altar on our wedding day. We had originally thought that perhaps he should actually be there on the wedding day and announce that he has realized his homosexuality and can't go through with the marriage ... but I changed my mind and decided that I don't want him to show up at all. The ceremony is going to be difficult for me regardless, but I don't want Justin to have to be a bad guy in front of all my friends and family since he is anything but. Obviously his “side” will be enormously confused about why he invited them to a play he isn't in, but we both agree that chances are they will just leave when the “ceremony” doesn't happen, and it will be my friends and family who stay at the reception to cheer me up.
“So,” Justin starts, “you will be standing at the end of the aisle, and there will probably be uncomfortable rumblings that I haven't shown up. You need to act confused.”
“Okay, confused,” I repeat as I write down,
step one: confused,
on a little spiral notepad. “Like this: ‘What do you mean? Is he late?'” I rehearse.
“Yeah! That's perfect,” Justin coaches.
“Logan, this is where you come in,” Justin snaps Logan to attention. “You will be the one to tell Molly and Larry that I'm not coming.”
“Okay ... what should I say?”
The story is simple: Justin cannot marry me because he has realized that he doesn't want to be with a woman. Like always, we're sticking as much to the truth as possible. Justin forges a little breakup note explaining his absence; Logan will “find” the note (he'll find it inside his coat pocket, but nobody else will know this) and give to me.
The note is simple and to the point. He simply writes, “Molly, I'm sorry I cannot go through with it. I've realized over the past year that I am gay. I love you, but I cannot marry you. Justin.” It's completely true ... it just leaves out the whole part about me hiring him to pretend to want to marry me in the first place.
“Molly,” Justin turns back to me, “after Logan hands you the note, read it slowly, two or three times, like you can't understand it, then look up at your dad and hand it to him.”
“Are you sure about that?” Logan cuts in. “What if Dad figures out it's a fake?”
“How's he gonna figure that out?” I ask.
Logan accepts the good point and we keep on going.
“Okay,” Justin continues, “after your dad looks at the note, you are going to be shocked and hurt.”
“Should I cry?”
“You can start a little,” he advises. “You really have to almost play it dumb here ... this has to be a complete shock to you.”
“Okay, like ‘Daddy, I don't understand?'”
“Yes! Exactly.”
“How long do I do that for?”
“A little while, and it's okay to get really upset.”
“Okay, so I'm confused, shocked, hurt ... got it. Then I put on my strong face, right?” I ask as I practice the “strong face” that Justin had shown me a few days before. My bottom lip should be quivering, my chin up and my eyes wet, but without falling tears.
“You got it.”
The three of us run through the plan a few more times, with Justin playing the part of Dad, before we feel comfortable with my performance. After that, we move on to what will probably be the hardest moment of the day ... when I address my guests. Justin was kind enough to write out my monologue, as he calls it, this week since I've been so swamped with last-minute wedding stuff. The monologue is the moment when I am really going to need strength.
The plan is for me to compose myself at the back of the room, and then walk to the front and announce to our guests that the wedding will not be taking place. I will say that I am not sure what happened to Justin or to “us,” because, as Justin has emphasized many times, it is crucial for me to maintain my complete shock and surprise. Then I need to put on my strongest strong face and invite the guests to please join me at the reception that my family and I have worked so hard to plan. If I can get through the monologue as planned, I think I will be home free.
I rehearse it a few times with Justin and Logan critiquing me as I go. Finally, they are satisfied and the coffee is all gone, which means our work is done. Justin collects the few items left around the apartment ... he has been taking stuff with him for the past two weeks. Once he has all his stuff, he starts toward the door.
“Are you sure you don't want to stay over just one more night?” I ask, hopeful that he will because I am sad to see him go.
“It's bad luck for the groom to see the bride the day of the wedding,” he reminds me playfully.
I look at my watch, it's almost 2:00 A.M... . it
is
the day of the wedding. I show him this as I remind him that the wedding is doomed anyway.
“No, I've gotta go. What if your family comes to surprise you in the morning?”
I know he's right ... it sounds like something my parents would do, but there is still something awful about watching him sneak off in the still of the night.
Before Justin steps out of my apartment for good, he gives me a huge hug, then one for Logan, and then another one for me. Nobody really says anything; I guess because it's all been said or we know it all already. Logan and I embrace each other as we watch Justin walk down the hall.
“I'll call you tomorrow, secretly, and tell you how it all goes!” I quietly yell after him just before he reaches the stairs.
“I'm counting on it,” he says as he turns down the stairwell.
We close the door and I cry in Logan's arms for a few minutes before I ask him what I have done. He promises that it will all work out, which only makes me feel slightly better.
“Hey, what is it you always say? Eyes on the prize?”
I nod wearily. My vision is blurry from exhaustion and tears ... I don't think I can see the “prize” right now, I tell him.
“This is the finish line, Molly ... look around this apartment and think ... your dream is going to come true tomorrow.”
I look around the apartment at all the beloved registry gifts that have been pouring in. Thinking back, going through with all this for gifts and attention seems so ridiculous. I know what I wanted was the experience of being a bride, and I must admit that some things have been completely wonderful ... but I am really coming face-to-face with the fact that having a wedding without having a real groom really isn't much of the experience at all.
I'm exhausted ... exhausted by all of the planning, but more by all of the lying and covering. Part of me is relieved that tomorrow it will finally be over. Logan and I climb in our respective beds but sleep doesn't exactly come easily. I toss and turn, a bundle of nerves, until sometime around sunrise when I finally doze off. What feels like minutes later, Logan is shaking me gently, telling me that it's time to wake up.
“Good Golly Miss Molly, it's your wedding day.”
54
The Very Much Anticipated Wedding Day
I
am so tired that I feel sick as Logan gently shakes me and tries to get my eyes open. A split second after I regain consciousness I remember what today is and I bolt upright, then I quickly shove past him to the bathroom to throw up. We're off to a great start.
Thank God for my brother; he is a saint. He's right behind me, holding my hair back and reassuring me that today is going to be great ... just how I planned it. Didn't I tell you he's the sweetest kid ever born? When my stomach is empty, he runs a bath for me and even brings me a 7-Up, which I sip miserably as I sit beneath the bottle of bubble bath he poured in for me.
I must admit that after the bath, the soda, and a marathon session of relaxation breathing, my nerves and misery are replaced with just the tiniest bit of excitement. Today
is
my wedding day, and the only one I will ever get, so it's time to keep my eyes on the prize, as Logan reminded me last night, and get the show on the road.
I pull out my copy of Marion's schedule for the big day and check that I am supposed to be at The Plaza at 9:30 A.M. to meet the family for breakfast. It's 8:45 now, so I only have a short time to get myself dressed and head over to the hotel with Logan. I manage to dress myself and am in the process of triple-checking my bags to ensure that I have everything I need ready to go when the front door buzzer goes off.
Before I have time to think about who could be ringing my bell the morning of my wedding, Mom and Jamie are charging into my room in a tornado of excitement. I have a quick flashback to Justin's premonition the night before that my family could surprise me in the morning ... I owe so much to him. Sure enough, they do have a great surprise for me ... a limo waiting downstairs to take us all to The Plaza to get the day started. A rush of excitement washes over me as I grab the bags and follow them to the door, where Logan is waiting with a huge grin. Logan and I confirm with each other that we both have everything we need before giving Tiffany a super-large breakfast and dinner-sized portion of kitty kibble and heading out the door.
In front of my apartment is a gleaming white stretch limo. Logan opens the door and I stick my head in to find Dad, Bryan, and Kate a mile away sitting in the very back of the car. I climb in and hug all three before joining my younger brother and sister in playing with every knob, switch, dial, and button in the car. We play all the way to the hotel, turning music on and off, opening and closing windows and sunroofs (that's right, there are two), and generally annoying everyone else.
Our troop reaches The Plaza without Dad threatening to “turn this car around!” the way he would when we were little and acting like we are today. To be honest, even Dad played with a few switches ... this family is in a mood too good to be destroyed, and it is contagious. Marion is waiting for us in the lobby in what I think must be her casual outfit ... stiff-looking khaki slacks and a crisp, button-down blouse tucked in. She looks different when she isn't in her pastel power suits ... almost motherly. She'd probably impale herself on her enormous ring if she heard me describe her like that.
Marion escorts us all up to our suite where breakfast is already waiting. The tears begin as soon as I see the breakfast. Besides my favorite eggs Benedict and hot chocolate, there is a plate of pumpkin scones from Starbucks. For a split second my mind jumps back to Justin and what will happen this afternoon, but a squeeze on my shoulder from Logan helps me return it to the back of my mind. We all dig into the feast that awaits us and, in typical Harrigan fashion, don't stop until there isn't a speck of food left on the table. Then we all drape our bodies over the numerous couches, plush chairs, and, of course, the king-sized bed, trying to ward off food comas. Having my whole family around me and so happy makes me happy ... moments like this are when I feel like my whole plan is worthwhile.
After we do some digesting and get some energy back, the boys are shuffled off to their room (not suite) to get ready. Since it doesn't take them nearly as many hours to get ready as it takes us girls, I think they make plans to hit some golf balls or see a movie. The girls definitely don't have time for that kind of playing around. Moments after the food is wheeled away, Eden shows up with a suitcase of hair and makeup supplies to get started on us.
Jamie is in the middle of feeding Kate and Mom is going over some last-minute details with Marion, so I am the first one to head to the “vanity area,” as Marion calls it. I try to relax and enjoy it as Eden sets up her equipment and starts pulling, curling, and spraying my hair. As she works, I'm reminded of the day of our run-through when Justin was supervising. There have been some fun times during all of this wedding insanity.
Before I know it, my hair and face are perfect replicas of the Polaroids taken by Justin weeks ago. Everything looks exactly how I dreamed it would, and I am relocated to the comfortable couch in front of the window overlooking Central Park while Jamie moves into the vanity area. As I sit there alone, well, Kate is with me, but she is napping, I stare out the window at the people in the park having a regular old Saturday while I have the biggest day of my life. It's a strange feeling ... like I am somehow detached from the rest of the world today. I stare, stalker-style, at the families with children and the couples holding hands ... for some reason, I am mesmerized.
Jamie returning from Eden's clutches, and beckoning for Mom to get in there, finally breaks my trance. Jamie looks stunning ... I am constantly amazed at what motherhood has done for her. She was always beautiful, but since becoming Kate's mother, her Jan Brady tendencies have significantly lessened. Her hairdo is a low and loose chignon. It almost looks like a haphazard bun, except for the sweeping side part and the intricacy of the hair knot. It looks absolutely beautiful.
“Do you have your something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue?” she asks me as she casually beams at her sleeping daughter.
Yikes, with all of Martha's lists and Marion's orders, nobody had specifically reminded me about this old tradition.
“Let's see ... my dress is new, and my garter has a blue bow on it ...” I trail off as I search the room for some old stuff I can borrow.
“Your engagement ring is old,” Jamie reminds me.
I feel a twinge as I look down at my hand where Nana's ring sparkles as brilliantly as ever. Being able to wear this special ring for a year has been a true gift ... but I cannot look at the ring without thinking about what Nana would think if she knew what I was doing. Nana was a true romantic. She loved weddings because of the romance—not the flowers, dresses, and cakes, but what they symbolized. It is now painfully clear to me that she would not approve of my great plan, and every time I look at her ring—the ring that my grandfather had made especially for his true love—I have to acknowledge this.
“So you just need something borrowed,” Jamie continues as she walks toward me. She stands in front of me and holds out her hand. “I want you to borrow the diamond earrings that Mom and Dad gave me as a wedding present,” she says as she opens her palm to show the sparkling studs.
“Really?” I ask.
“It would be my greatest honor as matron of honor,” she says with a giggle.
I stand up and we hug as tightly as two people can when they are being protective of hairdos and makeup jobs. We also blink furiously to prevent tears from streaking our faces.
Once Mom is finished with Eden—and looking amazing, I might add—we begin to get ready. It's crazy how fast the day has flown by. Around noon, room service revisits our suite with tiny finger sandwiches that we nibble while trying not to mess up our makeup. We have a short time to relax, but my mother's sister Belinda comes by to wish us well and deliver two dozen long-stemmed roses for me. A short while later, Alex, Lauren, and Maggie come up, bearing a plate of my favorite chocolate chip break-and-bake cookies.
Too quickly, it is time to put on our dresses, which also means that the hardest parts are getting closer. First, the three of us together put on the flower girl dress we got for the still-sleeping, six-month-old Kate. The dress is the same hydrangea blue as the sash on Jamie's white maid-of-honor dress ... the exact dress that Justin had proclaimed would be perfect when we selected our flowers with Iris so long ago (thank goodness for the Internet).
Kate could not look more adorable in her blue dress with a white bow around her chubby middle and another white bow around her bald head. Next, Mom and Jamie get dressed. Jamie looks stunning in the white dress, thanks to a visit to the Mystic Tan and some blond streaks in her sandy hair. She looks like she has spent the last six months jogging on a beach, not nursing an infant. Mom also looks her best in a stunning mother-of-the-bride suit. It's champagne-colored silk with a beautifully beaded jacket and knee-length skirt. Finally they are ready and I am the only one left in my regular clothes.
Getting me into my dress is no small feat. Once I carefully remove my tank top by pulling it down over my hips, I have to be hooked into my special, girdlelike bra. It sounds more uncomfortable than it is ... it is actually the first strapless bra I've ever worn that hasn't slipped down, and it makes me look like I have a good amount of cleavage. Once the foundations are in place, I step into the dress and try my best to stand still while Mom and Jamie button up the back. When the dress is on, I steal a look in the mirror ... it looks as beautiful as I'd remembered it. Finally my feet are slipped into my white satin sandals and my little crown and veil are attached around my up-do. It's showtime, as Justin would say.
Just as we finish, the phone in the room rings. It's Dad telling us it's time to get down there. Mom and Jamie head for the door with Kate and me to follow.
“I just need one second alone,” I tell them.
“Okay, are you sure you want to be alone?” Mom checks.
“Yes, I'm okay—I just want a second. I'll meet you down there.”
They agree and head out the grand double doors, leaving me alone in the suite.
I stand in front of the room's full-length, three-way mirror, feeling almost paralyzed. I can't believe that it's really me draped in white satin and tulle. I feel like I'm playing dress-up. I guess the fact is that I am ... and I can't shake the feeling that any minute now, the real bride is going to burst through the door and show me for the imposter that I really am.
This is how I am feeling when there is a knock on the door, and so I jump, startled that my neurotic fear is coming true. I don't respond to the knock, silently praying that whoever is there will go away, but instead the door opens. Without moving my feet, I turn and steady myself for the wrath that is to come. Instead of a bride on the rampage, it's Brad standing on the right side of the suite's double doorway. I honestly think I would have been less surprised if it had been a psychotic Bridezilla.
“Brad?” I ask, thinking there is a chance that my eyes are deceiving me.
“Molly, I need to talk to you,” Brad says with great urgency.
“Now?”
“I can't wait.” He rushes in and then he pauses for a second. “You look amazing.”
I suddenly remember where I am and what the day is. I turn back to the mirror and look down my body at the white gown and then back up. When my eyes reach the top, they land on the reflection of Brad's eyes.
“Thank you,” I say and neither of us shifts our gaze for another beat.
“I need to talk to you,” Brad repeats.
“Okay,” I tell him, easily ignoring the fact that I am supposed to be staging my fake wedding any second now.
“You can't go through with this,” Brad states matter-of-factly.
“What?” I ask weakly, positive and mortified that Brad has gotten wind of my insane plan.
“You cannot marry Justin,” Brad states, this time sounding slightly desperate.
He doesn't know about the plan. He thinks that I am moments away from saying “I do,” on the happiest day of my life and he is trying to stop me. My head spins for a moment. How dare he?
“How dare you?” I say out loud.
“Molly ...” Brad starts, but I cut him off.
“I can't believe you're trying to ruin my happiness!” I say, getting louder.
“I love you,” Brad says in his normal voice. “I'm in love with you,” he says, a bit quieter.
I don't hear him, though. I am so wound up and angry that I only hear myself scream, “Get out!”
Brad opens his mouth to say something. Maybe to protest the exile I have demanded, but before he can get a word out, I scream “NOW!” so loud that my guests downstairs probably hear.
Brad looks down at his shoes as he turns and walks out of the suite. He doesn't say another word or look back. It feels like forever before I finally hear the suite's door close and I exhale ... I hadn't even realized I'd been holding my breath. I turn my full attention back to the mirror. My face is as red as a cherry.
Anger surges through me. I am in disbelief that Brad would make yet another attempt to ruin my wedding. All the times he tried before were bad enough, but to try on the actual day of ... and just minutes before the ceremony!!! His nerve is truly unbelievable.

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