Winter Jacket: Finding Home (23 page)

I sat up in bed, too fast, and the world began to spin.

“God,” I groaned, pressing my palm firmly against my right temple.

Troian continued to pound on my door. Knowing she would never go away, I threw the covers off my body to discover I’d slept in my dress from the rehearsal dinner. “Awesome,” I muttered to myself.

I padded to the door, and with one firm tug, I wrenched the door open. Troian stood on the other side of the door, her face momentarily comical with surprise. “What the hell are you wearing?”

“A dress,” I grunted. I turned on my heel and slumped back into bed.

Troian took a tentative step into my room. “You do remember I’m getting married today, right? I can’t postpone this thing just because you drank too much.”

I groaned unintelligently. “So much alcohol.”

“Do you remember much from last night?”

“No. Did I embarrass myself?”

“Those tequila shots were probably a bad idea. You got in a very loud and very passionate debate with my little brother about Aaron Rogers being a better quarterback than Brett Favre.”

“Even drunk I make good sense.”

“My brother doesn’t even
like
football. He was just having fun pushing your buttons.”

“Anything else I should know about?”

“Like how you tried to bite me?”

I felt the color drain from my face. “You’re lying.”

“You said I smelled good and then you bit my shoulder.”

I pulled a pillow over my head to hide my embarrassment. “What is wrong with me?”

“Can you try to not get blackout drunk tonight?”

I removed the pillow and sat up in bed. “Scouts honor. I’ll do better.”

“Girl, you’d better keep it tight today,” Troian warned. “I only get one chance to get this right.”

I sucked in a deep, sobering breath through my nose. “Don’t worry about me,” I insisted. “I’ll pull myself together with plenty of time to spare.”

“You’d better. Listen, I’m supposed to be having breakfast with my family right now. I want my Best Woman to be there, but I’d prefer if you showered instead.”

I cracked a smile. “So we’re making that a thing now?”

Troian huffed, realizing she’d slipped up. “Just for today. Tomorrow you go back to being an asshole.”

“I can handle that,” I approved. “I’ll shower and change and be there as soon as I can. I’m sorry about last night.”

“I get it; Hunter’s here and that’s making you act a little crazy. But I’m gonna need you to push all that drama to the side for
my
drama today. Do you think you can do that?”

I nodded vigorously until I felt lightheaded.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A shower, hot coffee, and a fresh dress later, I was feeling more like myself. I hiked the short distance to the vineyard’s main building with strappy high heels in hand. Nikole and her sister Veronika, her Matron of Honor, had use of the farmhouse while Troian and I would get ready at a room at the vineyard’s central building. Strategically located between our main house and the farm was the hillside area where the ceremony and later reception would take place, assuring that the brides could get ready without fear of running into each other before the wedding.

I knocked once on the second bridal suite’s door before busting into the room. Troian sat in a chair in a white slip with her thick dark hair set in soda can-sized curlers. As I entered the room, she battled with a makeup artist from the show over her eye makeup.

“Troi,” I breathed. “You look beautiful. I hardly recognized you.”

She stuck her tongue out at me, which was all she could do at the moment, surrounded by hairdressers and makeup artists. “Nice of you to show up.”

“There’s plenty of time,” I reassured her.

“The vineyard owners brought champagne if you’re into that,” she said, motioning toward an unopened bottle that sat in a silver bucket of ice.

“Maybe a little later when my stomach stops jumping around.” I hung my garment bag on a full-length mirror and appraised the bridal suite the vineyard had afforded us. Besides the hair and makeup people, Troian and I were the only ones in the room. “Where’s your family?”

“Who knows?”

Troian’s family was very Old World traditional. I had wondered what their participation level was going to be like when their only daughter married another woman.

“Do you want me to go hassle them? They should be in here drinking your champagne and making a fuss about you.”

“It’s fine,” she insisted. “I honestly didn’t expect much from them this weekend. They showed up, that’s all that matters.”

“Who’s walking you down the aisle?”

“I’ve got two legs. I can do it myself.”

“Stop being such a grump,” I complained. “You said it yourself—you’re only getting married once. You’ve got to do it right the first time.”

“Nik’s dad is walking her down, but I don’t want it to be my dad.”

“Then ask your brother,” I suggested. “Where’s your phone? I’ll text him and tell him he has no choice.”

I dug around in her things knowing her phone wouldn’t be too far away, even on her wedding day. Finding the device, I sent a bossy text message to her little brother’s phone, pretending to be Troian.

“There,” I said with finality. “It’s done.”

It didn’t take long for me to slip into my dress and heels and to get my hair and makeup applied by the experts on loan from the studio.

There was a tentative knock at the door, followed by the wedding planner’s head poking inside.  “Ladies, we’re about to get started if you’re ready.”

I smiled encouragingly at my best friend. “You ready for this?”

She sucked in a deep breath.  “First day of the rest of my life.”

Nikole’s sister, Veronika, was already at the back of the wedding grounds when I arrived.

I kissed her cheek in greeting. “You look lovely,” I complimented.

“Thanks. I was afraid I wasn’t going to fit into my dress,” she chuckled. She rubbed a hand over her distended belly. “It’s a good thing my boobs didn’t grow any more.”

“When are you due?” I couldn’t recall noticing that Nikole’s sister had been pregnant at the bachelorette party, but I had been more than a little distracted that night.

“Not soon enough,” she laughed.

The wedding planner, a small man with a thick accent, hustled up beside us. “Okay, ladies, the brides are in position. It’s time to go.”

An understated but classically-trained string quartet began playing as Veronika and I stood at the back of the wedding. On either side of me, Nikole and Troian’s friends and family sat on rows of white chairs. At the end of the long aisle was a small, slightly elevated platform with a wicker arch decorated with multi-colored flowers.   

Standing by himself was the wedding officiant, whom I vaguely remembered as being either Nik or Troi’s cousin. He wore a dark blue suit and rocked back and forth on his heels, looking more nervous than the brides themselves.

As I walked down the aisle after Veronika, I plastered a smile to my face and kept my eyes forward, careful not to trip over the length of my dress’s long skirt or to get my spiked heels caught in the uneven terrain. The setting was stunning, but the ground was impractical for high-heels.

Veronika and I took our places on the platform on either side of the central arch and waited. I had actually never been to a same-sex wedding before—it only having become legal in Midwestern states in recent years—so I didn’t know what to expect for the brides’ entrance. The musicians changed songs and tempo, and the assembled guests took that as their cue to collectively stand.

While Veronika and I had walked down the central aisle, Nikole and her father stood to the right of the guests and Troian and her brother stood arm-in-arm on the left. I watched both brides and their escorts as they strode down separate aisles towards the central platform. When they reached the end of their respective rows, they hugged their family member and walked the rest of the way on their own, toward each other.

From my vantage point, I could only see Troian’s face and her reaction to seeing her bride for the first time that day. At weddings, when everyone is standing and watching the bride’s entrance, I always look at the groom’s face. Troian’s face was a mixture of awe and wonderment. I watched her features radiate with love and admiration and then how they crumpled under the weight of too much emotion. Eyes grew watery and her chin quivered, and I forced myself to look away. By the time they reached the center platform together, I knew my makeup was ruined. So much for waterproof mascara.

As the ceremony progressed, I caught myself staring out at the assembled crowd of about fifty of Troian and Nikole’s closest friends and family. All eyes were on the brides as they exchanged tender vows of devotion and togetherness. Without my permission, my gaze gravitated toward a familiar shade of blonde hair. I couldn’t help but stare out at my beautiful ex-girlfriend in the crowd, seated among a sea of foreign faces. I swallowed down a lump in my throat.
Ex-girlfriend.
I still hated the way that sounded.

For the wedding, Hunter wore a slate grey dress, almost blue in hue. The elaborate French braid from the previous night had been undone, and she wore her hair down in loose curls that framed her face. The sun was just beginning to sink into the horizon, and the sky was filled with vibrant shades of pink, purple, and orange. The sunset bounced off her blonde hair, making it look practically golden. California looked good on her, I decided.

At the end of the ceremony, the wedding party was carted off to various locations on the vineyard property for photos. By the time we returned to the hilltop where Troian and Nikole had been married, staff had torn down the chairs and platform from the wedding and had set up for the reception. The horizon had completely consumed the sun, but the reception area and dance floor were illuminated by lanterns and twinkle lights that hung from surrounding trees
.

The setting was amazing. Long tables were lined up in neat rows over the uneven terrain. The meal was even more magnificent: roasted Cornish hen and heirloom root vegetables. I tried to maintain a conversation with Veronika at the head table, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to glancing in Hunter’s direction every now and again. Troian had made it her mission to seat her with the wedding’s most boring and least attractive attendees, a kind of punishment she had reasoned, but probably also as safeguard that Hunter wouldn’t find her next girlfriend at the wedding.

The meal itself passed with limited anxiety. I had my Best Woman speech to give, but I wasn’t nervous. As a teacher, I had no problem speaking in front of large groups.

I stood and smoothed down the shimmery fabric of my dress’s long skirt. As I stood at the center of the head table, directly behind the newly married couple, the mingled voices of dinner and the sound of forks and knives striking chinaware quieted.

“Hey, everyone,” I spoke into the microphone the DJ had provided me. “I want to thank everyone for coming out tonight to celebrate the love of my two best friends. For those of you whom I’ve yet to meet, my name is Elle and I’m Troian’s Best Woman.” I paused briefly to turn in Nikole’s direction. “Well, second only to her blushing bride,” I qualified with a bright smile. “And those of you who
do
know me,” I continued, “probably know that I used to be an English professor before Troian convinced me to give up that glamorous life to be a TV writer.”

Someone in the crowd unleashed a piercing wolf whistle. “Hot for teacher!” I didn’t recognize the voice, but I was keenly aware of where Hunter was seated, being intimately familiar with the seating charts, and I made a point to not look in her direction. “Uh, anyway,” I continued, clearing my throat, “I feel it would be a disservice if I didn’t have something literary and profound to say about love. Perhaps Oscar Wilde said it best, ‘Women are meant to be loved, not to be understood.’”

I paused as an approving chuckle moved through Nik and Troian’s friends and family.

“So if you’ll all raise your glasses and join me in toasting my friends.” I waited for the seated guests to grab their respective drinks. I leveled my gaze on the brides before continuing. “My greatest wish for the two of you is that through the years your love for each other will deepen and grow, so that you look back on this day—your wedding day—as the day you loved each other the least.” I stumbled over the final words as a swelling of emotion washed over me. I hiked my drink higher in the air and cheered them on with a watery smile. “To the brides!”