“Probably.”
“Who am I going to ask? I don’t even know five people.”
“You’re crazy. My sister, Lila…you can ask Jessica and Leslie. I’m sure they’d love to march for you.”
He thinks I’m asking his cousins’ wives to be my bridesmaids? “I barely even know them.”
“They’re going to be your family.”
I notice that I somehow managed to acquire a two-inch coffee stain on the sleeve of my white shirt. Fantastic. “If I’m going to include cousins, they should probably be mine.”
“You have cousins?”
“Cam! You know my mother’s brother has three kids. And my father’s sister has two.”
“I forgot.”
True, he’s never met them. And I haven’t seen them in five years. I just recently skipped the bar mitzvah of one of my cousin’s whiny offspring. What was the name again? Darryl? Jacob? Still…why does Cam assume that his family is more important than mine? “Maybe you’ll meet them all at the wedding,” I tell him. Maybe I’ll meet them all at the wedding.
My mom is a half hour late.
By the time she arrives, Alice has already tsk-tsked, and glanced at the clock above her two matching ovens seventeen times.
When the bell finally rings, I leap to the door.
“Hello, Ms. Engaged,” my mother says, enveloping me in a hug.
“Alice is waiting in the kitchen,” I whisper. “She has binders. And clippings. Lots of clippings. I’m afraid.”
My mother raises her perfectly arched eyebrows and follows me into the house. She’s looking extra thin in straight-legged gray linen pants, a crisp white shirt and black leather sling backs. In the past ten years, my mom has become slightly obsessed with her weight. She took up jogging and actively limits her carb intake.
I grimace. “You have to take off your shoes.”
She scowls in protest, but I give her a pleading look and she sighs and slips them off. “You owe me,” she hisses. “And what’s up with all the photos on the wall?”
“Just be polite,” I murmur.
“Hello, hello,” Alice says, some sort of banana loaf in hand. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Sherri.”
“Same here,” my mom says, eyes popping at the platters of homemade chocolate-oatmeal cookies, sun-dried tomato feta dip and freshly baked pita piled on the table and counter.
I probably should have mentioned my mom’s carb phobia to Alice.
“I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble,” my mom says, automatically patting her hips.
Alice places the banana bread beside the cookies and dismisses the comment with a wave. “Oh, it’s my pleasure. Would you ladies like some homemade lemon-strawberry iced tea?”
How does one make homemade lemon-strawberry iced tea, exactly? “Sounds great,” I say, sitting down on a hard plastic chair.
“Thank you,” my mom says in her oh-so-polite voice. Before she sits, I catch her frowning first at the carb-fest and then at her bare feet. I can deal with a frown. She can’t throw a frown.
“Plate?” Alice asks.
A plate she can throw.
My mom hesitates. “Sure. Thank you.”
“You’ll have to try the cookies,” Alice says, passing the platter over the table. “They’re my special recipe. Delicious.”
“I’m sure they are,” my mom says, ignoring the platter and turning to me. “Let’s get started. Gabby, you’re not going to make a big fuss about this, are you? Of all my own weddings, my favorite was at the Four Seasons in Nevis. You should do something like that. Small, intimate.”
Alice’s knuckles, which are still holding up the platter, are now white. “Don’t even joke about something like that, Sherri! That would be awful! Now take a cookie!” She shoves the plate closer to my mother’s face.
Oh, boy.
My mother whips her chair back and a scraping sound echoes through the kitchen. “I don’t want a cookie. Thank you.”
Alice frowns, then shoves the plate toward me. “Gabrielle wants one. She loves my cookies.”
After I take two cookies to keep the peace, Alice whips the platter away and hands us each white binders. “I’ve made us wedding binders. It helped us stay on top of Blair’s wedding, and I know it will work for us.”
I cannot believe what I am holding in my hand. On the cover, in calligraphy, it says The Wedding of Cameron & Gabrielle, May Sixth. I’m too shocked to speak. I said okay to May, but when did I agree to the sixth? Did I agree to the sixth?
“You’re getting married on May sixth?” my mom asks.
“Apparently,” I say, flipping open the binder to discover orange plastic dividers. With labels: Ceremony, Favors, Flowers, Invitations, Music, Notes, Tables. All in alphabetical order.
My mom gingerly touches the binder as though she’s afraid it’s contagious. With her free hand, she picks up her glass of iced tea. Probably to quench her annoyance.
“Oh yes,” Alice says. “Gabrielle thought it was best to have a May wedding. And I’ve already booked St. George’s—”
The glass of tea comes crashing back to the table. “Excuse me?”
“St. George’s. The church on—”
My mother glares. “Yes, I know where it is, but there’s not a chance in hell my daughter is getting married in a church.”
Uh-oh.
Alice looks bewildered. “But she wants to!”
“No she does not,” my mother snaps. I place my hand on my mother’s plate to make sure it remains on the table.
“Yes, she does!” Alice insists.
Yes, this is going splendidly. “Actually—” I say.
My mom: “We’re Jewish, Alice. Jews don’t get married in churches. They just don’t.”
Alice: “They can if they want to! And Gabrielle wants to!”
The both stare at me.
Alice: “Gabrielle?”
My mom: “Gabby?”
I don’t know, I don’t know. I hate making these kinds of decisions. I look at my mom and then at Alice and then back at my mom. Slowly, I shake my head. I know I promised Cam but…“I don’t think I can get married in a church. I’m sorry, Alice. I know how much it means to you, but I don’t believe it’s appropriate.”
My mom smirks. “Ha.”
“Well,” Alice says with a humph. “Cam is certainly not getting married in one of those temple things.”
Oh, yes, she’s very respectful of my religion.
“Look,” I say. “I’m willing to keep May sixth, as long as it’s okay with you, Mom. And my dad, of course. But I think it’s best if Cam and I get married somewhere nondenominational. We could even have the ceremony and reception at the same place. Save money.”
“I suppose we can have the ceremony here as well as the reception,” Alice says.
“What?” My mom looks around the overcrowded orange house. “You’re planning a reception here?”
Alice looks surprised. “Of course I am! We landscaped the backyard specifically for Blair’s reception. It was beautiful. Blair and I made the tent, and Cam built the pool covering so we could convert it into a dance floor. Since we still have the tent and the covering, we can save a lot of money this time around. Oh, this is perfect! They can get married here under the tent, and then we can have the party!”
I don’t know how the five million people they invited all fit in the yard, but that’s beside the point. I don’t want to get married under some macramé-like tent.
My mother, thankfully, agrees with me. “I think we should rent out a hall at a hotel,” she says.
Alice scowls. “Why pay for a hotel when we have a perfectly good space here?”
My cheeks burn. And so it begins. The discussion of money. “We should talk about the budget,” I say slowly. A compartment that Alice has left out of the binder. How interesting.
My mom nods and whips out a calculator from her purse. Not sure why she carries one around with her, but it does seem like something she would do
. Now that we’re talking cash flow, she’s in her element.
“I’ve looked over my finances and I can kick in fifteen thousand,” she says. “What about you, Alice?”
My mom has fifteen thousand just sitting around? I’m about to thank her for her insane generosity when Alice says, “Me? I’m not kicking in anything.”
My mom looks confused. “Your husband then. Whatever.”
Alice purses her lips. “Richard will not be kicking in anything, either.”
Huh? “He won’t?” I ask.
“The groom’s parents do not have to contribute to the wedding, dear,” she tells me.
“Why not?” my mom asks.
“Because that’s the way it’s done.”
“That’s crazy,” my mother says. And then…throws her calculator. Shit. Luckily it lands on the floor, and not on Alice.
Without missing a beat, Alice picks up the calculator and places it back on the table. “It certainly is not. It’s tradition.”
I can feel a real fight brewing. “It’s all right, Mom. Thank you for your generous offer. Cam and I can pitch in a few thousand, and I’m sure Dad will give us something, too.”
“You and Cam will certainly not put in any of your own money,” Alice says.
“Why not? It’s our wedding.”
“The bride’s parents are supposed to pay for the wedding. Period. You can’t go draining your real-estate nest egg.”
Huh? Are Cam and I buying a house? We’ve never even discussed buying a house. We moved in together only five days ago. “We’d be happy to put some money towards our own wed—”
“No,” Alice says. “You’ll have to ask your father. Of course, if he can’t afford to contribute, Richard and I will be happy to have the wedding here. That would certainly be easier to afford than some hotel.” Emphasis on hotel as if it’s a dirty word.
The unpleasant conversation then jumps to bands, to colors, to themes, to floral arrangements, and finally to regular meeting times.
“We are not meeting once a week,” my mother says, responding to Alice’s comment that we’ll reconvene next Tuesday.
“I agree,” says Alice. “It’s important for the three of us to be in constant contact. We should meet twice a week. How are Tuesdays and Fridays for you?”
My mom’s jaw drops. “Every Tuesday and Friday?”
“At least. It’s obvious you’ve never planned a wedding before.” Alice stuffs a third cookie in her mouth.
“I’ve planned several weddings,” my mom protests.
“I’m talking about real weddings. Not your weddings. Thousands of details need to be worked out.”
My mom snorts with laughter. “That’s what a wedding planner is for. We’re hiring a wedding planner. I hired one two weddings ago and it worked out perfectly. Well, not the marriages, but the weddings.”
Alice waves dismissively. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not going to waste money for someone else to plan the event when we can do it ourselves.”
“You’ve made it clear that it’s my money being spent, so it’s my money to spend as I want. You’re the one being ridiculous. I wholeheartedly support hiring a professional when necessary. When you want your hair cut, you go see a stylist. When you want to plan a party, you hire a party planner.”
Right. I probably should have mentioned Alice’s haircutting philosophy.
“I will not hire a wedding planner. Absolutely not.” She scribbles away in the Notes section of her binder. “That has to be all for today, ladies. I need to get back to work.”
“I didn’t know you had a job,” my mother says in surprise. “What do you do?”
“My job is to create a warm and loving home. And at the moment, I need to prepare for tomorrow.”
My mother stands and stretches her arms above her head. “What’s tomorrow?”
Alice looks at her as if she’s clearly on crack. She pauses to see if my mom is joking. When my mother’s oblivious expression doesn’t change, she says, “It’s Thanksgiving.”
“It is?” my mom says. “Already?”
“I don’t know how you can forget Thanksgiving.”
My mom shrugs. “Holidays don’t mean much to me.”
“Obviously. Does that mean you don’t have a place to go? You’re welcome to come here tomorrow night with Gabrielle.”
“Oh…um…uh…” My mother’s expression tells me she would rather shoot herself in the head than come back here for Thanksgiving.
“She’s going to be out of town,” I down-and-out lie.
Grateful smile from Mom.
Dubious look from Alice. “But you just got back. Today.”
“I’m a frequent flyer,” my mom says, looking guilty. “But I’ll be back next week, and we’ll catch up then.”
Alice looks back at her notes. “So your job, ladies, is to brainstorm the names of hotels. Then we can all go see them on Tuesday.”
Hurrah! Mother and daughter score on that point!
“Yes, we should go see them in the next few weeks,” my mom says.
“Not the next few weeks. Tuesday. The clock is ticking.”
The only thing ticking is my mother. Any second now she will explode.
We thank Alice for her hospitality, I cringe as I watch my mother and Alice exchange strained goodbyes, and then my mom and I take off faster than race cars. We crack up as soon as the front door is closed.
“That woman is insufferable,” says my mother, heaving with laughter. “Are you sure you want to marry into that gene pool?”
I’m beginning to wonder. “I warned you, didn’t I?”
“Not really. Thanks for getting me out of Thanksgiving hell. I can’t think of anything more awful.”
“Come on Mom, she’s not that bad.”
“Yes, she is.”
“You’re right. She is.”
She unlocks her car door with a beep. “You have to call your father tonight and ask him for money.”
“I know, I know.” He’ll help us out, won’t he? He’d better. I climb up into the truck and roll down the window so we can continue our chat.
“He’s going to ask you what I’m giving, so tell him thirty.”
“I’m not lying to him, Mom.”
“Yes, you are. You know he’s going to match whatever you tell him I’m giving you. And you also know that he’s only going to actually give you half of what he promises. If you want fifteen from him, tell him I’m giving thirty. Trust me.”
Unfortunately, I know she’s right. And I need to raise this money.
Otherwise…hello, macramé tent.
6
A Stomachache Is a Stomachache Is a Stomachache
When I rehash the budget conversation with Cam, I’m surprised by his lack of surprise regarding who should pay for the wedding.
“Isn’t it normal for the bride’s family to pay?” he asks, all innocent eyed.
“I’m sure it happens. But it’s a little old-fashioned.”
“My parents paid for the entire wedding when Blair got married.”
“So now my parents have to suffer because Matt’s parents are cheapskates?”
He cocks his head to the left. “Are you calling my parents cheapskates?”
Yes. “No,” I answer. “I’m just concerned about what will happen if my father doesn’t give us enough money.”
He wraps his arms around me. “Why don’t you ask him first? If he says no, then we’ll worry about it. And I’m sorry about my parents. They get so set in their ways sometimes. But I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks. Hmm. What about our savings? I have about fifteen thousand in investments.”
He grimaces. “I’d rather not use too much of our own money on the wedding.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’re going to need it for the down payment.”
“What down payment?”
“For our house.”
I wonder why everyone seems to know we’re buying a house except
me. “Oh. I didn’t know we were looking.”
“Of course we’re looking. I know how much you want to have a home Gabby. You told me how important it is to you that night in Mexico.” He squeezes my hands.
My heart rate speeds up as I realize what he’s referring to. For our one-year anniversary we had gone down to Rocky Point for the weekend. Walking on the beach, I had told him about how tough the moves had been for me as a kid. How I always dreamed of the day when I would have my own home. “But…” My voice trails off.
“We have the money.”
I’ve never point-blank asked him what his accounts look like. “We do?”
“I have about seventy-five thousand dollars worth of investments.”
My jaw drops. “You do? Impressive.”
“Not I do, we do. We will, that is. As soon as we go to the bank and combine all our accounts.”
Wow. I had no idea. “So if we have to, we can contribute our own money for the wedding. Not that I want to chew away at our nest egg, but if we have to—”
“If we have to, yes. But every dollar spent is coming out of our future abode.”
I raise my hands to look like a scale. “Living-room curtains or wedding cake.”
“Exactly,” he says, smiling. “But let’s worry about missing furniture and appliances after you ask your dad for money. I don’t think he’s going to say no. You’re his favorite kid.”
Cam gets a kick out of my dad’s use of hyperbole. Every place he goes to is the most incredible place he’s ever been. Every restaurant is the absolute best.
“But she’s your only kid,” Cam said, the first time he heard my dad call me his favorite.
My dad’s response: “Even more reason why she’s my favorite.”
Even so, asking my dad for wedding money is going to seem to come out of nowhere since he doesn’t even know I’m engaged.
My dad is a Hollywood producer. He’s no Steven Spielberg, but he does have a few credits to his name, though nothing that would get your fishnets in a twist. He’s worked on a few movies for Fox and a couple for Universal, but it’s not as if he’s a bigwig. At the moment, he’s an associate producer on a movie that’s filming in Brisbane, Australia. Which means it’s not so easy to get in touch with him.
I call his hotel, but get his voice mail. I’ll have to put it off until tomorrow. Okay, not my New York tomorrow, but my Arizona tomorrow…Although it’s already tomorrow in Australia….
Me vs. Me Page 7
