These are not the moments one should talk about in a wedding vow. I feel a loneliness deep in the pit of my stomach. These are the only real moments that Judd and I have.
Amber comes in wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. She has swoopy black hair and false eyelashes that are so big they look like she’s wearing tarantulas on her eyelids. Very disconcerting, I think. She says, “Do you want an updo, hon?”
“No. I’d like my hair to be down.”
“Huh,” she says. “Most brides get an updo.”
“Not me.”
“Well, I just said most, I didn’t say all.” She lifts pieces of my hair and then drops them again. “It’s curly,” she says.
“Yeah.”
“Not sure what you want me to do here. Curly hair is kind of a one-trick pony.”
“Very true characterization of my hair. I’ve been saying that all my life. ‘Hair,’ I’ve said, ‘you know only one trick.’”
“I can’t do much with it then. You want it parted in the middle or on the side?”
“The way it is. The side.”
“Okay then.” She combs it, gently. “You know,” she says after a while. “It’s going to look pretty much the way it always looks. Is that okay with you?”
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s kind of what I want. This is a day like any other.”
“Huh,” she says. “I tell you what: You want I should put some glitter in it or something?”
“God, no.”
After five minutes of steady, listless combing, she says, “Well, I think we’re done here.”
“Okay, thank you. Can I ask you a question?”
“Okay, hon.”
“Do you ever see brides who change their mind right at the end? Who can’t go through with it?”
“No,” she says. She looks alarmed. The tarantulas on her eyes jump a little. “You’ll go through with it, honey. You’ve just got the jitters. Everybody goes through with it, though.”
I select the white wedding gown. Maggie comes in to help me put it on, and she brings a photographer named Elaine who takes moody pictures of us together, Maggie helping me with the veil. Maggie and me by the window, looking out, gazing soulfully into the future. Then me, looking in the mirror. Me, putting on lipstick. Me, from the back, my dress and veil making it seem I’m rising from a cascade of white clouds.
The photographer leaves to go bother some other people, all of whom are milling outside.
Maggie says, “You look—you look really nice. Even your father said so. He was going on and on about how nice you look.”
“Can I tell you something? I feel like all this is happening to someone else. Like I’m in a play.”
She shrugs. “Life’s momentous events have a way of making us feel that way.”
“You and Dad seem to be doing really well.”
“Yes,” she says. She looks at me for a long moment. “You want to know something crazy?”
“I need to hear anything crazy you have to say. Please! It couldn’t be crazier than the thoughts going on in my head.”
“Well, it’s because of your mom.”
“My mom. What’s because of my mom?”
“That we’ve turned the corner. What she said to me. About how he always loved me, and he didn’t really love her. It changed the past for me, really. I always thought I was second best, and I see now how I held back a whole lot of my heart. I was the angry one all those years. Furious with him. I pushed him away. I was there, doing all the work I was supposed to do. Did my duty. But not out of love. Nothing I did was out of love.”
No, she did not do things out of love. I look at her and remember how tough she was. And how soft she seems now, in comparison.
She nods. “Ridiculous, isn’t it? That I needed her to tell me.” She smiles. “The marriage counselor said that sometimes we tell ourselves a little story, and we just hold on to it until it feels like it has to be true, and we can’t switch out of it.”
“Huh,” I say.
“By the way, I saw Tenaj arriving a little bit ago. Shall I send her in? You might want some pictures with her, too, it occurs to me.”
“Is she out there talking to everybody about the universe and how we all have to love ourselves?”
“Very possibly.”
“Then I guess she’ll come in and say all that to me. Who knows? Maybe it’ll help.”
“Maybe.”
I am standing in a way that I can see my reflection in the mirror across the room. I look like somebody else. All of this is happening to someone else.
“Maggie, will you tell me just one thing?” My mouth is a little dry. “What if Judd’s only a story I kept telling myself, and marrying him isn’t the right thing? There’s something about it that isn’t like . . . well, what other people have.”
She gives me a long look. “I know that,” she says. “But he’s been your good friend for ages. He’s got so many good qualities, and—” She stops, swallows, and looks at me. “Well, good qualities may not be the main thing. You have to figure out your heart, Phronsie.”
“I thought I had.”
“A lot of us think we have, and then we really haven’t.”
“But what if I figure it out wrong?”
“Then you can fix anything. Relax. Nothing is irreversible here.”
I sit down on the bed.
“Phronsie, maybe I haven’t said this to you, but I want you to know that even if Judd isn’t the right one, I still love you. You’re the one who’s important to me here.”
“But you’ve done all this work.”
She stands there with her hand on the doorknob. “It’ll be fine. You’re the one I love. I want you to be happy. Okay?” She looks at me for another long moment. “I’ll send Tenaj in.”
I’ve collapsed on the bed when Tenaj comes in. She’s a vision of boho lavender and pink, draped in silk and velvet. With wonderful cowboy boots. “Wait,” she says first thing. “Why aren’t you wearing the dress?”
I’d forgotten this uncomfortable part of things. How Tenaj doesn’t know what happened after she left Maggie and me, how we went to a regular wedding dress store like ordinary bridal citizens do.
“I got this one. I have both,” I say listlessly. “Two dresses.”
“But why? Whatever for?”
“It’s hard to explain.”
“Try.”
“Okay.” My voice feels thick, like it can’t quite say it right. “Well, I have two selves. I’m pretty evenly split down the middle, you know. It used to be easier for me, when I was Phronsie sometimes and Frances other times. But now that we got Maggie to call me my real name, I’m Phronsie all the time. Except now. This is a Frances dress, isn’t it?”
“It is definitely a Frances dress.”
“Yeah.” I look down at it, with all its stiff organdy-ness and lace. “Maybe if I put on the other one, then I’d be the person who could go get married.”
“No pressure or anything. It’s a beautiful day. People are just out there drinking cocktails and walking around on the lawn and going down to the beach.”
“Where’s Judd?”
“Is he the handsome one with the boutonniere?”
“Probably.”
“He’s talking to Hendrix. He seems fine.”
“Okay. Well, I’m just going to lie here and think some thoughts.”
“You do that. Think all the thoughts you want. Are you maybe going to change into your boho dress?”
“Not yet, I don’t think. Just now I’m experiencing my Frances side.” I look over at her. She’s standing by the window, looking down at the yard. “Just tell me this. How many times of your four weddings did you think you might be making the worst mistake of your life?”
She laughs. “Um, none. I always believed in them at the time.”
“Even to my father?”
“Especially to your father.”
“Even knowing that he loved somebody else best?”
“I didn’t r
eally believe that. I thought he’d start to love me.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah, I’m optimistic about love. It’s a character flaw.”
“What about with me? Are you optimistic about this?”
She turns and looks at me with such wide eyes, such kindness. “No. But I’m optimistic about you.”
“I wish I was.”
“You know, there’s a man out there who keeps looking up at this window.”
“That’s Judd.”
“No. It’s not Judd. Judd has a boutonniere. This is another man.”
“Then it’s Russell. The officiant.”
“No . . .” She drops the curtain. “I met Russell, too. This guy is with an older woman who’s hanging on him.”
There’s a knock at the bedroom door, and my father’s voice. “Phronsie? Phronsie, it’s past time. Are you coming out?”
Tenaj opens the door, and my father stands there, blinking at her. It’s funny; I’d imagined this moment for so many years. The moment they would see each other again.
And now here they are, and even from the bed I can see that they are both taking in the vision of the other one right there, that it’s one of life’s big moments. He’s wearing his best suit, and his hair is cut too short, and his face is all red. And she is looking at him with such a big smile on her face.
“Well,” he says. “Hello, Tenaj.” Some muscle twitches in his face.
“Robert! Come in and help us,” she says. “I’m just in here trying to help our beautiful, confused daughter. Come in. Maybe we have some parental wisdom to impart together.”
“Do we?” he says. “I just wanted to come up and see if she might come down and get married soon.”
“She’s apparently still thinking that over.”
“Why aren’t you coming down?” he says to me. “Wait. Why are you lying down?”
I think he might be thinking that I’m a flake. That I’m like her. That he’s washing his hands of the two of us. But surprisingly, he’s got a little smile on his face. He comes over to the foot of the bed, and he reaches over and touches my foot, waggles it a little. I am wearing white nylons. I never wear nylons. Who is this person living in my body all of a sudden, a person who wears bridal-grade nylons?
“I’m coming as soon as I can pull myself together,” I say. “I’m just having a little moment, is all. I’m deciding something.”
“You’re such a beautiful bride in your white dress. And didn’t you already decide? I mean, this is Judd. You’ve decided about him years ago.”
“Robert, the question about Judd may have changed slightly. From: Is he a good friend to Is this the person she really can love for the rest of her life? Is it enough?”
“Still,” he says. “She did say yes. You’re looking well, by the way. Unchanged in a Dorian Gray kind of way.”
“Wait. You know about Dorian Gray?” I say to him.
“Phronsie, I did go to high school.”
“My hair’s gray, though,” Tenaj says, patting it.
“Well,” he says. “Anyway, you look nice.” He looks back at me. “Phronsie, what’s up, kid? What are we going to do here?”
“I’m thinking.”
“She’s thinking.”
My heart is beating too hard. Maybe if I had a good cry, I’d know what I need to do. I could stop this hammering of my heart, get my breath fully back. I respect a good cry. But if I have one now, then when I go downstairs to get married, I’ll have blotchy eyes and smeared makeup.
“But what are you thinking about?”
“I have two wedding dresses,” I say. “They seem to sum up the problem somehow. In a way I can’t describe.”
“I don’t really know why you went and got a second dress when the first one is so wonderful. And you’re not even wearing it,” says Tenaj.
“Listen,” says my dad. “Wedding dress one or two doesn’t matter. But if you know you don’t want to marry Judd, I think you need to tell him. It might be kind of a hard conversation, but you have to do it.”
“Daddy,” I say. “Daddy.” I start to cry. Big, blubbery tears. “Could you just come over here and give me a hug? Tell me it’s going to be okay?”
“All right,” he says, and he lumbers up to the head of the bed. He’s big and awkward. Bulky in his suit that doesn’t quite fit him. I think it’s the one he wore to Hendrix’s wedding a million years ago.
He sits down beside me, and I sit up and put my head on his shoulder and cry. He’s never allowed this. Even now I’m getting mascara on his suit. Which is bad to do. To deface a wedding suit right before its big moment in the spotlight.
“This is all I ever needed you to do,” I say into the pinstripes. “To tell me it’s okay.”
“Oh, God, Phronsie. I always thought if I did that, you’d just cry more,” he says. “You were such a weepy little kid.”
“Of course I was! I missed my mom.”
“Also, Robert, tears are not the enemy,” says Tenaj. “She had lots of things to cry about. We screwed things up pretty badly, if you recall.”
“Sometimes people cry and they might not be able to stop,” he says.
“No, that’s not true,” she says. “People always stop. When they’re done.”
“Daddy,” I say. I pull back and look at him. “I really, really don’t think I want to get married to Judd. Do you hate me for that?”
“No, I don’t hate you. I just—”
Tenaj says, “May I interject here? The correct answer is, ‘I don’t hate you, in fact I love you more than ever.’ And then you tell her how brave and authentic she’s being, and how she’s honoring her own truth, and you congratulate her. And then you go outside with her, and—”
“Do you mind?” he says. “I think I can take it from here.”
“Well,” she says. She winks at me. “It’s been good to see you again, Robert. Phronsie, call me if you need more fortification.” And she sashays out.
When she leaves, my father sits there next to me on the bed. He has his hands between his knees—his big old farmer hands, all rough and nicked and with dirt so deep it will never come out of the creases in his knuckles. His ears stick out, too, and they’re reddened on top, like for good, and his face is all weathered now from all the years of sun. His blue eyes are permanently bloodshot.
“Here’s what I want to say to you,” he says. In his rough, gritty voice. “I’ll love you whatever you decide to do. I—I’ll love you forever. And I know I never said that enough.”
“I know. I guess I’ve always known that deep down, but not on the surface maybe.”
“Yep. I wasn’t so good at the surface.”
“I’m not so sure what this love covers though,” I say. “Like what if I can’t make up my mind for the rest of the day? Would you still love me then?”
His eyes widen a little. “Even if we have to stay in here for the whole rest of the day while you make up your mind, I’ll still love you.” And he laughs. “It’s actually what I’m hoping will happen. It’ll cement our family’s place in Pemberton as the craziest family.”
We sit there in silence. And then he says, “I think you already know, though, so you might want to go tell Judd.”
“Yeah. I suppose we don’t have to be Pemberton’s craziest family.”
I stand up. I suddenly have a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. Tenaj had said there was a man out there looking up at the window. And I suddenly know I need to see him.
I go to the window. People are walking around with drinks in their hands. They’re all wearing nice clothes, except the ones who thought they were coming to a beach party. I see Karla Kristensen, of all people. Did Judd invite her? He must have. How did that get past me? But funny thing, I don’t really care. I wonder if I ever would have cared before right now.
My eyes scan the rest of the crowd.
And then I notice that one of the most beach-partiest of the beach-partiers among them is a curly-haired guy wearing a Hawai
ian shirt and khaki shorts, and my heart drops because he turns and smiles up at me. Waving at me with both hands. Then he points to his socks, which have gnomes on them.
Oh my God. My heart goes into free fall.
I shake my head. I’m laughing. “No!”
He points again. Does a little jig, gestures to each sock in turn.
“Oh my God,” I say softly. “Oh my goodness. Oh my God.”
“What in the hell is going on?” says my father from the bed.
“Daddy, you’re not going to believe what just happened. There’s a man—wait, he disappeared.”
The whole scene goes wobbly on me, and then I hear someone running up the stairs and then there’s a knock on the door, and I run over to open it.
And Adam is standing there in front of me. Adam! Crazy, smiling, tanned. Goofy-looking as hell. Hair a big ball of surfing beach hair. He just stands there, and I just stand there, and it feels like moments keep ticking past, and all we can do is look at each other. I may have my hand over my mouth.
“Gnome socks,” he says finally. “I was showing you I have on gnome socks. How are you?”
“I’m terrible,” I say. “Wretched.”
“Because you’re about to make the biggest mistake of your life?” He’s smiling. He reaches over with his thumb and dries off some leftover tears on my face.
“Because I was, but now I’m not,” I say. “I don’t think I am anymore. I mean, I’m not.”
“Oh Jesus,” says my father, getting up. “Who are you, now?”
“Daddy,” I say, “this is Adam Cunningham. And this is my father, Robert Linnelle.”
“And Adam is—?”
“He’s my—my—”
“I’m her disrupter,” Adam says. He hasn’t taken his eyes from my face.
“How did you know? How did you know to come here?” I say.
“I’m Gabora’s plus one,” he says. “She told me this was an emergency.”
“Gabora!” My hands fly to my face. That’s right; I had sent her an invitation at her insistence. “And where is she now?”
The Magic of Found Objects Page 33
