by Cecy Robson
“That’s awful,” I say. “I never knew she was like that.” Was I used to Valentina’s pettiness first hand? My goodness, yes. But I always envisioned her driven to win everyone over to her side. I didn’t realize she only sought the approval of those she deemed worthy of her time.
I want to hug Molly. Out of all the O’Briens, she and Angus were the first to invite me to dinner at their home. The first to say welcome, you’re one of us now. I’ll never forget either of them for that. “I’m sorry for how she made you feel,” I say. “You didn’t deserve that.”
Molly smiles and rubs my arm. “Don’t be, honey. You’re nice and you’re with our Seamus. That’s all that matters.”
Molly means to be kind, but I wish there was more truth to her statement.
She stops in front of a very dark and ornate door. I grew up in this church and like the O’Briens, I was baptized here and received my first communion and confirmation. I’d never visited this part of the building before. But then, it does belong to the brides.
“Do me a favor,” Molly says. “Don’t say anything about Mary Therese. She’s a whore and a little bat shit crazy. But we love her.”
“I won’t say anything,” I assure her.
“Thank you, honey.” She pauses with her hand on the door and looks at me. “We haven’t had much time to talk, but I want to after all the festivities wrap up. I mean it when I say we’re all glad you and Seamus are together. You’re everything he never knew he needed.” Her smile fades a little bit. “I only hope good things for the both of youz.”
“Thank you, Molly,” I say, a pang of guilt hitting me hard. “I really hope things work out for us, too.”
Molly raps on the door. “Who is it?” Sofia asks gently.
“It’s me, Molly, and I got Allie with me.”
Sofia opens the door carefully, her body shadowed by the dimness of the hall. “Hi, Allie,” she says, tossing a nervous glance behind her.
“Is that fucking Mary Therese?” Wren yells from inside.
“Um,” Sofia says. “Wren is—”
“Pissed,” Molly finishes for her.
Sofia tries to smile. “She’s a little stressed,” she admits.
Molly walks in. “It’s just me. I have Allie with me.”
“Allie?” Wren asks.
Oh, no, perhaps I shouldn’t be here. “I’m sorry to intrude, Wren. I have a message from Seamus and—”
“You’re not intruding, Allie. Come on in,” Wren says.
I open my palm and whisper to Sofia. “I also have Evan’s ring.”
Sofia places her hand over her heart. “Wonderful. Thank you, Allie. Wren,” she says. “Allie has the ring.”
“Well, at least I can count on Seamus,” Wren grumbles.
Sofia opens the door, allowing us in and revealing the luminous gowns of the bridesmaids. Silver silk dresses alternate from sweet like Sofia’s beautiful strapless, A-line skirt design, to more elegant like Tess’s off the shoulder and straight skirt design, or as sensual as Melissa’s halter top and flowing skirt, reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe. The material is the same, but it seems Wren took the time to select a style that matched her bridesmaids’ personalities. Yet as beautiful as these women look, no one quite compares to Wren.
A loose, large braid pulls Wren’s long ebony hair away from her face and gathers around the wave of neat, large, and graceful curls, cascading down the open back of her gown. A silver comb, adorned with diamonds and pearls fastens into the braid, holding the cathedral length veil everyone is doing their best not to step on.
Wren’s dress isn’t flashy or loud, but no one will miss her. The best way I can describe her dress is poured white silk. Sleeveless with a cowl neckline, the material gathers around Wren’s amazing figure, flaring out in a trumpet cut and into a train as long as her veil.
I think Wren was going for subtle. Instead, she became the bride for the ages. She epitomizes everything I would want to be, lovely, elegant, and unforgettable.
“Wren, you look incredible.”
“Thanks. Shaqwana did a nice job with my hair.”
I wave my arms. “I mean everything. You’re breathtaking.”
Wren isn’t shy or reserved, so it’s sweet how she glances down and smiles softly. “Thank you. I just want Evan to like it.”
“Oh, girl, you have nothing to worry about,” Sol says, making us laugh. She bounces around the room, the ruffles in the skirt of her spaghetti strap dress make wooshing sounds. She kneels down, handing Tess’s oldest daughter a teddy bear dressed in a flower girl dress. “This is from Auntie Wren and Uncle Evan,” she tells her.
“What did they get Mateo’s son as ring bearer?” Tess asks.
Sol laughs. “A stack of video games.”
I approach Wren carefully. “Seamus wanted me to tell you he loves you.”
Wren nods, again, glancing down and smiling softly. “I love him, too. I was going tell him when he walked me down the aisle. This was supposed to be the perfect day, you know? I can’t believe Mary Therese isn’t here.”
“Worst case scenario, Angus and Seamus can walk down the aisle with Molly,” Sofia suggests.
“We can’t have that. It will leave us with thirteen adults. That’s not a number I need on my wedding day. Bad omen, you feel me?”
As if in cue, we all cross ourselves. Call us crazy. Call us superstitious. Call us Catholic.
The clock strikes eleven thirty and we know time is running out. The tension shoots through the roof and everyone starts fussing over Wren, although she very much doesn’t appear like a bride to be fussed with. I start to leave when a cell phone rings.
Sol shoots across the room, everyone growing silent when she answers it. She waves frantically at Wren. “It’s Mary Therese… she says she wants to talk to you.”
"Sol practically trips over herself getting to Wren. Wren lifts the phone. “Where are you? Are you coming? . . . What? . . . What? . . .The hell? . . . Mary Therese, are you kidding me right now?”
Wren disconnects, flinging the phone across the room. “Mary Therese isn’t coming,” she announces to the room.
We all collectively gasp. “Where is she?” Tess asks, adjusting the silver sash around her daughter’s waist.
“Are you ready for this?” Wren asks. “In Vegas and apparently married. She thought the guy was a manager at CBS. Turns out he’s a manager at CVS. She’s freaking out, trying to get it annulled, even though they spent the night banging like grizzlies in the woods with cymbals.”
Wren looks at Sol. “I told you she’d pull something like this.” She points to the dress hanging in the corner. “Why do you think I wouldn’t let her hang onto the dress and the shoes? She’s so irresponsible I thought she’d damage the dress and lose the shoes.” She glances around. “But this . . . what the hell am I going to do with one less bridesmaid?”
“Maybe Evie would be willing to sub in?” Melissa offers.
Wren shakes her head. “Mary Therese is skinnier than an ostrich neck. Evie’s pregnant and her baby bump is twice as big as it was a few weeks ago. She can’t fit into that thing. It’s a size two and . . .”
Her voice fades and it’s as if she’s suddenly remembers I’m here. Like the domino effect, all eyes are suddenly on me. “What size do you wear Allie?” Wren asks.
“Ah, six. Four on a good day,” I say.
Sol leans into Wren. “That could work.”
A big smile forms across Wren’s face. “So, Allie. What are you doing for the next hour?”
CHAPTER 22
Allie
Wren didn’t really ask me to be in her wedding. She more or less told me that was the plan. I was terrified to tell her no. It’s not that I don’t want to help. It’s that I don’t want to place Seamus in an awkward position. It’s bad enough his brothers thought he was proposing. The look on his face? He wasn’t embarrassed. He was mortified. Yet, here I am, getting ready to walk down the ais
le with him on my arm.
Sol spins me around by the shoulders. She has a few inches on me and gives me a little shake. “What’s wrong? You look scared. Are you scared? Don’t be scared.”
“Ah.”
She points at the double doors, seconds away from being opened by Finn and Killian. “All you’re doing is walking in. That’s all you have to do—stop looking so terrified. You look awesome. You walk down—Oh, my God you’re shaking—stop shaking. Oh, wait, that’s me. Anyway, Molly is first, then Melissa, then you. Wren’s having the guys walk forward from oldest to youngest—Jesus, Allie, you’re sweating.”
“Is Allie all right?” Wren calls from the back. It’s taking most of her bridal party to fan out and straighten her train.
“Totally,” Sol answers for me. “She’s just excited.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet,” Sofia says.
“When you get to the altar, bow, then take your place in front of the statue of the Blessed Mother. The one by herself, not the one of her holding Jesus. Got it?”
“Yes?”
“I’ll be right behind you,” Tess assures me, passing me a bouquet of fire and ice, pale pink and silver roses.
Wren’s bouquet must have every shade of pink rose known to the floral kingdom. From pink so pale it almost looks white, to fuchsia so brilliant and bold, it’s a Technicolor masterpiece of nature. Aside from the thick, white ribbon wrapped around the rose stems to maintain the bouquet’s circular shape, there are no other frills, no other flowers, nothing. Just Wren in all her magnificence.
“Allie, are you okay?” Melissa asks.
“I can’t breathe,” I admit.
Mary Therese was as skinny as Wren claimed. She also didn’t have much in term of cleavage. The dress is wrapped around my body like plastic wrap, and my girls are barely staying behind the plunging neckline of the halter top.
“I’ll unzip you a little—Oh, shit,” Sol says when my breasts pop out. “Here, here.” She slaps my hands away when I try to tuck them back in. “I have them.” And yes, she does, keeping them elevated as Melissa hurries to zip me back up.
“You can breathe after the ceremony,” Sol says. “All you have to do is get through the next hour. Do not pass out. Promise me you won’t pass out.”
“I promise,” I say.
What else can I say? Mary Therese made Wren’s wedding all about herself, running off to an impromptu trip to Vegas because she missed Wren’s bachelorette party. She lost all her money and her new husband doesn’t make enough at CVS to buy her a plane ticket home. It doesn’t look good for Mary Therese, and it won’t look good for Wren if I don’t stand by her. Hell will freeze over before I ruin her day.
Finn and Killian open the doors as the first chords of Pachelbel’s Canon in D begin to play. This version, with a pianist and large ensemble of violinists, cellists, and children’s choir is more akin to the Tran-Siberian Orchestra’s Christmas version, the exception being the choir is to sub out “Christmas night” with “special night.”
Molly proceeds ahead, her steps graceful and in time with the music. When Molly is about a quarter of the way down the massively long aisle, Melissa follows. I wait for Melissa to reach the same place Molly did before I begin my descent. Either I misjudged the position or Sol thinks we’re running short on time. She encourages me forward with a slap to my ass. Oh, yes, she’s an O’Brien now.
I right myself carefully, my bouquet of roses poised just above my belly button and my arms bent slightly as instructed. I will not be the one to anger the bride or the matron of honor. I want to live.
My smile is subtle, happy and respectful. I ignore my fears about tripping over the hem of my dress. If anyone notices that I’ve gathered it up beneath my flowers and am dragging the rest, no one reacts, beaming when they see me.
In addition to being a rather daring and adventurous member of the O’Brien clan, Mary Therese is a few inches taller. It doesn’t matter that I couldn’t fit into her shoes. No one will see mine as long as I don’t land on my face.
From the altar, the O’Brien brothers march forward one by one. From what Wren said, they’re to stop in front of their designated pews. Wren wouldn’t pick between her brothers or her mother. Each member of the family will take their turn walking her down the aisle.
Angus is the first I see, his smiling cherubic face widening when he passes Molly and gives her a subtle pat on her ass. I can’t see her face, but I don’t doubt for a moment she’s returning that grin.
Declan is more suave, winking at Melissa with all the charm he’s known for. They hold each other’s gaze as they close the distance between them, exactly as all newlyweds should. Miles is showing improvement thanks to the technological advances Evan’s company developed. I pray Miles wins his battle with cancer, and that Declan and Melissa spend a lifetime building on the adoration they share now.
I catch my first sight of Seamus as Declan passes me. No one, it seems, told him I was subbing in for Mary Therese. Either that or he very much likes how I look in the dress. My cheeks flush as I watch his jaw hit the floor.
He’s openly gaping at me. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, banging his hip into a pew when he reaches me.
“Oh,” a few people say over the ricochet of loud gasps.
I keep my focus in front of me. In addition to not pissing off the bride, I won’t be the person who breaks formation.
I reach the altar and bow, smiling when I look to Evan. Dashing and refined are just two ways describe him, handsome and dignified are two more. He doesn’t seem to notice me, so gripped with emotion and captured in this moment, his full attention and broad smile stay in the direction of the double doors, waiting with anticipation for the first glimpse of his bride.
I’m overtaken by the joy Evan emanates, my eyes welling as I take my place beside Melissa, in front of the appropriate Virgin.
One by one, the remaining bridesmaids make their way down the aisle, and the groomsmen reach their posts.
Mattie appears, his head up as he carries the silver pillow, his toothy grin lighting up the entire church. The girls walk just a few feet behind him. Little Clodagh follows dutifully behind Fiona, who is focused, if not determined, to spread the petals in her basket better than any flower girl ever has.
I almost laugh. They’re so cute. I’m not certain what their parents promised them, but the children make excellent time, allowing Sol to take her position at the altar just as the extended melody finishes in a whisper of sound.
To my far left, and beneath the stained-glass depiction of Christ rising, the first of four women dressed in Celtic gowns of gold, green, and red begin a delicate acapella version of Danny Boy. One by one, their voices ranging from soprano to alto, take over each verse, gradually and seamlessly blending in perfect harmony.
“Oh, God,” Tess whispers, her voice breaking.
Like Tess, none of the brothers were expecting this tribute. Their stunned faces and the way they exchange glances reflect as much. And if they were determined not to cry, all is now lost. Anyone can see what this song means to them.
Wren appears, her train and veil flowing behind her. She reaches Angus first, hooking her arm through his. Whatever she says to him has the big guy falling apart. We’re already crying quietly, but when Melissa, who can so masterfully read lips, tells us what Wren said to Angus, I’m certain none of us will make it through the ceremony in one piece.
“Thank you for being my strength,” Melissa says, repeating Wren’s words.
Declan tenses as Wren nears. Wren doesn’t disappoint. “Thank you for being my hero.”
Declan swipes at his face, but there’s no hiding the tears that flow.
Wren reaches Seamus, who’s working to slow his breathing and keep it together. I think he’ll be okay until Wren tells him. “Thank you for being my protector.”
Down the line she goes, blessing and honoring each brother.
“Thank you for being my
virtue,” she tells Curran, smiling even as he weeps.
Killian, appearing so small at this moment despite his immense size, holds out his arm when Wren and Curran stop just behind him.
Wren pauses, still smiling through the feelings her kind words evoke. “Thank you for teaching me compassion,” she tells Killian, taking his arm. “Your heart’s my favorite thing about you.”
Finn is the brother standing closest to us. But again, Melissa has to tell us what Wren says. “Thank you for being my courage,” she tells him. “I love you, Finnie.”
It’s the first glimpse we have of Wren’s splintering composure. Still, she smiles as Finn swallows back a sob, allowing him to lead her to the last O’Brien who remains.
Wren extends her arm to entwine around her mother. But as the two women reach the last step that separates Wren from marriage, Wren unleashes the emotions she held in.
“Thank you, Mama,” she says. “You were the best mother and father we could have.”
Tears stream down the women’s faces. Wren bends, her long, slender arms wrapping around the tiny woman who gave her children all her heart possessed.
Mama releases Wren slowly, both women smiling through their tears. As the last verse of Danny Boy completes in a delicate echo of voices, Mama places her beloved daughter’s hand in the hand of the man she prays will love Wren for eternity.
“Hello, darling,” Evan says, his British accent as rich and bold as the adoration his words carry.
Wren’s eyes glisten with the fresh start of tears, her elation matching his. “Hey, Bossman,” she tells him.
As the bride and groom hold each other for the first time as the husband and wife they are about to become, all that remains is love and peace in its purest form, and a family’s dream come true.
CHAPTER 23
Seamus
Here’s the thing about Catholic weddings. They’re serious. Dead serious. Even under the happiest circumstances there are rituals involved. Rituals we have to follow or else be damned to hell for eternity.
