Not Quite A Bride

by Kirsten Sawyer

  “Kate in a flower-girl dress,” is what I finally come up with.

  I take a deep breath and decide that her sweet baby smell is exactly what I need to pull me out of this funk, so I put the rest of the wedding planning aside and head off to see my niece.

  Of course, I spend too long with her, so I am rushing like a maniac to get ready for Alex and Steve’s party on time. It is definitely worth having to hurry, though ... the infant was able to cheer me out of my wedding-planning depression with a single, Ah-goo. I already have my outfit for the evening selected ... actually, specifically purchased with the help of my gay fashion team, Justin and Logan. It’s a black satin slip dress with sequins sewn in loops around my body. All the hems of the dress are sewn in magenta and I’ve even splurged and purchased a pair of magenta satin shoes to complete the look. They are extremely high, pointy, and strappy, and I can’t walk too well, but I look amazing hobbling around in them. There is a very real possibility that I could freeze to death in my mad dashes between homes and cabs, but the floor-length velvet coat that Justin gave me for Christmas greatly reduces this risk.

  What is taking so long in this getting-ready process is that Justin and Logan also decided that I needed to wear my hair curly tonight. This is trickier than it sounds because although my hair will dry wavy when left to air-dry, I cannot go out with it damp tonight because it will freeze ... and frizzing is also a huge risk. I have every product I own on it, and I’m using a combination of every hair-styling tool ... I think eventually it will be cute—either that or completely fall out—keep your fingers crossed.

  Justin is dressed in the black leather pants I gave him for Christmas. I secretly think he looks a little too gay in them, but aside from looking gay, he definitely looks fantastic and I know he loves them, which makes me happy. He’s paired them with a dark-red, button-front shirt and black Prada loafers, and even though I know he has no interest in me or anyone of my gender, it’s hard not to think he looks incredibly sexy.

  Logan, our “third wheel” for the night, also looks fantastic. I guess Justin is helping him to hone his gay fashion instinct because I have never seen him so well dressed. He has on gray flannel slacks and a black cashmere crew-neck sweater that nicely shows off that he has added working out to his busy schedule of sitting on the couch watching TV and sitting on the couch reading. He is also wearing the identical Prada loafers that Justin has on. I swear, they have become the Gay Bobbsey Twins.

  As we walk into the party, which is already in a pretty full swing, I swear that heads turn and look at me, flanked by the two best-dressed guys in the room. It’s a good feeling. We break from our entry formation so that Justin and Logan can go get drinks, and I cruise the room, looking for my friends. Before I can find anyone, a server comes around with a tray of icy-cold vodka shots and I take two ... what the heck? It’s New Year’s Eve. The first familiar face I see is Brad. I take a deep breath and hope he’s here alone as I approach him.

  “Hey, stranger!” I greet him warmly.

  He turns around and stares at me blankly before finally muttering, “Molly, wow,” under his breath and then, “Hey there,” at a normal volume. I can’t help but smile.

  For the third time in our friendship ... the first was the day we met and the second was that infamous night junior year ... I notice how handsome Brad is. He is wearing a blue shirt that brings out his sparkling eyes and I feel a little twinge. It must be that I see him so infrequently now that I forget what he looks like. When we were hanging out all the time, it was easier to ignore, or not notice, his looks.

  “You look great,” I tell him.

  “No, you look great.” I smile and feel another little twinge. Damn those vodka shots. “So, where’s Mr. Molly?” he asks.

  I feel slightly let down for a second at the reminder that we are both there with significant others, mine being exceptionally significant because of his fakeness.

  “At the bar with Logan. What about Claire?” I ask, and hold my breath.

  “She actually went to Aspen, Colorado, to ski with her family for the holidays.”

  Hallelujah. The party will be fun!

  “Why didn’t you go?” I ask, hoping that the reason is that he has freed himself from her evil clutches since I know he does in fact love to ski.

  “Work,” he answers blandly.

  We chat idly for a few more minutes before Alex comes up to greet me. She looks stunning, as always, with her pale, freckly white skin and shockingly natural black hair. Alex has clearly had plenty of vodka shots and she is cracking us up.

  I love seeing all my friends dressed up and all together for the holiday. I must admit, we clean up nicely. The vodka, and later champagne, flows freely and everyone is having a fantastic time. It feels like we’ve only been there a couple of hours when Steve clinks some glasses together and informs us that it’s time to turn our attention to their big-screen TV because the ball is about to drop in Times Square.

  In a vodka-happy blur, I turn toward the TV as Justin comes up behind me and whispers in my ear.

  “Molly, we’re gonna have to kiss at New Year’s.”

  My heart jumps ... I hadn’t thought about this important detail, but he is right. Obviously, all couples kiss at New Year’s, engaged ones with presumably more passion than most, and since I’d shot my mouth off and informed everyone we do it every day, they are probably counting on us to provide the celebration fireworks. I nod in agreement and everyone starts counting backward from ten. It’ll be okay, I tell myself ... it’ll be nice to have someone to kiss.

  “3-2-1-Happy New Year!”

  And as “Auld Lang Syne” begins to play in the background, Justin takes me in his arms and we share our first kiss. He is an undeniably good kisser, but it is one of the grossest experiences of my life. It’s a lot like being forced to French kiss my brother. We pull apart and I see that we have matching looks of disgust on our faces, which we quickly erase as I turn to kiss my brother (on the cheek, of course) and he shakes hands with Brad and then we switch and he hugs Logan, warmly, and Brad and I kiss (on the cheek, of course). I then grab another glass of champagne from a passing server and take a large, celebratory swig.

  43

  Registering

  A month and a half later, it’s hard to believe it’s already Valentine’s Day and the wedding is four and a half months away. The pride I’d had at completing all the items on the six-months-ahead list has vanished because I have hardly made a dent in the “four-to-six-months-ahead” list. Considering it will be time to hit the “two-to-four-months-ahead” list in two weeks, I am frantic about getting stuff done.

  I need to: arrange for wedding-day transportation (I’m not quite sure what that entails, but Martha says to do it), order the invitations and book the calligrapher to address them, register for gifts (hooray!), find the attire for Jamie and Logan that Justin specifically selected so long ago, choose the favors, and reserve accommodations for out-of-town guests.

  Although Justin has been swamped lately, he has promised to take me back to Bloomingdale’s to officially register as our Valentine’s Day date. I have been warned it can’t go too late, though, because he has also promised to take Logan to his first “Gay Valentine’s” at a gay bar. As the older sister, I have asked to specifically be left out of any details regarding this adventure.

  I’m trying to stay “up” and excited about my Valentine’s Day, but a little part of me feels completely miserable—364 days a year, having a fake, gay fiancé is fantastic. On Valentine’s Day it completely sucks ... it really rubs my nose in the fact that I am alone. I’m trying to stay focused on the wedding and not think about this, though.

  “Eyes on the prize,” I tell myself as I lay out clothes. “Bridal registry, bridal shower, being the bride.” This is getting harder every time.

  Thinking about the wedding brightens my spirits a little. Hey, I might be alone, but at least I’m a bride. I finish dressing just as Justin rings the buzzer, so I head s
traight downstairs to meet him. We decide that grabbing a slice of pizza is a good Valentine’s dinner for us since restaurants create insanely pricey menus of substandard, heart-shaped ravioli. Then we head off to Bloomingdale’s, which is relatively empty at 7:00 P.M. on Valentine’s Day, sans the few anxious-looking men purchasing last-minute gifts for wives or girlfriends.

  As we make our way upstairs to housewares, I think about Tiffany’s ... I had wanted to register there, but for the first time my mother disagreed with Marion and said that it really would be better to register at Bloomingdale’s because they have a great variety of prices for people to choose gifts from. As much as I’d had my heart set on filling the apartment with Tiffany crystal, she had a point ... I remember when my friends Elizabeth and Anthony got married and the cheapest thing on their Tiffany registry was a $250 crystal coaster ... I was bothered.

  So, we make it through the displays of plates and glasses to the Bridal Registry department, where a Bloomingdale’s employee, ironically named Tiffany, sets us up on the computer. Once she has our names, wedding date, and shipping address, she gives us a few quick instructions on how to work the scanner gun and then sets us loose in the store. Holding that scanner gun is quite a feeling of power!

  We get down to business quickly. Martha is kind enough to include a registry guide in her magazine, so I pull it out of my bag and we follow her instructions to the letter. She recommends starting with china, so we start with china. I have been looking at china for years and years while purchasing gifts for everyone else in the world, so I have a pretty good idea of what I want. Simple, elegant, platinum trim ... it’s an easy decision for me. We’re already off and running.

  We continue to scan like crazy, adding kitchen utensils for me, kitchen utensils for Justin—we even scan in a couple gifts for Logan. We select two sets of towels: pink Ralph Lauren ones that I will keep and sapphire-blue ones for Justin. My head is practically spinning from all the stuff we’ve selected and scanned ... I wonder if that scanner ray is affecting my brain? Then, just as I think maybe I have a second wind coming on, Justin announces that it’s time for him to meet Logan, and like that, BAM, my Valentine’s Day is over.

  We take a cab back to my place, but Justin doesn’t even walk me to the door because an excited Logan comes bouncing down the front steps as soon as our cab pulls up and we seamlessly switch seats. The cab speeds away with the boys waving happily out the window, and I head upstairs alone. Inside, I remove my sweater in favor of an old, well-broken-in sweatshirt, and I grab the pint of Ben & Jerry’s I’d stashed earlier in the day out of the freezer. Then Tiffany and I settle in for our double date with Ben & Jerry while we watch cheesy, romantic eighties movies. It’s much like most of my previous Valentine’s Days, but I’m okay ... I swear.

  I honestly don’t know why being alone on Valentine’s Day is harder this year than in the past. I mean, this year I’m engaged! I’m months away from my dream wedding!! It seems like this should carry me through this Hallmark holiday, but instead it seems to be making it worse. More than usual, I feel the hard knot in my stomach reminding me that I am living a lie and that what matters is being with someone you love, not just being a bride. I take a deep breath as I take a big, chocolatey bite ... I probably should have bought two pints of Ben & Jerry’s.

  44

  Mailing the Invitations

  I am barely recovered from Valentine’s Day when suddenly it’s time to mail the wedding invitations. For the past two weeks, I have spent all my free time sitting in my apartment, stuffing the invitations and response cards into beautifully calligraphied “inner envelopes” and then stuffing those into “outer envelopes.” It’s quite a process ... believe me, it’s harder than it sounds. Now the end is near, and with each lick of an envelope and application of a “love” stamp, the knot in my stomach is growing. In the same way that the handwritten sign on Kate’s hospital bassinette made her official, these stunningly letterpressed invitations make my wedding, my fake wedding, official.

  I have to admit—I’m starting to see that my plan isn’t exactly as flawless as it seemed all those months ago when Justin stuck my Nana’s engagement ring in a scone. I look down at my left hand with the beautiful engagement ring, and for the first time, I think about how Nana would feel if she knew what I was doing. Well, that’s a lie ... I had thought about it before, and always quickly convinced myself that as the ultimate wedding lover, Nana would be completely happy for me. Now I feel like that probably isn’t true ... Nana loved weddings because she loved romance more than anything else and nothing can be more romantic than a wedding. Of course, that is true—unless the wedding is a total farce ... like mine. Don’t worry ... I’m not turning back; my dress is to die for, the flowers are going to be amazing, and I’ve heard rumblings about my bridal shower lately ... it just feels bigger now, is all.

  I finally have them all ready to go, and they sit on the coffee table, lined up in boxes, and they kind of frighten me. My mother and Marion had instructed me to take them to the post office to get them hand canceled, but I’m afraid to go alone. Of course, neither Justin nor Logan is here. Logan got a job as the assistant to the director of art at the Met, and now that he has a little money he and Justin are out on the town nonstop. Justin has convinced me that his hanging out with Logan is the perfect cover story in case they run into anyone who might question things. The truth is that although I feel slightly like my little brother stole my best friend, I am grateful to have a little of the peace and quiet Tiffany and I were once overdosing on way back when ... except right now, when I could really use some company.

  “You don’t want to go to the post office with me, do you?” I question the white cat. She meows politely and rolls onto her back for a belly scratch.

  I pick up the phone to call Jamie, but realize that it would be selfish to ask her to leave her four-month-old daughter to accompany her thirty-year-old sister to the post office. Then I call Lauren, but I forget she and Rob are away for the weekend. Next I call Alex, but she and Steve are spending the day trying to get pregnant ... she actually tells me this and it actually makes me quite jealous. Finally, I dial Brad, knowing that if I even reach him he won’t be able to go, but I figure I might as well try.

  I’m surprised that he answers and even more surprised that he is willing, even sounds happy, to go to the post office with me. I put the lids on the boxes and stack them neatly in a (hopefully) waterproof bag, just in case, and head out to meet Brad.

  Brad and I meet at a Starbucks ... not THE Starbucks ... and grab a quick latte before heading downtown to the open post office. Brad had to take his invitations the week before, so fortunately he knows exactly where we are going. We make stupid, idle chitchat about how our respective wedding planning is going, but it is nice not to be doing it alone. With his big day just one week after mine, we are on very similar schedules. I feel like it’s kind of weird that we never bring up Claire or Justin, but I don’t want to be the one to rock the boat. Even though it feels like there is a giant pink elephant between us, it’s good to have Brad back in my life.

  We get to the post office and for a moment I am paralyzed in fear before walking up the steps. This really is it ... this really is the last chance to turn around and end the charade with only a few of the most important people in my life having been viciously lied to for the past eight months. I feel like I might throw up. I move my eyes only because the rest of me is positively stuck and look at Brad. Brad is looking at me with a mixture of concern and confusion.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “This makes it feel so official,” I manage to get out.

  “I know ... once those babies are out in the world, people start making arrangements,” he says, joking because he thinks I’m joking. Only I return his joke with a look of terror and he switches gears. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Yes, I do ... they are already being mailed out late.”

  “No, I mean you don’t have to get married .
.. to Justin,” he says gently.

  Suddenly, I am very tense and on edge. What is he trying to do to me? Anger swells through my body. It was one thing for me to try to break up his marriage to Claire right when they first got engaged ... but for him to be doing this now, just a couple of months before the wedding, at the post office, of all places. It is totally insane. Insanely awful, that is. I am about to explode.

  “How dare you?!?” I yell at him.

  I can tell from the shocked expression on his face that he didn’t expect me to explode like that at him right here on the street, in front of the United States Postal Service building. Then his expression changes to a far more distant, cold one.

  “How dare I do what?” he asks rigidly. “How dare I make sure that my friend knows she doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to do? How dare I only want you to be happy?”

  “How dare you try to talk me out of getting married! You’re just trying to get even for when I did it to you!”

  Brad looks at me disgustedly.

  “You know that’s not the truth. Forget it, Molly, I’m done here.”

  And with that he turns around and walks off, leaving me, and my bag of invitations, alone on the steps to the post office. It doesn’t exactly register to me how awful I was or that I am completely at fault. I turn on my heel, exactly as he had, but in the opposite direction and march up the steps. I’ll show him. I’ll mail these invitations right now and I will have this wedding!

  I enter the post office and wait in an epic line, but my mind is racing so fast after my fury at Brad that I don’t even notice how long it takes. It feels like a few short seconds later that I’m thrusting the envelopes onto the counter and walking out empty-handed. Then I get on the subway and go home ... it feels like I haven’t even blinked yet.

  I enter my apartment, still in a rage, and am glad to find Justin and Logan sitting side by side watching TV. I immediately start on a rampage about how awful Brad Lawson is. I retell the entire incident, and because I am so convinced of my rightness, I stick exactly to the truth and leave out any embellishments. After I have gotten it all out, I feel slightly better from the venting ... until I look up at their faces, that is. From their expressions I can tell immediately that they aren’t going to be on my side.