Reality Wedding

by Laura Heffernan

  Ed: I can’t wait to see the footage of Jen waking up to them painting her. I mean, I knew she would hate the idea as soon as Connor told me about it, but I had no idea she’d sic her mommy on the producers. That had to be awesome.

  Growing up, my mother had been my greatest champion. When I was ten and the class bully put slugs down the back of my shirt, she called his dads. When the high-school cheerleaders mocked me for being good at math and science, she busted them for paying another kid to do their homework. Tina Carter did not let people mess with her kids.

  Since Justin and I swore to roll with the punches and not cause excess drama on the show, I needed reinforcements. Rachel would have stepped up if she’d been around, but Mom was the best person to fix this situation.

  She didn’t let me down. She moved into the other room, so I only caught snippets of the conversation. Something like, “If my daughter doesn’t wear a dress to her wedding, neither will I!” Possibly a description of her stretch marks. I loved my mom.

  Less than five minutes after I handed over my phone, I’d been given the all clear to wear a regular dress, as long as the Network approved it. Anything was better than body paint, and the contract already gave them the right to pick my dress. I agreed without hesitation.

  Besides, the more control I gave them, the longer I could pretend this fiasco was just My Tacky-Ass Wedding and not what was supposed to be the most special day of my life. Then I didn’t have to worry about things like how ridiculous they were going to make me look, or the parade of Justin’s and my exes they’d probably invite for sport.

  Once Mom returned my phone, I took a selfie of the half-finished “dress” and sent it to Justin. It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride in the dress before the ceremony, so obviously, I couldn’t use it once he’d seen it. Or something.

  He responded instantly with a series of emojis that I took to mean he felt the same way as me about body paint. Or he’d laughed so hard, he threw up.

  Mom talked them out of it, I texted.

  He responded with three smiley faces with tears in their eyes and two thumbs up.

  Laugh it up. Just wait until they put you into a body paint tux.

  Immediately, my phone buzzed with his response. Bring it. I’d look awesome in body paint. Very lawyerly.

  Returning to the spa for the rest of our relaxing day was no longer in the cards. After I washed the body paint off, Mom and I walked around until we found an ice cream store. Real ice cream, not fro-yo, not smoothies, not that low-carb, low-sugar crap. It took longer than it should have. I got a triple cone and sat on a bench outside, luxuriating in the sunshine.

  “You’re not worried about fitting into your dress with that?” Mom asked.

  I shrugged. “If I gain weight before the wedding, I guess we’ll revisit that body paint idea.”

  She snorted. “Over my dead body. My daughter will be clothed on her wedding day.”

  Suddenly, my cone didn’t look so appealing. I wanted to tell her that this wouldn’t be my wedding day, that Justin and I got married two days ago. The third finger on my left hand burned beneath my engagement ring. But she’d be crushed not to have been invited, not to have at least been conferenced in via video so she could watch the exchange of vows. She’d be mortified that I got married in flip-flops. Not to mention hurt that Justin’s family got to attend. She probably wouldn’t be mollified by me pointing out that she could have watched, too, if she’d only been willing to learn to use FaceTime.

  Which meant I wanted to make my fake wedding day the stuff of her dreams, too. This was, after all, her one and only chance to shine as mother of the bride. Possibly wearing nothing but body paint, if I heard her correctly when she was on the phone with Janine.

  Rather than giving everything away, I changed the subject. “Are René and the kids coming?”

  “Adam, Lynne, and René are flying in together on Thursday. The kids aren’t going to make it. Their mother refused to hand over their passports, I’m afraid.”

  “That’s what you get for dating someone who isn’t American.”

  “Hey, we all need a contingency. What if I want to move to Canada?”

  I laughed. “I’m sorry I won’t get to meet them, though. We’ll have to plan a trip to Montreal later this year.”

  “We’d like that,” she said. “Especially since I am planning to move there in September.”

  “Seriously? You’re moving to Canada?”

  She nodded, beaming. “I was going to wait until René got here to tell you, but we’re getting married!”

  My jaw dropped. In the nearly two decades since my father left, Mom hadn’t seriously dated anyone. Sure, she went out once in a while when I was younger and wasn’t totally clear about where she was going, but she’d never brought a guy home. And now she was going to marry someone I’d never met.

  I swallowed those mixed emotions. “Mom! That’s so amazing. I’m so happy for you!”

  She bounced on the bench, looking almost like a teenager. “You’re not mad at me for stealing the thunder of your wedding with my big announcement?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. This is fantastic news. I can’t wait for Justin to get here so you can tell us again on camera.”

  “Oh, no.” Mom laughed. “This reality show thing is for you kids. I plan to stay off camera as much as possible. I don’t need the attention.”

  “Well, you’re going to get it! I can’t wait to see your pretend surprise face when René gets down on one knee. You better start practicing.”

  Mom hadn’t had time to go shopping before flying to LA, so after we finished eating, the driver took us to Rodeo Drive to find her a mother-of-the-bride dress. Great Hair followed us in and out of stores. People in LA must be used to people filming all the time, because for the most part, no one even looked at us.

  We found the perfect dress in the third store. Light blue, flowy, flattering. Mom questioned the cost, but Great Hair ended the debate by handing over a network credit card.

  On our way out of the store, two girls about my age stood on the sidewalk, whispering. One was tall and lanky, with curly brown hair and tattoos covering her bare arms. The other was shorter, with close-cropped black hair and cat-eye glasses that almost made me wish I needed lenses. The taller girl pointed at us from behind a raised hand.

  “They’re pointing at us,” Mom said. “Do you get this a lot?”

  “Almost never,” I said honestly. “But we’ve never filmed while walking around in a big city like this. The Fishbowl set was completely closed off, and Real Ocean took place mostly on a cruise ship. We did meet-and-greets with the fans, but most of them were respectful of our time outside the public events.”

  “Don’t people recognize you?”

  “A little, mostly when I’m at Sweet Reality. It’s been a long time since anyone recognized me out of context,” I said. “I guess people in Miami aren’t as conscious of TV personalities. Or maybe they don’t care.”

  “I’m so proud of my little girl, the big reality star!”

  “I’m not a star.” My friends all thought one appearance on reality TV made you super famous, but given the total number of shows and people on them, most people didn’t care unless they knew you.

  “Looks like you are.” She nodded at our audience.

  The girls continued to stare, watching our whispered conversation. My face grew warm, both at the unexpected attention and at Mom’s praise. She was so proud of me.

  We were blocking the door into the store, so I steered Mom a couple of feet away, which brought us closer to our audience. “Should I go say hi to them?”

  “Do you have anything to autograph?”

  I shook my head. Before I could say anything else, the girls approached. The one with the tattoos spoke first. “OMG, we are such big fans! Can we get a picture with you?”

&n
bsp; “And I have to get an autograph,” Glasses said. “Please? My friends back home are going to be so jellyfish!”

  With a smile, I dug into my bag. “Let me see if I can find a pen. What are your names?”

  “I’m Brittany, and this is Chloe,” Glasses said. “We’re from Peoria, Illinois.”

  Beside her, Chloe clapped excitedly. “I can’t believe we got to meet one of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills! This is so exciting.”

  Wait, what?

  For the first time, I realized the girls stood tilted toward Mom; they spoke to her. She stood between me and them, which had seemed like some kind of thoughtful buffer, but they didn’t recognize me. It wasn’t me they were excited to run into on the street; it was my mother. My lips twitched at the realization, but I managed to keep from laughing.

  “I found a pen for you,” I said before she could correct them. “Do you have something she can sign?”

  Mom shot daggers at me with her eyes, but I could tell she was trying not to laugh, too. Behind the camera, Great Hair’s shoulders shook silently. I wondered if this scene would make it into a bloopers reel someday, or if she’d ask them to sign waivers so they could appear on the show. Other people were starting to look and point, too. This could be a long day if Mom started signing autographs for a line of “fans,” but I wouldn’t begrudge her a single second of it.

  I texted Sarah where Mom couldn’t see, asking her to create a new baked good based on my mom. The False Idol or something.

  Brittany shoved her phone at me. “Would you take a picture of the three of us together?”

  “Maybe a picture of the four of us would be better,” Mom said. “I’m sure our camerawoman here wouldn’t mind.”

  “No offense,” Chloe said, “But we don’t want some rando stranger messing up our picture.”

  “I completely understand,” I said, my knees weak with suppressed laughter.

  They stood on either side of Mom, wearing identical broad smiles. Mom looked a little shell-shocked at the unexpected attention, but the picture came out beautifully. She signed a receipt Chloe found in her purse, and they disappeared into the sidewalk traffic.

  Mom leaned against the building, laughing until tears flowed down her cheeks. I collapsed beside her. Several moments passed before I got enough control of myself to speak.

  “I can’t wait until they decipher your signature and start to wonder who Tina Carter is,” I said.

  “They won’t,” Mom said. “I signed it Lynda Carter. For today only, I am Wonder Woman!”

  Her comment set off another bout of laughter, but people were still looking at us, so I led her down the street, toward where we’d left the car. We made it about twenty feet before Mom planted her feet on the sidewalk and pulled me to a halt.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” she said. “We’re here.”

  I looked around, but didn’t understand what she was talking about. “Where? You already got a dress. I can’t look at more without my bridesmaids. The show’s doing an entire episode about it.”

  “Not dresses,” she said. “We’re here. Tiffany. It’s time to register for gifts.”

  I blinked at her. “Tiffany’s, the jewelry store?”

  Mom laughed. “Tiffany sells everything, dear. Sure, they have jewelry, but there’s so much more. Crystal, decor, picture frames, stemware… You name it, they’ve got it. I can’t believe you’ve never explored a Tiffany.”

  She seemed so excited, I hated to put a damper on her fun. But registering for gifts wasn’t on my to-do list. “Oh, I don’t think so. We don’t need gifts. It’s enough that people are flying out to watch us get married. Justin and I don’t even have a house yet. I wouldn’t begin to know what we need, or how much space we’ll have. Plus, I can’t register on my own.”

  “You can, and you will. Justin’s not here yet. You’ll both be busy when he arrives, and people can’t be expected to wait until a day or two before the wedding to buy you gifts. Besides, do you honestly think he’ll care what dishes you wind up with?”

  “With the hours we both work, we don’t need fancy dishes,” I said. “Does Tiffany sell his and her matching porcelain takeout containers?”

  “Stop arguing. I don’t get to help pick out your dress. I just pretended to be a celebrity for you. My role as mother of the bride is essentially to stay off screen unless I’m creating drama. You’re doing this for me.”

  A pang hit me. When I’d lived in Seattle, Mom and I had been super close. Then, I’d gone on The Fishbowl, and everything changed. I moved away, we’d naturally started talking less frequently as the bakery demanded more of my attention, and I hadn’t even consulted with her before agreeing to do Real Ocean. To my knowledge, Justin never spoke to her about our getting engaged before he proposed—which was fine by me, I’m not my mother’s property. But Mom might have appreciated a phone call.

  Justin and I hadn’t talked about what our parents would think of us getting married on national television—not that we had a choice. But, still, she was right. Mom didn’t get to help me pick a venue. She wasn’t helping me with the flowers or the catering or the cake or anything. She could come with me when I tried on dresses, but even that would be only one day, not the multiple visits so many of my friends made with their moms.

  Going to register for gifts with my mother was literally the least I could do for her, especially after she saved me from being naked on national television. Even if Justin and I didn’t need gifts, it’s not like anyone we knew would buy anything from Tiffany. It would be fun to wander around this ridiculously expensive store and dream about how the super-rich lived.

  I turned to Great Hair. “What do you think? Do we have time for this today?”

  “I’m scheduled to follow you around until dinner. Ed’s cooking, so you don’t need to be back until almost seven.”

  “You think I should register?”

  She shrugged. “There will be a gift table at the ceremony. If there are some real presents mixed in with the empty gift-wrapped boxes, it means less work for the crew.”

  It was like she and Mom conspired to come up with the best way to get me to agree. I couldn’t refuse to go shopping now, knowing if I did it would mean hours spent wrapping empty boxes for the low-paid, overworked production staff.

  The giant doors swung outward, and I gestured for Mom to lead the way. She went straight to a sales associate, who introduced herself as Hillary, and proudly let her know we wanted to start a registry. Hillary showed me how to work the scanner gun while Great Hair talked to the manager about filming in the store. Ten minutes later, everyone had signed waivers, and I still had no idea what I wanted.

  Before doing anything else, I called Justin on speakerphone to let him know what we were doing. As Mom suspected, he didn’t mind not being involved. His only word of advice was, “Get good knives,” so we started there.

  Just like Mom promised, Tiffany sold basically everything. Before we walked in, I had visions of people judging me for adding diamond earrings to the gift list. But this store was so much more. Hillary led us from knives to candlesticks to crystal beer mugs to…three-hundred-and-fifty-dollar butterfly-shaped straws?

  “Does that do what I think it does?” I asked. “It’s a drinking straw? For three hundred fifty dollars?”

  “Never look at the price tag when registering, dear,” Hillary said. “I’ll put you down for four.”

  I couldn’t even argue. It didn’t matter what she put on the registry, no one would pay these prices for any of this stuff. I moved on, adding a gorgeous cake platter that would’ve left Sarah drooling (a steal at only four hundred dollars!), a cocktail shaker that somehow cost more than my monthly rent, and a gorgeous, swirly blue-and-white vase that made me drool. Even though we could probably find another fantastic vase somewhere for less than five hundred dollars,
I added it. I even found ridiculously overpriced sterling silver chopsticks. Over my objection, Mom scanned them, too.

  “What about your wedding gift for Justin?” Hillary asked when we finished. “Have you picked something out for him yet?”

  I shook my head. “With all the hustle and bustle of the show, I hadn’t had time to think about it yet. Do we need to exchange gifts?”

  “It’s traditional,” Mom said. “Small tokens, nothing fancy.”

  “The Network is planning to film a gift exchange after the ceremony,” Great Hair said. “If that makes any difference.”

  “Okay, fine, I’ll get him something. But I’m not sure if any of the stuff in here is his style. We’re pretty low-key.”

  “What does he do for a living?”

  Unemployed, I thought, if this show doesn’t go well.

  Out loud, I said, “He’s a lawyer.”

  “Oh, that’s perfect,” Hillary said. “We’ve got some great gifts for professionals. Come with me.”

  The sterling silver business-card case looked nice, but seemed out of place for a lawyer who focused on pro bono work. Too show-offy. Same with the monogrammed cuff links. Justin would never wear a sterling silver belt buckle. I’d nearly given up when I spotted something that might work.

  Justin liked to be prepared. He’d been a Boy Scout, would’ve made it to Eagle Scout if his mother hadn’t gotten cancer when he was fifteen. He also lost his Swiss Army knife on the cruise we’d taken together and hadn’t gotten around to replacing it. There, in front of me, sat a sterling silver Swiss Army knife. It was way overpriced and ridiculously fancy. But it could be engraved with our wedding date, and it was something my husband would actually use.

  “This is it!” I said. “It’s perfect.”

  Chapter 6

  Jen in the Chapel, Friday:

  Spending the day with my mom was perfect, even with the body paint drama. It’s been too long, and with so many people arriving, I’m grateful for the alone time. With that said, I can’t wait to see everyone else.