“If they can come up again on Thursday so we can do any final alterations,” Violet said. “I’ll send somebody down with the dresses on Saturday morning. But I’d only do that for you, and I’ll be charging you double. Plus the courier fee, of course.”
“And I’ll pay it. And one more thing.” He took her far enough aside that I couldn’t hear and started talking, and Violet was nodding.
I’d find out what it was all about. Maybe. The whole thing felt like some kind of “surprise makeover” show, and I wished I had some opinion about what my wedding gown should look like, but the truth was, I’d never considered it. It was the bride’s responsibility to dress herself—at the very least—which meant I’d always figured I’d wear a…well, a dress.
That I already owned.
If I got married at all.
See what I mean? I’d never had what you’d call high expectations. You could say I was out of my depth here, and you’d be right. But at least Hemi was looking more relaxed. Back to his in-charge self, which was his happy place.
Sure enough, he came back to me again and said, “You’ll text me when you’re done, and I’ll collect you.”
“Uh…” I was absurdly nervous, I suddenly had to pee absolutely ferociously, and I wanted to go back home and climb into bed. Alone. “I’m going to need…shoes.” And what else? I couldn’t even think.
Oh, God. Hair. Makeup. Waxing. Underwear. Bouquet. Uh…veil? Or what? I was sweating now.
I’d thought this would be sort of…free and easy. Spontaneous. All right, casual. But this was Hemi, so how could I have thought that? I realized now that he’d be expecting me to be perfect, and I didn’t have a clue how to manage that from a small town in a strange country, not to mention how to pay for it. I was still the same broke woman from Brooklyn he’d met nine months ago. Worse, if anything, because Karen had needed an allowance now that she was in high school, and the rent had gone up, and…well, life never seems to get cheaper, does it?
He was buying my dress, which was bad enough. How could you say, “Darling, could you please give me about five hundred dollars to get plucked and waxed and tinted and pedicured and flawless, so you’ll enjoy our honeymoon and think I’m gorgeous? And drive me to do it? And buy me some fancy shoes and bridal underwear? And by the way—I’ll need some more jewelry.”
“You’re worrying,” he said, as if he could read my mind, which probably wasn’t that hard. “Stop worrying. You’re going to be beautiful. I could marry you here and now and feel exactly as lucky as I will on Saturday.”
“I won’t be, though,” I said. “There are all these…things to get done.” I’d lowered my voice, had taken a couple steps back, and now, nausea had come to join the party. Great. I was going to pee right here on the concrete floor, then throw up. Or both at once. That would be memorable. “I’m not ready.”
His eyes were searching mine. “Sweetheart,” he said slowly, “we both know what’s important, and we’re doing it. We signed that agreement. We made our promises.”
I swallowed and nodded. When we’d come back to his grandfather’s house early that morning, the first thing Hemi had done was print it out. We’d each signed a copy, and Hemi had handed me mine. “With amendments to come as we need them,” he’d said. “Whatever we need to work out, we’ll do.” And I’d believed him. Until, that is, he’d been so strange on the drive up, causing all my doubts to return.
Or maybe that was the “beautiful” bit.
“Excuse me a second,” I told him. I turned to Violet with as much grace as I could manage and asked, “May I use your restroom, please?”
“Of course,” she said. “Straight down the corridor.”
“I’ll walk with you,” Hemi said. “I’m leaving anyway.”
He looked like he wanted to have some reassuring chat in the corridor, like he was expecting to kiss me, but I couldn’t wait for that. I said, “Sorry, but I really need to…” and ducked into the restroom.
When I came out a full five minutes later, during which I hadn’t been sick and had sluiced some water over my face, then realized I’d washed off half my makeup…well, he was gone. On the other hand, I’d had time to think. If I were worried that he’d be disappointed by my appearance at our wedding, and if I thought that would matter, how could I be ready to marry him?
It wasn’t exactly a reassuring thought, but it forced me to confront my own emotions as I headed back out into the bustling workspace. Bottom line: did I trust Hemi? Yes. I did. That was all that mattered. The rest of it wasn’t about him. It was about me: my own insecurities, my own fears at stepping so quickly into this new life. I was just going to have to get over myself, do my best to look good for my wedding day, and trust that his love was deeper than that.
It’s never over, he’d said. I’m never leaving you.
Trust. It was a thing.
I approached Violet, who was standing with Karen in front of a hanging rack holding short and long dresses in shades of white, gray, and black.
Oh, great. Black. Karen was right. This so wasn’t me.
“All right?” Violet asked me.
“Sure,” I said. “Fine.” I gave my clammy hands a surreptitious wipe on my skirt and felt about as classy as a moose at a banquet.
She said, “Hemi told me your accent color would be lavender, but of course, Karen can’t wear lavender.”
“Uh…she can’t?” My accent color was lavender? First I’d heard of it. I hadn’t realized I needed an accent color.
Lavender’s for enchantment. I heard Hemi’s voice saying it, all the way back in a rose garden in Brooklyn. He’d told me later that lavender roses were for the fairy tale, for love at first sight, for true love. For all the things neither of us had believed in.
“Lavender would wash her out,” Violet said. “Hemi said you’d be carrying lavender and white roses, and that Karen would be carrying yellow and white.”
Yellow’s for friendship. Hemi had said that, too. He wanted Karen to have yellow, because he knew how important it was to me that he want Karen as part of our lives, and he wanted to show me he did. We were a package deal, and he was taking it.
Violet was going on now, and I struggled to listen. “Lavender, white, and pale yellow, with deep purple accents.” She made a note on her phone. “Delicate. Feminine. Perfect.”
“Oh,” I said stupidly. Trust Hemi to have thought about my flowers, and about colors, too. How many bouquets of lavender roses had he sent me? So many, because they were my favorites, and because of what they meant to both of us. And now, he was making sure I got married with them. My doubts seemed foolish, all of a sudden.
Trust. Yeah. It was definitely a thing.
“So,” Violet said, “let’s get started. I don’t have any gowns made up in yellow, but we’ll choose the style, and I’ll swap the fabrics out. No worries.” She snapped her fingers at a young red-haired woman hovering nearby. “The big fitting room, Fiona. Now that I’ve seen you both, I’ve got it. One-two-three go.”