Once Upon His Wedding

Once Upon His Wedding

Iam supposed to accompany my mom to another wedding. This time it is for her ex-husband- my father. He told my mom around Christmas last year to tell me that he was getting remarried. I guess he figured that she would break it to me nicer. If you ask me, he’s a coward for not telling me face to face. But that’s probably better that he didn’t, because I would have let him have it. Soon after I received the news, we received an invitation and I received a request to be a bridesmaid. I wasn’t having it. Bridesmaid- ha- it’s a joke, the wedding the invitation- it is all a joke. Why she wants to go is beyond me. She says she still loves him and supports his decision; therefore she wants to be there for him. But why she thinks she must drag me along is another mystery. However, I told her I would go and that is why I am here at Bloomingdales trying on hideous dresses that she thinks are “tasteful.” I hate when she uses that word. I hate when she uses a lot of words. Even certain phrases are stupid. She acts like we are royalty and I quote, “if we are not proper my dear, what will the others think of us? We can’t have them thinking we are anything less than we really are, can we? Certainly not, now bat your eyes and curtsey.”

Curtsey? Who ever thought of such a thing and why was I the one being pressured to do it? It was peer pressure I tell ya’ I didn’t want to curtsey, it hurt my knees and the first few time I tried to do it, I fell over and had to get some ice on my ankle. Stupid royalty, we are nowhere near them, and I am being forced by my will to do that sh- stuff.

I was not looking forward to seeing my dad. He was one of those love them and leave them guys that I never had a place in my heart for. I guess it is just my nature to push him away, since he pushed me away. Not that this is a monkey-see-monkey-do ordeal, but I have every right to despise him; especially since he is leading on my mom like this. Inviting her to his wedding like we are his family when he clearly decided we weren’t a long time ago.

And the woman he is marrying- a tall, toothpick thin, blonde with perfect highlights and a smile that shines so bright it nearly beats out the sun. I’d only met her twice now when I was shipped out to England against my will to visit my father because the courts said he deserved it or something. And I can tell you first hand from being at Coocalot’s Restaurant Bar and Grill for some step-mother and daughter bonding that this woman cannot hold her liquor because she gets tipsy after one Bloody Mary, she doesn’t know how to play rummy and has six kids because she “absolutely adores children Milly and she will love you like her own.” Six kids and still looks like a white Tyra Banks. I am sure she works with the needy and the homeless too and has sponsored 50 kids from those commercials on TV.

But nevertheless, I am picking a bright pink dress with a bow attached to the back and having my hair done by Mark Paul Williams who I think is gay because everything has to be perfect and hair sprayed so there are absolutely no “frizzies, we cannot have frizzies Milly, it will ruin the whole day.” He is also doing my makeup… that should give away his sexuality right there. I don’t even like pink, and I would rather be wearing black to the sperm donors wedding.

“Hold your head straight dear. Mark cannot do your hair if you are a little wiggle bug.” My mother was persistent on everything being absolutely perfect and matching. I guess that is why my make up was also pink so that in the end I looked like a papaya spit up on me.

Mom must have disappeared at some point to make arrangements for the journey we were on because in no time, she had a limo waiting to take us to the wedding. I guess it was another royalty kind of thing for her, but I couldn’t tell if we were pitied guests or with the wedding party. It was a three and half hour drive from Plumton, New York to Bishop New Jersey. Mark Paul decided to go with us on the long ride so he could keep us looking our best. It was a drag and I was almost ready to jump through the roof of the stupid vehicle just to get away. Who cares about frizzies?

Bishop, New Jersey, I don’t know why dad and Jackie chose Bishop. They lived in England for crying out loud. Bishop was just another small town on the east coast with neighborhoods where everyone knew each other. Where people waved at everyone and knew every person’s name on the next five blocks, the sun shined every day, and dogs were in fenced in front yards, kids in pools, daddies mowing grass and mothers cleaning in plaid or flowered aprons. I guess Jackie wanted an All-American wedding, since she had never been here. Supposedly they are serving hotdogs as an appetizer. Can’t get more American, (or redneck) than that.

As we passed tree after tree with leaves in the midst of changing for fall, torment began to sink in. Mom must have quoted Coco Chanel 5,000 times saying, “A girl should always be two things - classy and fabulous."

I rolled my eyes and mumbled, “How about tomboyish and rude?” Mark Paul and mom swung their heads at me in disgust. I was surprised we weren’t rerouted to the nearest hospital to get them checked out for whip lash.

“MILLY! How dare you. You know that isn’t proper at all. You must be kidding, and if you are, it certainly is not a joke. Now, do you have your shoes? Where is your purse? Mark Paul, do you have a tube of that lipstick for her to carry so she can reapply it in the powder room later? Milly, stop crossing you’re your ankles, cross your legs, sit nicely, look pretty, don’t slouch. You wouldn’t want Jackie to think any less of you because you sit like a toad on a log, would you?” There was nothing I could do, I lived with this woman. Her craziness was just an act and I was about ready to ship her to the circus. But for now I wanted to suffocate the driver and drive this limo right into the nearest lake.

We must have been late, the cars line the curb in front of the King Gort’s Mansion at Henry Street and Eighth. Not a whole lot of royalty in tardiness, yet we slowly walked through the black steel gate and up the tan and black marble steps to hopefully catch a seat in the back. “Ah, Ms. Milly and mother, you two do not sit back here; you must be taken to the front. There is reserved seating for you on the groom’s side. You look beautiful ladies; I almost thought you were the bridesmaids.”

Damn the ushers with the guests lists. How’d they know who we were? Do they have a mug shot picture of us next to the name?

We walked down the long aisle to where the reserved seating was marked appropriately with a large sign. I was so ready to ditch this event. Maybe I could sneak out a bathroom window. “It’s not a bathroom my dear, it’s a powder room Milly.” Ahhh, what was that? Mom is in my head correcting my thoughts now too?

My brain was more engulfed in executing a plan to run that it never stopped to look at the place we were in. A ballroom in the only mansion in town covered in lilies and baby’s-breath, pink, red and gold color scheme, and pews that were laced with wedding confetti and little trinkets full of birdseed to throw at the happily married couple after they ran out the doors like robbers from a bank to their getaway car. It must have cost a pretty penny to rent out the ballroom. The ceilings were high with angels painted on them. The artwork was phenomenal. Where he got the money for this place I don’t know. I do know he isn’t that rich, because mom complains to me about how she isn’t receiving child support, but that is in private when no one is around to hear that we really don’t have loads of money to swim in and we aren’t royalty.

I needed to make a clean break for the door. Just getting up and running unquestionably would not be the safest bet. Especially with mom watching my every move and Mark Paul still on standby in case frizzies happened to turn up. I guess just going to the bathroom would be the best bet. Of course I couldn’t tell her I needed to pee, she would turn it into a fiasco and have to come with me to hold my dress to make sure it wouldn’t get touched by toilet water, then I am sure Mark Paul would have to iron the dress where mom held it because there would be wrinkles or as he would say, “crinklies.” I could say I needed a new layer of my Cranberry Ice lipstick; there would be no reason for her to join me.

“Mom…”

“What did I say about calling me ‘mom’? Call me mother- it is more sophisticated. And don’t slouch when you sit. Sit nice and tall. At least try to act like you are lady… I know God put some estrogen in your body somewhere.”

“Mother Dearest… I am going to the bath… sorry… the powder room to apply some more of this wretched lipstick to myself. I will be back in a jiff.” My eyes rolled as she motioned with her arm for me to walk down the aisle towards the back of the room.

BINGO! Lipstick saves the day. Thank you, Mark Paul Williams, for helping me get out of the ceremony. I made my way to the back of the room following the long red carpet that they had rolled out for Jackie to walk down. I didn’t know whether to think of her as my future stepmom or a celebrity to get an autograph from. I didn’t care either way because all I knew was she was taking my father from his original family.

As I opened the big wooden doors with stained glass windows, I saw her. Jackie Marissa Cox. I could barely look at her. She was so thin, so beautiful so… desperate. Must be anyway, she has only known my dad for six months and is already dripping with diamond frosting that he bought her. She had it all within a month, the ring, the dress, the man, the family, the home, the sex… “Oh the sex, it is just delightful…” she would brag to all the neighbors on the block where she lived with me standing behind her like a stray dog. It was disgusting; I wanted to throw her in a pile of cow dung and spit on her nice white shoes. I wanted to pull out each hair on her head individually while she said, “Milly stop, Milly, please.” I wanted her to work for the life she was stealing. In my mind she needs to work to gain our last name.

I turned around to look down the aisle, the wedding music was playing, my father was standing at the front of church and my mom was motioning me to hurry back to my seat.

“Go- that is your queue.” A bridesmaid was pushing me from behind to walk through the door.

“I’m not…” I barely got those two words out before I figured out I was halfway down the red carpet. I was in the wedding, the one I didn’t even want to go to. This was falling apart, where was I supposed to stand? My legs went wobbly and the expression on my mom’s face was pure horror. When Jackie saw me standing there she would flip… maybe I could duck out while they prayed. None of them were here for me anyway… they were here for Jackie; the beautiful slut that stole my father right under my mom’s nose.

She had been eyeing me since the moment she bought her first pearl necklace with my college fund. Telling my dad there was no reason to put money like that away; I’m probably not even his. And yet, she said she loved me like a daughter of her own and that she was lucky to have me in her life. I know she meant it the other way around.

I walked down the aisle worried as all hell. My palms were sweaty, my knees were knocking, and I could barely breathe. I felt my heart pounding as if it were going to fall through my belly button and land on the floor. I paced myself walking up the stairs to the altar, thinking of a plan either get out of here or get to Jackie’s neck before she got to mine.

I turned on the step, my face painted with a Mona Lisa smile. The rest of the bridesmaids filed in towards the front of the room like cattle. Clothed in the stylish dresses that Jackie herself picked, hair done up with bobby pins invisible to the naked eye, and sprinkled with some glitter to shine. Then, she stepped in view with her face so innocent looking, I puked in my mouth a little bit. She walked slowly, as if taking in every moment and making a memory scrapbook.

Alas she stepped so lightly up to my father, mouthing the words I love you forever. Ironically my mother told me she had done the same at her wedding.

It was time for the dreaded exchange of vows. “Jackie, would you like to read your vows please?”

“There are no words to explain the way I feel about you. I love you. You are my best friend. Today I give myself to you in marriage. I promise to encourage and inspire you, to laugh with you, and to comfort you in times of sorrow and struggle. I promise to love you in good times and in bad, when life seems easy and when it seems hard, when our love is simple, and when it is an effort. I promise to cherish you, and to always hold you in highest regard. I love you this much... enough to do anything for you, give my life, my love, my heart and my soul to you and for you. I love you enough to willingly give all of my time and effort. Thoughts, talents trust and prayers to you enough to want to protect you, care for you, guide you, hold you comfort you, listen to you, and cry to you and with you, enough to be silly around you, never have to hide anything from you, and be myself with you. I love you enough to share all of my sentiments, dreams, goals, fears, hopes, and worries my entire life with you enough to want the best for you, to wish for your success and to hope for the fulfillment of all of your endeavors enough to keep my promises to you and pledge my loyalty and faithfulness to you. Enough to cherish your friendship adore your personality, respect your values and see you for who you are...I love you enough to fight for you compromise for you and sacrifice myself for you if need be enough to miss you incredibly when we are apart, no matter what length of time it’s for and regardless of the distance enough to believe in our relationship to stand by it through the worst of times, to have faith in our strength as a couple, and to never ever give up on us enough to spend the rest of my life with you, be there for you, when you need or want me, and never ever want to leave you or live without you... I love you this much. These things I give to you today, and all the days of our life. Yours always, Jackie.”

Where did she get that horse crap from, the internet? I rolled my eyes clear enough for everyone to see. “Bullshit.”This was a statement I was repeating in my head but it must have slipped through my lips loud enough for people to hear because my dad was looking at me clearing his voice the way he does when I do something I shouldn’t. And of course my comment didn’t stop the wedding or anything. The ceremony proceeded on and I still was standing at the altar when I wasn’t supposed to be.

And you know how weddings go… do you, so-and-so take so-and-so to be blah blah blah… I do I do, kiss the bride, whisk her away into a Just Married car and be off to the reception for cake that costs 500 dollars and non-stop picture taking, kisses from aunts that pinch cheek and uncles who wear too much after shave.

After the you-may-kiss-the-bride segment of this horror movie, we all headed outside with our trinkets and tossed the birdseed in the air. I gripped mine in my hand waiting to pelt Jackie in her little pretty face with it. I had imagined it getting in her eyes and having an ambulance come take her to the hospital where they announced she was blind, but after they had emerged from the doors, my grasp slowly let go of the seeds and they bounced down the stairs.

We all headed to banquet hall at Cheddar’s for the reception. I was enthralled to get my hotdog that I was sure would be served with cheese and chili, with a side of fries drowning in malt vinegar.

As dad and Jackie waltzed around the reception, I could remember when he left us. No, I didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t just get up and leave one day either. It was a drawn out process that I am sure he had been planning since he told my mother “I do.” He sat us down, my sister and me, and told us that he was going on a trip far away and that he wasn’t sure when he’d be back. I remember crying, but not hard enough to let it show. I couldn’t, my sister need me to be strong. She was sitting in front of the fireplace sipping milk from the cows out back and wiping away her tears as they fell, although some slipped away and hit the hardwood floor like marbles. He told us he loved us, and that he would always be here even in our hearts. We believed him then, but after a week or so, the letters and phone calls stopped coming to us and we were left to carry on without a daddy. I guess we just sort of moved on after that.

It took all my nerve not to wander over there and pop them both in the jaw. Instead, I said hello, curtseyed like mom suggested and wandered away.

Mom and I never spoke of their wedding again, it was like a bad movie we went to that just wouldn’t stop playing in our heads, but we didn’t want to bring it up. Mom burned her wedding album that she had cried over so many nights before. The only thing left to the original Thorn family was the family picture I held in my hands and the wedding photo I took from the album last week.