Chapter 35 The Day Of
Chapter35 The Day Of
The Mother of the Bride
The guest quarters above the pavilion at La Mariposa were quiet. The buzz of the MOB, the MOG, and the bridesmaid having their
hair and makeup done was over. The popping of champagne and blaring of music was done. It was only Penny and her mother in
the ready room waiting for the signal from Madison that it was time. Alexa and Penny, as it always had been.
Alexa was afraid that if she studied her daughter too closely, a flood of tears would ruin her carefully crafted makeup. She
couldn’t have tears running down her neck to stain her silk dress. (Kalliope Moon had sold her a mermaid-silhouette dress,
more figure-hugging than the original flowing caftan Alexa had bought. The designer named the swirling blue creation the Thetis
dress, after the sea nymph in Greek mythology.) The moment was so much bigger, more meaningful than Alexa had imagined. Had
the venue and the pomp and circumstance made it so? Or would she have been as emotional at a City Hall ceremony with a Chinese
restaurant reception? Based on the weight of her emotions, Alexa surmised that she would have cried either way.
“Penny—” she started.
“Don’t. Please. We can’t cry. It will ruin all the photos,” Penny answered, her voice thick.
“I want to say one thing. Please.”
Penny, her face framed by her deep brown hair against the white tulle veil embellished with light-blue butterflies, nodded.
“Is this where you tell me about you and Mayor Lynch?”
“No, it’s not. I’ll tell you about that another time. It’s where I tell you what this day means to me.”
“Fine,” the bride said, turning toward the window and the darkening skies. “But I can’t look at you. And no crying.”
Alexa took her hand. “You are my greatest joy. And this day is your gift to me.” She stopped before she got sloppy. She didn’t
tell her daughter what it meant to see her find her life partner, who loved and respected her. What it meant to see her in
that stunning dress, a grown woman but still blooming with youth and possibility. What it meant to see her healthy, happy,
and so, so capable. That would have wrecked them both. Instead, she squeezed her hand and said in her native tongue, “S’agapó.”
Penny turned to look at her mother, “Ki egó se agapó.” I love you, too.
Lord Simon Fox, dapper in a blue suit, white shirt, and a handsome blue Gucci tie with purple butterflies, knocked before
popping his head in the door. The sight of the two Diamandis women, mother and daughter, in their wedding finery took his
breath away a tiny bit. “Stunning. Very good. Both of you. This is such an honor for me.” And then he added, “It’s time. Alexa,
Madison informed me that all the guests are seated. If you’ll kindly go downstairs and meet Madison for your entrance. Then
Penny and I will follow. Ready?”
***
A grove of evergreens, the deeply discounted Christmas trees that Mitsy and her crew scooped up on the twenty-sixth of December,
provided a privacy screen for the bridal party to assemble out of view of the guests. Madison, headset on, clipboard in hand,
motioned to Alexa to take her place at the head of the line, next to Abigail and George.
It had been Penny’s ideas that Alexa walk down the aisle with the Blakemans instead of on her own or with a groomsman. As
mother and daughter met on Zoom to plan the timeline of events with the same care and decisiveness as a tour of Delphi and
Olympia, Penny had said, “Chase and I were talking about everything our parents have done for us, including getting us back
together. We said we didn’t want gimmicks, but we want to ask you to do something special for us. We thought maybe all three
of you could walk down the aisle together to symbolize unity, two families joining. Is that too much? Would you rather walk
alone?”
Alexa was taken aback. She had assumed she would walk herself down the aisle. She fancied her own moment, a quiet nod to how
she had raised her daughter, but then she remembered the advice Aunt B had given her months ago at the engagement party: It’s not your wedding . So instead of protesting, Alexa agreed like it was a brilliant idea, the best notion ever. “As long as I get to pick the
entrance song.”
“As long as it’s not the Cure,” Penny had answered, rolling her eyes at her mother’s former goth sensibilities.
Now here they were, the two mothers ready to walk down the aisle together. Alexa, tall and proud, took her place next to George.
Abigail, on the other side of her husband, looked stunning in a vintage Lela Rose midnight-blue floral gown that she’d picked
up on the clearance rack at Saks after selling a set of nineteenth-century Windsor chairs that had been stacked in the basement
since the seventies.
“You both look amazing,” Madison said, then spoke into her headset. “It’s go time. Cue the music.” The first chords of a string quartet playing the Cure’s “Pictures of You” could be heard. Madison gestured to the trio to proceed, informing whoever was on the other end of the headset, “Here come the MOB and the MOG.”
George asked the women on his right and on his left, “Ready?”
And the MOB and the MOG snuck a look at each other and said at the same time, “LFG.”