Chapter 8
Bailey
The Maid of Honor
After Levi said he’s “all in” for the wedding, the only thing I can think about is the upcoming festivities, happening in only two days.
Toasting the happy couple with Levi by my side...
Enjoying a piece of wedding cake, Levi’s fork clanking into mine...
Dancing the night away with Levi’s firm arms around me...
Just thinking about the hunky hockey player makes me tingle from head to toe. Will Levi and I move beyond fake boyfriend and girlfriend and become the “perfect couple” just like Sydney and Josh?
My cousin Sydney and I have been close since the fifth grade. We bonded at a family reunion over cupcakes—specifically Nana’s chocolate chip wonders as she calls them— and we’ve been close ever since. Sydney works at a florist shop and her fiancé is going to vet school. If there’s ever been an ideal match, it’s Sydney and Josh. I’m so happy for them.
I’m mixing batter at the bakery this morning, when my phone begins ringing and vibrating. I pick up the phone and see Sydney’s concerned face. I get a shiver of alarm. You know, that feeling of doom, where your neck prickles for really no reason.
“Hello Sydney! How’s the wedding planning going?” I answer in an upbeat tone.
“Horrible!” she says between what sounds like a sob and a sigh.
“Oh no! What happened?” Her tone evokes visions of the happy couple breaking up. I don’t know why I go there, but I do.
“We’re down a maid of honor and a best man,” she says with a loud, protracted sigh. “They decided to elope and flew to Vegas to tie the knot.”
This is bad news because Sydney and Josh have a minimal bridal party, consisting of only a maid of honor and a best man. To add insult to injury, the maid of honor is Sydney’s sister. Ouch!
“I see. Can’t they get back in time for the wedding?”
She snorts. “They’re off on their honeymoon at an all-inclusive resort in the Caribbean. I doubt we’ll hear from either of them for a week or more.”
Double ouch! Who does this? Apparently, Sydney’s sister and Josh’s best friend.
She nervously clears her throat. “I wouldn’t ask this unless I was desperate, but can you step in at the last minute and be my maid of honor? Pretty please?” she asks in an apologetic voice.
“Um, well...” My mind spins with thoughts of a whirlwind next couple of days that I don’t really have time for. Plus, what am I going to wear? Dress shopping is my least favorite thing to do. Barely ranking above a visit to the dentist.
“You can wear Ashley’s maid of honor dress! It’s still hanging in Mom’s sewing room,” Sydney says.
I try to imagine myself wearing the rather well-endowed Ashley’s dress and the image isn’t flattering. I’ll probably look like Sandra Bullock did when she tried on Betty White’s wedding dress in The Proposal movie .
“Mom is standing by with needle and thread to make any necessary alterations,” my cousin says, trying to sweeten the pot.
Crumbling quicker than a snickerdoodle, I say, “I can come over this evening around seven for the dress fitting, if that works for you.”
“Halleluiah! Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re a wedding saver, Bailey!” Sydney says. “Gotta go!”
Staring at the blank screen after she hangs up, panic sets in. What have I gotten myself into?
~*~
Sydney’s parents live in a neighborhood two streets from where my parents used to live. Driving down the tree-lined street brings back all kinds of fond memories of me and Sydney riding bikes together, playing in her backyard together, and studying at her parent’s dining table for our high school exams. Those happy memories help settle my nerves and optimism about being part of the wedding sets in.
Feeling guilty over hesitating when Sydney asked me to step in as maid of honor, I bring a box of Emma’s cupcakes along—we only had four remaining from today’s batch. I decorated these using pink buttercream icing, adding a touch of whimsy with a half strawberry on top. My cousin and my aunt both have a raging sweet tooth, and this box of sugary goodness will help soothe their stress over the wedding.
I ring the doorbell. An instant later, the door swings wide open and Sydney pulls me into a tight hug. “Bailey! Thank you for saving the day!”
“You’re welcome,” I squeak as the air leaves my lungs.
“The lady of the hour!” Aunt Margaret exclaims, joining in the hug. We hug it out for what feels like longer than typical social norms, but these women are huggers, unlike my mom.
My aunt and cousin, along with Nana, have been my family ever since my parents split for a warmer climate called Florida. Shortly after my parents moved to Florida, Dad became disabled and is unable to travel, so they won’t be attending the wedding. A pang of sadness hits because I hardly ever see my folks anymore.
“Here are some cupcakes,” I say, handing over the crumpled distinctive pink box, which didn’t survive the hug very well.
Sydney squeals. “Let’s commiserate over sugar and caffeine!” she yells as she charges off into the kitchen.
Aunt Margaret and I exchange amused looks. “You’ll have to pardon Sydney. She’s not been herself ever since Ashley eloped and the wedding plans imploded,” my aunt says, putting her arm around my shoulder and steering me towards the kitchen. “Thank you for bringing those sweets and for filling-in for Ashley .” My aunt says her wayward daughter’s name with a bit of disappointment in her tone. Is it because Ashley left her sister high and dry or is it because she robbed my aunt out of planning another wedding?
“Of course,” I say. “I’d do anything to help Sydney on her special day.” That’s a bit of a white lie because I’m still dreading the idea of being her maid of honor.
Does anyone have a list of all the things the maid of honor is supposed to do on the wedding day? My palms start to sweat.
As we enter the kitchen, Sydney’s busily making a pot of coffee, her movements jerky as she measures what looks like far too many grounds into the basket. She spills some of the grounds on the countertop but ignores them, continuing to fill the basket as if nothing happened. I squint at the coffee package hoping she’s brewing decaf, but she isn’t.
“We’ll have a cup and then get to the dress fitting,” my cousin says, flitting over to fill the pot’s carafe with water. She waves her hand towards the bakery box sitting on the counter. “Select a cupcake. I’ve got dibs on the one with the most icing,” she says with a cackle.
The last thing this woman needs is sugar or caffeine.
The coffee machine belches out the black brew while my aunt gets out matching mugs and plates from an overhead cabinet. It simply won’t be acceptable to eat a cupcake off a napkin, or even a paper towel, I guess.
A few minutes later, we sit around the kitchen table, each with a cupcake—placed precisely in the middle of a dessert plate–and an overflowing mug of coffee before us.
“Did you decorate these?” my cousin asks as she takes a huge bite.
“I did. But don’t be overly impressed, it’s taken me several months to get the hang of icing these things.”
My aunt and cousin laugh. “Well, they’re beautiful. I love the swirl pattern you made with the frosting,” Aunt Margaret says peering closer at the cupcake in her hand.
“And they’re delicious,” Syd mumbles while she digs into her second cake.
“Thanks. They’re Emma’s grandmother’s recipe.” My one disappointment in working for Emma is the fact that she’s not open to trying any new recipes, while I’d love to create some new flavors.
“I noticed you answered with a plus one on the wedding RSVP. Are you dating someone?” my aunt asks. I emailed her an update that I would have a plus one after Levi accepted.
“Dating is a strong word,” I say. “We’ve gone on one date, and he’s agreed to attend the wedding with me. But don’t tell Nana. He’s posing as my fake boyfriend to ward off our grandmother’s matchmaking.” Sydney and her mom exchange knowing looks.
“Our lips are sealed!” Sydney chirps. “Who is he?”
Figuring neither my cousin nor my aunt would know Levi by his name, I say, “He’s a hockey player. I met him on a DoorDash delivery.”
“A hockey player?” Aunt Margaret says, as if that’s a term foreign to her. “You never date athletes,” she adds.
Huh? Apparently, that’s a well-known fact. I’ve avoided athletes since my Lacrosse playing boyfriend, Zachary, broke up with me.
“What team does he play for?” Sydney chimes in.
Since the chance of me dating a professional hockey player when the nearest professional team is two states away is remote, I figured they would assume he plays for the university.
“The Golden Stars,” I reply.
“Ooh! What’s his name! Josh follows the Stars and knows every player,” Sydney says.
“Levi Nyberg,” I say.
Her jaw drops. “OMG! That’s the guy Josh is going to ask to be his replacement best man!” my cousin squeals.
What? Levi and I are both now going to be part of the wedding party?
“Well, isn’t that serendipity at its finest?” Aunt Margaret says with a wink.
I shrug, not sure what to call this turn of events. A fluke? Dumb luck? A coincidence? At least Levi and I won’t run off to Vegas and get married before the wedding, that’s for sure. My fingers itch to text Levi about this new development, but politeness keeps me from doing so.
After our plates are empty—Sydney polished off the remainder of the cupcakes—and we’ve drained our mugs of every last drop of coffee, my aunt leads us into her sewing room where the maid of honor dress is hanging on a hook. My jaw sags and my heart sinks.
The mint green dress is a gorgeous off-the-shoulder creation with a revealing sweetheart neckline and a plunging back. It looks nothing like a dress I would wear in this lifetime. The style would have looked terrific on Ashley’s curvy figure, but it’s going to look horrible on me.
“How about you slip into the dress, and I’ll pin the areas that need alterations?” my aunt says. “You can change in the bathroom down the hall.”
I trot off to the bathroom hoping the dread I’m feeling isn’t showing on my face. After wiggling into the dress, I cringe as I look at myself in the mirror. Aunt Margaret better be a miracle worker with needle and thread.
“Can someone zip me?” I ask when I’m back in the sewing room. Sydney bounds over, enclosing me in the dress, then twirls me around so I’m facing the full-length mirror.
Womp! Womp!
The sad trombone sound floats through my head. I look like a child playing dress up in her mother’s clothing.
“We’ve got a bit of work to do!” my aunt says in an overly positive tone, considering how the dress’s bustline sags like a drooping curtain—far too much material with far too little bust to support it. The plunging V on the back displays most of my underwear, and the hem is several inches too long.
“Would it be better for me to just purchase a new dress?” I ask, still staring at myself in the mirror.
Sydney and her mom exchange pained looks. “The wedding is themed around the mint green color,” my cousin explains.
“We carefully selected tablecloths, napkins, plates, and even the icing on the cake to match this dress,” my aunt adds.
“The men are also wearing bow ties and cummerbunds to match,” Sydney adds.
Wow! That’s like putting all your eggs in the same mint green basket, so to speak.
“We can check with the bridal shop to see if they have another dress in your size and in the correct color,” Sydney concedes. She swipes the screen on her cell and makes the call. After a few seconds, she says, “They’re closed.”
“Okay, let’s pin everything I need to alter. Syd, you can call the shop first thing tomorrow morning and see if we can get Bailey another dress. If not, I’ll make the alterations and Bailey can retry the altered dress on sometime tomorrow.” Aunt Margaret spouts out the plan in a drill sergeant voice. She briskly starts pinning while I stand as still as possible.
“Ouch!”
“Sorry!”
“Ouch!”
“Sorry!”
My aunt sticks me with pin after pin. Eventually I just grit my teeth and don’t react, hoping to get this feeling of being a life-sized pincushion over with as quickly as possible.
Fifteen minutes and a hundred pin pricks to my skin later, my aunt is out of pins. “We’ll worry about pinning the hem tomorrow, this will do for now,” she says, then unzips the back. I’m careful as I pull the dress off, making sure not to lose any pins so we don’t have to repeat that process.
“Are you sure you can get all that sewing done tomorrow?” I ask, daunted by the task.
“Absolutely!” my aunt replies.
She’s going to need a lot of coffee.
“Maybe the shop will have a replacement dress,” Sydney says, sporting a somewhat doubtful expression.
I cross my fingers behind my back, hoping beyond hope that another dress can be found, preferably with a high neckline and long sleeves. This dress is the most revealing dress I’ve ever attempted to wear and I’m not sure I can pull it off.
“I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve contacted the store tomorrow morning,” Sydney says as she shows me to the front door. “Thanks for being such a good sport,” she says, briefly pulling me into another hug.
A good sport about being pin pricked? A good sport about wearing a dress that’s not even remotely my style? All the above?
“Honestly, Sydney, I hope they have another dress. That looks like a lot of work for your mom to alter Ashley’s dress.”
Sydney nods her head in agreement. “But if anyone is up to the task, it’s Mom.”
I begin to wonder if maybe Ashley had it right. Rather than walking down the aisle, just elope. That way you don’t have to deal with the stress of a wedding.