Chapter 22
VIOLET—SATURDAY—WEDDING DAY!
The sound outside the choir room is just short of chaos, a cacophony of voices talking and string music playing. Okay, so the orchestra is here. I guess I’d kind of hoped they’d just forget to show up or something. That probably means the news crew is here too.
I lean against the wall, alone for just a moment after all the hair and makeup fuss I’ve been pampered with today.
I know it makes me sound ungrateful, but I really just wish I could sit down or breathe fully.
For some reason, doing some yoga stretches sounds like a brilliant idea, except I’ve never done yoga in my life and starting doesn’t seem prudent when I’m in a dress that fits me like a glove.
So yoga’s out, but I think I could actually sit down and not pop a seam or cut off the circulation to my lower half.
Maybe it’s the lack of food, though I may never eat an egg again in my lifetime, or that I haven’t had anything but coffee and water since this morning, or that the shapewear’s elastic has given up on the losing battle of holding me in.
Whatever it is, a chair sounds like bliss, and isn’t that the simplest pleasure?
But before I can attempt sitting, the door opens and Abi comes in, looking like she just crawled her way through a frat party. “How’s it going out there?”
“Let’s see . . . your triplet cousins have been hit on by half a dozen men, two of whom may or may not be your cousins from Europe, your Aunt Sofia is defending the front pew of the church with a rolled up umbrella and a look that makes me think your ancestors fought in the Colosseum, and the camera crew looks scared to even approach her.
On my family’s side of the church, my father still looks like he’d rather be getting a salt ‘n vinegar enema than be here. You’ve heard a mullet described as business in the front, party in the back?
” She grins, the giggle already coming. “It’s like that out there too .
. . business on the right with Dad’s stuffed shirt friends, and party on the left with all of your crazy family.
But other than that, your wedding plan’s going off just as you wanted, perfectly! ”
“Plan,” I chuckle ruefully, sighing. “You know, I had the perfect plan? But somehow, all this craziness seems apropos, don’t you think? Does the wedding planner need anything?”
Abi shakes her head. “Nope, that’s not for you today. She’s top-notch, not scared of anyone, my family or yours, and has everything prepped, ready, and decorated. I’ll remember her to refer brides to at the flower shop for sure.”
There’s a knock at the door, and a shaky voice on the other side calls out, “Violet? Are you decent, baby?”
My eyes go wide, and I’m grateful when Abi tosses me a blue choir robe that I can pull on quickly without messing up my hair or makeup. “Come in, Papa!”
Papa opens the door, and his smile when he sees me makes this all worth it. “Oh, my dear, you look beautiful.”
I look down at the shapeless blue robe, laughing a little. “Papa, you can’t even see my dress.”
“No need. You’re always beautiful to me,” Papa reassures me.
He looks so handsome in his black suit, strong and healthy for the first time in a long time.
I know it’s the excitement, but he looks .
. . alive again. “It’s not the dress, or the church, or any of that that makes this day for me.
Violet, it’s you. To see you happy, the love in your eyes, the honor of walking you down the aisle.
Honey, you’ve given me the gift of a lifetime. Thank you.”
I smile, trying to find words, but my throat’s closed up, and Papa leans forward, kissing me with feathery light kisses on both cheeks. And suddenly, all the craziness is worth it. I’m this close to making his dream come true. I can handle a little extra fanfare if it’s for Papa.
“Now, I’ll get out of your way. You need to get ready, and you’re going to cry and ruin your makeup if I stay here any longer. Your grandmother would skin me alive if I did that!”
“Oh, Papa, stop!” I laugh, still wanting to cry but smiling through it. “I’ll be ready on time.”
“You’d better be. As handsome as Ross looks, if you’re late, there’s going to be a stampede of young women trying to get up there to marry him in your place!” Papa teases as he walks out the door.
In the silence that follows, I look over to see Abi wiping carefully at her eyes.
“What?” she asks when she sees me looking.
“There’s a reason I didn’t go for smoky eyes today.
I knew I’d end up looking like a raccoon if I did.
I went straight for the dramatic fake lashes, so I’m good.
Now, let’s finish getting you ready before one of your cousins steals Ross right out from underneath you, literally. What’s left?”
I laugh and smack her arm at the dirty joke. “Why’s it gotta be my cousins?” I ask before realizing the point. “Oh . . . your family. Yeah, that’d be weird.”
I go through my checklist, reading down the paper the wedding planner taped to the mirror for me. Hair and veil—check. Makeup and teeth brushed—check. Dress—check. Garter and lingerie—check. One glass of champagne—I decided to skip that one, so check.
“Hey, Abi? There’s just one thing left on my list and I’m definitely gonna need some help with it,” I say haltingly.
“What?” she says, reading over my shoulder.
“I need to pee,” I say.
Like the good friend and trooper she is, Abi straightens her back. “Okay, let’s get to it.”
I never thought bathroom stalls were particularly small.
Apparently, that’s because I’ve never been inside one with another person plus what seems to be one hundred yards of white fabric.
We giggle a lot, I almost pull a hamstring, and ultimately, we end up in some configuration that has me sitting backward on the toilet as I hold the front of the dress and Abi holds the back.
I say a literal prayer of thanks for snap-crotch shapewear, choosing not to think about Abi having to help me re-snap.
We’re close, but not that close. Until today apparently.
I close my eyes, trying to pretend that she’s not actually looking at my ass and that I don’t have an audience so that my shy bladder will do its damn job. But it’s not working.
Abi shuffles my dress to one hand and pulls her phone out with the other.
“Are you taking a picture of my butt?” I scream.
Her eye roll is epic. “No, I’m calling in reinforcements. Yeah, it’s me. Women’s bathroom in the choir room.”
A moment later, the door opens, and I flinch, afraid someone else is going to see my ass. I hiss, “Abi, for fuck’s sake, cover me up. It might be the videographer!”
Archie sighs dramatically. “If only. That would be hilarious.” I don’t kill him because he’s obviously being sarcastic, and you know, I’m currently stuck on a toilet.
“Turn on the water and you can go,” Abi orders him.
I hear all three sinks start gushing water and am struck with inspiration, my bladder finally deciding to perform.
As the door opens once again, I hear Archie call back, “I want a raise, boss lady. A good one, effective two minutes ago.”
I think I hum some agreement, but I can’t be sure over the sound of all the streaming, both the sinks and me.
This is utter madness.
Leaving the choir room, I have to walk around the outside of the church in order to get to the back.
Yesterday, I walked it in my jeans in a minute, with half of that being Father O’Flannigan talking through the ceremony and slowing me down.
The only creature that saw me was a single chipmunk that chittered at us from the big maple in the middle of the church courtyard and a couple of birds flying overhead.
It was peaceful and I’d thought it’d be a nice nature break to catch my breath before the ceremony began.
Today, it’s like a prize fighter pushing their way to the ring.
Somehow, whether it’s the news coverage, social media, or something I just totally don’t understand, the entire courtyard is crowded with people.
At least a hundred people line the concrete walkway, though I can tell someone has worked to keep them back from the actual sidewalk so I can pass safely.
But among the faces in the sea of humanity, I only recognize maybe a quarter of them.
Why in the world are these people here? They’re not even invited, not going to get inside for the ceremony or the reception. People are so weird sometimes.
The news crew takes the lead, staying several yards ahead and somehow easily walking backward as they film our trek.
Of our group, Abi takes the front, plowing her way through the congratulatory hands that want to reach out to touch me, either in genuine affection or to have their momentary brush with temporary celebrity.
They call out questions and congratulations and I try to smile, but I’m sure it looks more like I’m baring my teeth.
“Okay, okay, outta the way!” Abi growls as two random strangers pop out to snap photos. “No photos or I’m going to shove that iPhone so deep you’ll need some angelic help to get it out!”
Even from behind her, I hear the news group say, “Did you get that?” Great, way to go, Abi.
That’s going to be on the evening news. Delilah assured us the crew would film for our personal memories only, but I have no faith that anything particularly interesting won’t end up on the Sunday Local Wrap-Up first thing in the morning.
The foyer of the church is nearly as bad, but at least the camera crew disappears to go set up in the chapel.
Mom is talking to Vanessa, Marissa, and Estella while Archie and Courtney look on uncomfortably.
Michael and Anna are sitting off to the side on a small bench, but even from here, I can see that they’re poking and pinching each other while simultaneously trying not to get caught misbehaving.