Chapter 30
.
The bride’s suite smells like roses and hairspray.
There’s also a mix of noises that could drive any sane person completely crazy.
High-powered hair dryers, nails being filed, a playlist of pop divas blasting through the speakers, Aunt Abby’s excited voice telling the story of the summer she ended up eating caviar and drinking Champagne on some duke’s yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea and had to jump into the ocean when he showed up naked on the deck inviting everyone to his sex dungeon.
Then there are the flashes from the photography team.
Suzi laughs, Flash. Aunt Abby tells how she swam to an island that coincidentally was Ibiza, Flash. Mila throws the nail polish bottle Gemma chose against the wall and tells her to stick to shades of pink, Flash.
We are all wearing silk robes with “Bride Squad” embroidered on the back. Except Mila, who’s in a white robe that says “Bride,” but honestly, if I’d thought about it, I would have had it embroidered “Bridezilla” instead, because of all the days she’s given me trouble, this one is the worst.
And the worst part is that I can’t do anything. I can’t complain.
Today is her day.
Finally and officially, her wedding day.
Mila Carnegie is marrying the love of her life after ten years.
After so many dreams and plans, we are here.
She can be as monstrous as she wants, I’ll love her the same.
It’s my job – and the other bridesmaids’ – to calm her down enough so that things don’t get out of control. Throwing Gemma’s nail polish at the wall is just a tiny issue, considering she can’t even sit still long enough for the hairstylist to finish the waves in her hair.
She’s actually pacing back and forth, the hem of her robe being lifted by the wind as if she were running off a cliff in Scotland or something, searching for her phone, her task binder, her own dignity… maybe all three at once.
“Has anyone seen my lace ribbon?”
“We’re still going to put it on the bouquet, Mila,” Victoria replies, slightly impatient, as if this conversation has happened before.
“I know that, I want to know if it’s here or if someone left it in the villa.”
“It’s literally on the desk, Mila” Elise explains, pointing to the desk where the veil, the bouquet lace ribbon, and the garter ribbon are.
“Oh,” Mila mutters. Then she starts looking for something else.
She hasn’t eaten anything yet either.
Suzi tried giving her a protein bar when we arrived, but Mila just blinked slowly, as if holding back from yelling what she really thinks, and preferred to stay silent.
The catering assistant brought fruit – Disgusting!
– and little cheese-filled croissants – Perfect!
Double the fat so I can crap myself all over the altar!
Cordelia even tried to feed her a spoonful of yogurt as if she were feeding a toddler, but Mila promised she would shove that spoon into unknown and unimaginable parts of her sister-in-law’s body if it didn’t disappear immediately, so we let it go.
“Do you want a sandwich, Mila?” I ask after a while, without any real expectation, distracted by the meticulous work the nails girl is doing, a pale beige nail polish to make everyone happy.
“I want to stop sweating,” she responds, flustered.
“You’ll stop sweating if you sit down and let us take care of you.”
“Want a glass of Champagne then?” Elise asks, tired, unable to hide that she’s offering it in an attempt to get the bride tipsy.
“I can’t drink any more alcohol,” Mila grumbles, bringing the back of her hand to her forehead, like the drama queen she is.
I get it, I swear, that’s all we’ve been doing all week. I think that’s why weddings usually only last one night. If everyone getting married did what Mila and Robbie are doing, the world would collapse.
Then she uses the same hand for another dramatic gesture and asks, to no one in particular, “Can someone just bring me a Mimosa, then?”
I open my mouth to protest but shut it immediately. I’ve been around rich people long enough to know that Mimosas don’t count as alcohol. And, well, she hasn’t eaten, so it’s quite possible that when the Champagne kicks in, she’ll calm down a bit.
We all urgently need that to happen.
I glance at the clock. It’s past noon.
The ceremony starts at four. The weather outside is perfect, sunny with fluffy white clouds, and a light, refreshing breeze that seems to drop the temperature by about ten degrees. The groomsmen are updating us every fifteen minutes. So far, everything is fine out there.
Everything perfect, no earthquakes, no tsunamis, and yet it feels like Mila could spontaneously combust at any moment.
She hasn’t even let them start her makeup yet, so I’m beginning to fear that things might start to go wrong if no one comes up with a solution soon.
“Does anyone have access to any kind of legal or illegal drugs, a fortune-teller’s tea, a benzodiazepine?” Aunt Abby shouts, standing up after Mila declares she feels like there’s a fireball inside her and all she wants to do is fly toward the sun like a rocket.
Everyone on the beauty team exchanges glances, unsure whether they’re judging us completely or genuinely wondering if they can help.
“Uncle Henry has all those blood pressure meds,” Elise remembers. “I’m sure at least one of them could calm her heart.”
He mixes them with an exorbitant amount of alcohol and is still alive. Either they’re useless or incredibly strong, so I’m not sure they’ll help.
“I have a joint in my bag,” Victoria suddenly says, and we all turn to her.
A dozen jaws drop.
She shrugs, as if it’s nothing.
“Brad got it from some guys at the bachelor party. He wanted us to smoke it together, but when he got home,” she slowly runs her hand over her belly with a shy smile, “things had changed, so I just kept it.”
And that’s the moment we all turn to Lianne, the bride’s mother. I know the moms and grandmas have done unimaginable things at the bachelorette party, but still, it’s not every day that bridesmaids want the bride to smoke a joint in front of her mom and mother-in-law.
Lianne scratches the back of her neck with her fingers to avoid smudging her nails.
“Hey, don’t look at me!” Then she shrugs. “I’m not even here.”
Gemma raises her arm triumphantly and Elise squeals with excitement. Well, if Lianne isn’t here, and the pregnant one volunteered to spend half an hour outside counting napkins or whatever, taking the photographers and all the beauty team with her, then who am I to deny it?
Like the professional I never imagined Cordelia to be, she lights the joint with a deep drag, then passes it to the bride, while telling everyone, “Now can we please talk about any other subject besides the wedding until this kicks in?”
Mila holds it between her fingers, inspects it as if analyzing its quality, and only then inhales, eyes closed, blowing out the smoke slowly.
“Aunt Abby always has an interesting story to tell,” my friend comments, passing the joint to Robbie’s aunt.
“The interesting story I have today is about Suzanna and that sexy ass she grabbed on the dance floor yesterday.”
The other women start laughing. Me? I prefer to talk about the wedding and risk Mila going insane rather than discussing that.
“He is a sexy ass alright,” I correct.
I can call him an ass as many times as I want, but I also can’t deny he is sexy.
They laugh even more.
I sigh, slowly exhaling before the joint reaches me.
“Can we talk about something other than Jasper?”
They roll their eyes, as if I’m about to start my rant again.
“What’s your problem with Jasper anyway?” Elise asks, and I shrug.
“I don’t have a problem with him. I just think he shouldn’t be part of any conversation until he learns to be at least a little pleasant.”
“I personally think he’s very, very pleasant,” Lianne giggles foolishly. To her defense, she just smoked Victoria’s joint. “I think he’s spectacular in every way.”
“We already know you’re in love with him, Mom,” Mila grumbles, her voice slower, eyes down, weed starting to kick in… thank God! “But he needs to hook up with someone who can actually come back here and tell us how it was.”
Cordelia and I exchange a quick glance. She knows how it was years ago when they were in college. In fact, she even knows how it was when it was with me, because she’s the only one who knows what really happened after the bachelor parties. She saw the marks on my butt!
“I don’t think I’m going to find out anytime soon,” Suzi mutters from the corner, pouting. “We danced and talked yesterday, he was super polite, but he did nothing. I almost jumped on him, and he did nothing!”
I look up, surprised.
“Mila thinks he was interested, but…”
Mila thinks? We went from Suzi believes there was a thing going on to Mila thinks?
Mila, who hasn’t been in her right mind all week? That Mila?
Shit, I think I fucked things up last night.
I think I fucked them big time.
“…But the man is an enigma!” Suzi continues.
“So there was no smooching at all?” Aunt Abby makes a disappointed sound.
“Not a bit. And I gave him a million chances!”
“He doesn’t seem shy,” Gemma concludes. “Nor awkward enough not to know how to hit on a woman.”
“Exactly!” Suzi places her hand on her chest, satisfied to have found someone who understands her.
Cordelia immediately passes the joint to her.
Suzi inhales thoughtfully. Only after blowing out all the smoke she says, “There’s still that whole story with Madame Ximena, right? That he’s in love with his ex.”
“He’s not in love with his ex!” Cordelia exclaims immediately, loud enough to get everyone’s attention. “They broke up three years ago.”
“Yeah, but the psychic said…”
“The psychic knows nothing!”
“She knew Victoria was pregnant!”
“And she knew I was gay and told me to come out to my parents,” Gemma adds.
Aunt Abby studies her for a moment, looking her up and down while holding the joint between her fingers. Gemma, with her shaved hair on the side and her loose crossfit shirts over her thick muscular body.
“And they still didn’t know?” she finally asks. “With that nose ring and everything, and they still didn’t know, dear?”
Gemma bursts out laughing at the comment, unfazed.
“They’ve lived in Texas for a very, very long time, Aunt Abby,” she says, even though Aunt Abby is Robbie’s aunt and they just met on this trip. “They must think I’m just some Satanist. Which, to them, still seems better because at least you can figure out a way to make money off it.”
“With Satanism?” Aunt Abby laughs, exhaling smoke from her nose.
“Look, Julie, a business idea for you,” Mila jokes, relaxed, as if she’s not getting married in four hours, “collect souls for the devil at Texas crossroads. He must pay better than Mr. Kyle!”
A series of slightly groggy laughs takes over the room.
Well, if Mila is calm, she can joke as much as she wants, I don’t really care.
When the filming crew returns, we are all more relaxed and loose.
They ask us to tell the camera our expectations for the night and what we think of the couple, and suddenly it feels like we’ve become celebrities on the red carpet because we have the best (and funniest) answers ready.
I never imagined I’d want to hear the story of how an old farmer discovered oil while building a barn in the middle of nowhere in Texas, and now that’s why Elise, Gemma, and Mila are cousins, until hearing all the details today.
The hairstylist finally finishes. And the nails girl. Finally, the bride’s makeup is done and perfect. The dress is about to go on, and here she is: Camila Rose Carnegie, completely radiant like only she can be.
I’m smiling foolishly, staring at all the layers of lace and pearls of her white dress, remembering each of the moments – yes, since the first day at that bar in Harlem – that she and Robbie have been together.
Every one of those moments I participated in, advised, listened to, and squealed in excitement at every milestone: the first “I love you,” the first apartment they lived in together, the proposal, the first time they ever…
well, you know, Everything by Boyce Avenue was playing.
Mila can be crazy, demanding, and bossy, but she’s always been by my side too. In all my achievements and all the broken hearts. Today is her day. And Robbie’s, whom I love with all my heart simply for loving someone as intense as Mila. And for making her so happy.
Today, none of my broken hearts, no drama, no mess I get into (and I am well aware I just got myself into a big one) matters.
It’s her day and her story.
Mine can wait a little longer.
Because I’m thinking about all of this, time passes, the ceremony approaches, and when I realize I forgot to switch my seat back at the bridesmaids and groomsmen table, it’s already too late.
It’s not Jasper and Suzi that worry me.
It’s the fact that, even after all the outrageous things he said to me yesterday, I’ll be spending the entire party sitting next to Connor.