Chapter 43
It’s my wedding day.
That’s something I never thought I’d say again. When I married my ex, his mother planned everything, and my role was to do exactly as I was told and not embarrass their family.
My dress was a stark white taffeta ballgown that crinkled and swished with every move I made. His mother complained at the noise I couldn’t control, in the dress she chose.
She hated my wavy hair, and had it pinned and sprayed into an updo that gave me a terrible headache. The makeup artist made me look like a completely different person—which I suppose was the goal, considering I’m not who his mother would’ve chosen for her son.
My shoes literally drew blood, something I also got reprimanded for. How dare blood leave the open wound on my foot caused by the too small, fake-gem encrusted strappy heels she insisted upon.
The ceremony was in a church I’d never set foot in before, but made their family look a certain kind of way.
We were rushed to “The Hawthorne,” the country club they couldn’t afford to join, and I was dragged and shoved all across the club during the reception shaking hands with vapid people I hoped to never meet again.
They forgot about me at one point, and I hid in the vestibule until my ex furiously came to collect me by wrenching my arm so hard my shoulder nearly dislocated. Sadly, that was far from the most painful thing I endured that night.
I shake off the memory of everything I’ve lost and look towards everything I’ve gained.
The wedding guest list is the Andersen crew. Our little foursome, Walter and Cecelia, Reid and Izzy, Delilah and Connor, James, and Livy. Even Sam’s widow, Connor’s older sister, Quincy came to support us. It can’t be easy attending a wedding after being widowed so recently, and so young.
“Harper darling, you look beautiful!” Cecelia coos over her granddaughter.
My older daughter chose a magenta, chiffon flower-bearer dress. Twirled strips of chiffon drape around the skirt with adorable crystal beadwork along the neckline.
“Thank you, Grandma.” Harper blushes deeply.
“What about me, Gramma?” Everly, the baby of the family enters the fray, never one to be left out.
“Everly sweetheart, you’re just lovely. So pretty,” Cecelia says, biting back a smile at my little girl, who’s soaking up the attention.
She took a different approach dressing for the wedding. In spectacular fashion, Everly will be joining Harper as a flower-bearer in a glitter-saturated lime-green ball gown. And of course we couldn’t leave the shop without the coordinating rainbow sash.
Everly never ceases to surprise me, but I wanted to be sure this is the dress she wanted.
“Is this the dress you want, baby?”
“I love it, Mama, it hurts my eyes!” Everly exclaimed, never happier.
“Well, alright, let’s get it to the register.”
Life will never be boring, that’s for sure.
Greyson and I told everyone, including the kids, they could wear anything they wanted to the wedding, as long as they felt good in it. We called it “Dress up your cowboy boots,” meaning today, everyone is in their best pair.
“Did I hear two little fairies are dressed and ready to go outside?” James pops in, hand covering his eyes as if he isn’t allowed to see the flower-bearers before the ceremony.
“Uncle James!” The girls nearly tackle him to the ground, and within seconds, his starched, dark blue Wranglers are covered in neon green glitter. He just smiles, hoists Everly off the ground up onto his hip, takes Harper by the hand, and skips from the room.
“Damnit! Where’s my phone? I would’ve loved to get Corporate Cowboy recorded skipping. Fucking skipping.” Livy laughs, dabbing happy tears from her eyes.
With the tiny tornadoes officially occupied, the grown-up girls can get ready. Livy snaps into boss-bitch mode, my unofficial wedding coordinator for the day.
“Delilah, you’re on hair. Izzy, you’re on makeup. Cecelia, you’re on jewelry, accessories, and shoes. I’m going to get my ass in gear so I can get out there and make sure your wedding goes perfectly.” Livy hasn’t taken a breath once, I swear.
“Livy.” I take her by the hands, miming deep breaths until she joins me.
“I have no desire for this wedding to be perfect. My last wedding was ‘perfect’, and I felt like I was walking to my funeral. Stay with us, we can all get ready together. Please.”
“Alright, twist my arm. But seriously, Cecelia went all out on the food and drinks, and I think we’re all starving, so I’ll go get us a sampling.” She blows me a kiss and is out the door.
We laugh and pick at the mouthwatering assortment of goodies Cecelia cooked up as we get ready. My three best friends chose completely different dresses, but that complemented them perfectly.
“Zip me?” Izzy looks over her shoulder to Delilah, who’s right there to help.
Izzy’s dress is a bubblegum pink wrap dress in the softest stretch fabric. Simple, but stunning. Her hair’s in a side fishtail braid with flawless makeup.
Delilah chose a fabulous yellow floral high-waisted skirt atop a light blue bodysuit. Her straight platinum-blonde hair flows like water down to the small of her back.
“Ugh, you both have no business looking as good as you do,” Livy jokes, hopping on one foot, slipping into her other cowboy boot.
“Shut up, you’re one to talk,” I throw out, and everyone laughs.
A year ago I never would’ve had the confidence to say something like that as a joke. A smile stretches across my face knowing I’m healing bit by bit.
Livy didn’t come to mess around, girlfriend came to impress, though I’m not sure who. Her fire-red hair is plaited in a complicated up-do, and she has lethal-winged eyeliner.
Her svelte figure is molded into an emerald-green bodycon dress that might as well be painted onto her naked body. I know she’s naked because she announced it to the room. God forbid she have panty lines at a family backyard wedding.
“When do we get to see your dreesssss?” Izzy whines, soon joined by Delilah and Livy.
“In a minute. Patience you three.”
Poor Cecelia’s been a saint today. Running here and there, averting fashion crises without a hair out of place.
“Cecelia—”
“How many times will it take for you and that thick-headed husband of yours to call me Mom, for god’s sake?” She fusses more to herself than to me, warming my heart.
“Okay, Mom, would you please help me into my wedding dress?” That’s all it takes and Cecelia’s full-on sobbing.
“Yes, sweetheart, I’d be honored.” My three best friends step out and give us the room.
“I’m excited to see it as well,” Cecelia says, pulling the garment bag from the hook Greyson screwed into the wall specifically to hold my dress.
“I’m sorry, I should’ve brought all of you with me shopping, but I had no control over anything last time, and I wanted to experience everything for myself,” I admit.
“Don’t you apologize, Mia. My heart’s spilling over with pride for how much you’ve healed since that day Izzy brought you home to me. You deserve to have whatever wedding you want. I’m honored to be included,” Cecelia…Mom, says.
I nod, afraid if I open my mouth to speak, I’ll cry and wreck my makeup which I was told could under no circumstances be ruined.
Unzipping the protective garment bag reveals my dress. I tried on countless dresses because I didn’t get to last time. The sales girl was so kind after I explained my situation. She cheered me on and brought me dress after dress, happy to let me indulge.
The dress I fell in love with, the one I knew I’d be wearing when I became Mrs. Mia Clark, was one of the first ones I tried on. Something about it spoke to me from the rack and I’m glad I listened.
The chiffon is an elegant peachy-champagne color. Sheer, boho long sleeves complement the sweetheart neckline where the fabric meets in a tightly pleated pattern on the bust.
From the natural waist, it billows out in every which-way—twirling and gathering as it sees fit, ending at tea length, perfect to show off my new cognac-suede cowboy boots.
“Oh, Mia. It’s perfect. This dress was made for you. Here, let me help you step into it.” Cecelia gives me a hand and gets me zipped up.
I slip into my butter-soft boots and sit patiently as Cecelia touches up my hair. Livy talked me into a tiny bit more than my mascara and tinted lip balm, but I am who I am, and I want to look like myself on my wedding day. Not the mail-order bride I looked like last time.
Cecelia has my unruly waves silky soft, pinned back out of my face, allowing the waves to tumble down my back.
“I’ll go get the girls.” She opens the door and ushers them back in.
I’m lavished with oo’s and ahh’s, every compliment under the sun, and several iterations of “Greyson’s going to have a heart attack when he sees you in this dress.”
“Shall we?” Delilah motions towards the back of the house where the garden patio doors are open and waiting.
“You all go. I’m going to take a few minutes alone.”
Me: Hey cowboy.
Hubs: Hey yourself, my bride.
Me: Come see me in the back bedroom.
Hubs: Isn’t it bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?
Me: Our love is stronger than luck. Please?
The door opens moments later to the most devastatingly handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Greyson’s skin has tanned working in the sun as spring arrives. His facial hair is neatly trimmed, and I itch to feel it beneath my palms.
Same as everyone else, I wanted Greyson to be comfortable on our wedding day. He looks good enough to eat in a black pearl snap tucked in to perfectly fitted, starched, dark blue Wranglers. Even his boots look like they got a polish. Like a fool, I stand transfixed by what’s in his hand.
A pristine black cowboy hat.
His vasectomy better be infallible because I think I spontaneously ovulated seeing him with that hat.
“Mia.” Greyson’s voice is like gravel, tight with emotion. “You look so fucking pretty, honey.”
A gulp goes down like a rock as he steps towards me and gets down on one knee.
“Greyson.” I chuckle. “What are you doing, we’re already engaged, the wedding’s today.”
“But I never did it right, and a woman like you deserves every respect—to be treated like a queen. I promise to love and cherish you the rest of my days, put you first above all else, and work to make all your dreams a reality.”
A tear slips down my cheek and I don’t bother stopping it.
“Mia, make me the luckiest man and marry me.” His smile devastates me.
I pull him up by his face and kiss him with my reply.
A resounding, never-ending, yes.