On This Day (14 page)

I
often cry at weddings. And I expected I would cry today. I even bought a fresh little packet of tissues for my purse, expressly for that purpose. But I hadn’t planned on crying nonstop like this. From the moment the music began, I’ve been unable to quit crying. Fortunately, it’s not the ugly kind of crying where you sob so loudly that you make a complete fool of yourself. Even so, the tears have been steadily flowing down my face, like someone turned on a water faucet and went away and forgot to turn it off. I’m sure my makeup is completely ruined by now. Not that I care so much. It seems the least of my worries today.

Phil keeps glancing at me. These nervous little sideways looks that I avoid returning. I’m sure he’s worried that something is seriously wrong. Perhaps he thinks I’m going to have a complete breakdown right here in front of everyone. Or maybe he knows
that
I know
. I still can’t believe Suzette talked to him this afternoon. I wish I’d gotten more details about what she actually said to him. But then Phil may have just written her off as the one crazy woman at the wedding.

I glance over to where Suzette and Jim are sitting on the groom’s side, directly across from me. I’m impressed at how absolutely perfect she looks. Who would’ve guessed that the woman sobbing uncontrollably at that horrible tavern could transform herself so quickly and completely? Her eyes are a tiny bit puffy, but other than that, she looks amazing. I’m sure that dress cost a small fortune, not to mention the shoes and handbag. I can only imagine what a woman like that must spend on clothes. And then I notice her hand moving across her lap to take Jim’s hand. He turns and smiles at her as if everything is just fine. And suddenly I want to scream.

But I take in a deep breath, force my attention toward the front, and listen intently as Jenny and Michael repeat their vows. I was surprised they chose to use such old-fashioned vows. Jenny is saying, “On this day, I do thee wed …” Despite my tears and my misery, I have to smile. It is so sweet—so like Jenny.

I am suddenly reminded of when Jenny was a little girl and I would get to watch her for an afternoon while Jeannette went to an appointment or ran errands. Jenny’s favorite thing was to play dress-up. And occasionally she would manage to talk my boys into playing wedding with her. Of course, I was a sucker for it too. Not having a girl of my own, I was only too happy to drag out scarves
and petticoats and pearls and whatever it took to deck her out like a miniature bride. Then she would cajole either Conner or Patrick (usually Patrick fell first for her wide-eyed pleading) into standing up with her while the other cousin performed the “ceremony.” Of course, we always rewarded the boys with some sort of “wedding cake” afterward. Most often it was a hastily concocted stack of vanilla wafer cookies and canned frosting that she helped me to put together. Oh, she loved those times. And so did I.

Great, I’m crying even harder now. And I’m not sure if it’s the result of the sweet memory or simply the disillusionment I’m feeling about weddings and romance and commitments and everything to do with marriage in general. I sure hope it goes better for Jenny than it seems to be going for me.

For some reason I glance back over to where Suzette is sitting. She and Jim are still holding hands as if nothing whatsoever is wrong, as if she’s not frilly aware the man is cheating on her with his secretary. But maybe that’s the price she’s willing to pay to preserve their marriage. Maybe it’s the compromise she must make to continue the lifestyle she’s so accustomed to.

But I cannot live like that. I cannot live in a lie. And I most certainly cannot share my man with another woman. I’m not even sure I could forgive him—assuming he would ask me to forgive him. Perhaps the only thing he’ll ask me is to agree to a nice, quiet divorce settlement so he can marry Delia and they can happily jog off into the sunset together.

I feel sick to my stomach. I’m not sure if it’s all this emotion or that bite of chili Suzette forced me to eat this afternoon. “In case it’s bad,” she told me, “we’ll get food poisoning together.”

I take a deep breath and convince myself it’s just nerves. I can make it through this day.

Michael is repeating his vows now, echoing the words that the minister is reading to him. But his eyes look very sincere, and I think he really means it. At least he means it for today. Who’s to say how he’ll feel, say, twenty-five years from now?

I remember when Phil and I said our vows at our wedding. It was back in the days when you felt you had to write your own words or they didn’t mean anything. I had struggled for weeks with mine. Everything I wrote sounded so phony or corny or just plain stupid. I knew that Phil’s would be good. He’s always been better with words than I am. And I was worried that he’d expect me to be just as poetic and profound as he would be. A lot of pressure. In the end, I didn’t use written vows at all. It’s hard to believe now. It seems more gutsy than I really was at the time, or even now for that matter, but I had decided that if I truly loved the man, and I believed I did, I should be able to speak to him directly from my heart. So I did.

I can’t remember exactly what I said, but at the time it seemed to touch Phil. Deeply. And I can still remember the tears in his eyes as his turn came and he recited the piece he’d written for me. Of course, I thought his vows were absolutely brilliant—the sweetest,
dearest, most magnificent words I’d ever heard. And I could hardly believe he had written them expressly for me. In fact, I still have a dog-eared copy of it tucked in the back of our wedding album.

What will I do with that album when it’s all over between us? What do people do with all those pieces of memorabilia they have cherished and held on to for years? After it’s all over, what do they do with it?

I sop up my fresh tears with my second-to-last tissue. Why am I allowing myself to go down these roads, torturing myself with such foolish sentiments? I shove the soggy tissue into my purse, along with all the others. It looks like a Kleenex explosion went off in there. I can feel him looking at me again, not just a quick glance this time, but really looking. Does he feel guilty? Sorry? Or maybe he’s relieved. Maybe he’s glad to have the whole thing out in the open at last. My heart is breaking, and I don’t know if I can survive this much pain.

I
wish I weren’t so easily intimidated. I don’t think I’ve always been like this. Not so long ago I was fairly confident in myself, happy with life in general, enjoying my marriage, and content with my career. But then things changed. Perhaps it’s that off-balance feeling of being a new mom or the fact that I’m not as young or slim or pretty as I was before getting pregnant. I know I wouldn’t trade all those things for my sweet little Amy. So why worry about it now? Why can’t I, like Margaret suggested,
let go and let God?
. Not that I’ve been too involved with God lately. I mean, we’ve been so overwhelmed with work and life and raising a baby that we barely make it to church anymore. But I can see the wisdom in the “letting go” part. More than anything I’d like to let go of these “poor me” feelings.

And yet as I sit here on the grooms side, watching the glamorous-looking wedding party up front, including my own David, I feel more like a misfit than ever. This is only
one
day, I remind myself. And weddings are like this. People putting on the dog and showing off for their family and friends. That’s just how it is. Why should I get all bent out of shape? Still, I wish I could’ve brought Amy down for the ceremony. I think of how comforting it would feel to have her in my arms right now, a reminder that I’m not really alone, that we really are a family. And she might not have cried. But then if she had … Well, I don’t even want to think about that.

I try to distract myself from my pity party by focusing on David. He is so handsome in that tux. Even more handsome now than the day we got married. A little more filled out, a bit more confident and at ease. It’s like he’s getting better and I’m getting …
No, don’t go there
, I tell myself. But, seriously, I don’t know when I’ve seen David looking this good. In my opinion, he’s the best-looking guy up there. Even better looking than his brother, the groom!

I want to tell myself how lucky I am, how fortunate that David is my husband and not taken by somebody else. But suddenly I feel so unworthy of him. His mother was right; he really could’ve had his pick of women. Who wouldn’t have wanted to marry someone like him? Rich and handsome and with a truly good heart? And why wouldn’t someone want to steal him from me even now? For instance, one of those bridesmaids could have her eye on
him at this very moment. Maybe not Ingrid, the one he escorted down the aisle, since I’ve heard she’s already engaged. But what about Lana? She’s got the kind of flashy beauty that’s bound to turn a head or two. And, of course, she and all the others look totally gorgeous in their pale pink strapless gowns. What guy wouldn’t be looking their way?

I know I’m pathetic and my own worst enemy right now, but I just don’t see how I can make it through the rest of this evening. I know there’s still dinner and dancing and partying, but I imagine myself going up to the room, excusing the baby-sitter, and then sending down a message that Amy needs me, that I have a headache, and that I just want to call it a night. In fact, I’m certain that’s what I’ll do.

Feeling a tiny bit of relief at my new resolution, I try to focus on the wedding. I watch as David bends down to get the white satin pillow from the little ring bearer. I hold my breath as he unties the ribbon, hoping that it’s not in a knot and that he doesn’t drop the ring. But all goes well, and David solemnly hands it over to Michael.

I feel an unexpected wave of envy as I watch the bride and groom look into each other’s eyes. All along I’ve been telling myself that this wedding is about show and money and superficiality, but when I see the sincerity in their expressions, the love that’s lighting their faces, bringing tears to both of them, well, I’m not so sure anymore.

Maybe David and I did blow it by having such a low-key and
inexpensive wedding. Maybe we should’ve done it like Michael and Jenny. Maybe we should’ve gone all out, taken advantage of the Fairbankses’ generosity and Catherine’s vanity, and had the wedding of our dreams. Did we shortchange ourselves? Is it a reflection on our marriage or our commitment to each other?

On most days, I wouldn’t trouble myself with such silly questions, but today is catching me totally off guard. It’s like I can’t even think straight. All I want to do is get this over with and go home. David and Amy and me back in our little blue house on Pine Street. But what if that’s not enough? What if David’s eyes are being opened to all he has missed, all he is missing? What if he regrets that we didn’t have a wedding like this? Or worse, what if he regrets that he didn’t marry someone more like Jenny or one of her perfect-looking bridesmaids? And what if he realizes it’s not too late? That marriages don’t have to last forever, in the way his younger brother is promising right now—
till death us do part?
What if David turns out to be like millions of other husbands and calls it quits? What then?

T
hank goodness this ceremony is coming to an end. I thought it was going to go on forever. All those traditional words and the repeating of vows—good grief, I could hardly make heads or tails of it. Although I will give them this: the wedding itself and the wedding party are fairly impressive. Also, the gowns are quite nice. And the bride, though perhaps a bit understated, does look fairly elegant and classy, which I’m sure must meet with Catherine’s approval. And, of course, it does make Jim look good, and since Michael is a partner, I’m sure it’s all for the best. Yes, I think Jennifer has done an adequate job today, and she should make the Fairbankses quite proud. But enough is enough already! Just kiss the bride and get on with it!

I noticed Elizabeth looking at Jim and me during the ceremony
earlier. My word, that poor woman is an absolute mess! I don’t know how she expects to save her marriage with mascara streaking down her cheeks like that. I really must take her aside and give her a little pep talk as soon as this is over, not to mention a quick touch-up on that ravaged face. The woman should have some pride, for heaven’s sake. Of course, I won’t do that until after I’ve congratulated the Fairbankses and greeted a few of our more important acquaintances. I know how important it is for Jim’s position that I do my utmost to maintain these relationships, to keep up appearances, and put my best little size-six, Prada-clad foot forward. Something I’m sure his stupid little secretary would never be able to grasp or even understand. Poor thing—doesn’t she know that Jim is just using her?

I don’t know why I was so worried about the conniving opportunist in the first place. She may think she can lure my man away from me, but she’s got another thing coming. She hasn’t seen the likes of Suzette Burke in action yet. I’ve still got a trick or two up my perfectly cut Gucci sleeves. And I’m not afraid to show them to her, either. Well, as long as no one else is around to see. I do have an image to maintain.

Fortunately, I haven’t seen Nicole at the wedding. I expect someone of her social status wasn’t actually on the guestlist for this event. Or perhaps Jim has finally come to his senses and sent her packing. I’ve all but forgiven him now. I can see I’m the one he really loves. I could see it in his eyes as we were getting ready to come down here. I’m sure I could have talked him into staying in
our room for a little fun and games, but then we would have been late, and that might not have looked right.

I should’ve realized how Jim is in a very vulnerable stage of life right now. He’s at that age where a man starts feeling older, feeling like perhaps the best years of his life are behind him. And, of course, he could’ve been easily tempted by a floozy like Nicole. The poor man was ripe for the picking. I should’ve seen it coming. And Nicole probably gave him all the standard lines: “Oh, Jim, you’re so mature and wise … I’ve always looked up to you … I think your gray hair is so distinguished … Older men are so much sexier than the young ones …” After all, I’ve used those lines myself. But that’s different. He’s my husband now! And that’s how I plan to keep it, thank you very much!

At last the wedding is over. Of course I am smiling, and no one would guess that I’m dying to get out of here. I definitely need a drink. I watch with concealed impatience as the wedding party moves down the aisle, more quickly than they came in, thankfully. Finally we stand up, and I look at Jim and give him my best adoring smile. But he’s not looking at me. His eyes are focused on someone behind us. I look back in time to see Nicole in the last row. Her head is held high as she watches the last of the wedding party head toward the lodge. Then she smoothes her straight brown hair, adjusts the jacket of her pale blue suit, and casually turns back around and looks directly at Jim. But when she sees me watching her, her eyes continue to move across the row as if she’s simply surveying the wedding guests.

I am seething now. Of course, you’d never know it to look at me. I reach over and take Jim’s arm, give him another adoring smile, and say, “Wasn’t that a lovely wedding?”

He nods. “Very nice.”

“Does it remind you a little of ours?”

Now he looks puzzled.

“Oh, not the setting or the size of it,” I quickly say, since I’m painfully aware of the fact that we got married in Las Vegas. “But the vows,” I continue with a coy smile, “the promise to love and honor each other till death us do part.”

“Oh,” he says rather absently. An usher is excusing our row now. I hold more tightly to his arm, snuggling close to him, smiling as if nothing whatsoever is wrong. And as we walk past the last row, where a certain despicable woman in a pale blue suit is standing, I look up at Jim’s face and am somewhat relieved to see his eyes focused directly ahead. Okay, maybe it’s a bit too obvious, but it’s still somewhat reassuring. Perhaps he’s trying to end this thing with Nicole, but she’s hanging on. And why shouldn’t she? Jim’s a prize worth claiming. He may not be as good-looking as he used to be—he’s balding and has a bit of a paunch—but his job, his prestige, and certainly his net worth make up for all that. And I do not intend to go down—-not without a good fight!