Besides a couple of questions to Valerie from Jeremy, the conversation is nearly dead so I take pictures of five or six cakes that I kind of like. The catalog also includes those marzipan figurines that may be thrown on top of the multilevel monstrosity; I add the pictures of about a dozen of those to my cell phone’s My images folder. I'm glad that Jeremy's mother is not here to ruin the day; however, Val's sweetie pie calls from Vienna. Gosh! They've been married for how long? Three years? And they still call each other honey-bunny and babe and whatnot! Not that I am eavesdropping; Val's cell is set to Loud, and most of their conversation can be heard from at least three feet away. Why's Jeremy always so dry and distant? I am looking at him, meditating...
Gosh! Where did Jeremy's mother find this wedding planner? She looks as if her first assignment was the wedding of Alexander the Great! We are to meet at a coffee shop in LaSalle street not far from the stock exchange. After all the required ceremonies of introduction, she arranges her long skirt and slowly lowers herself onto the chair across the table. There is not a single wrinkle on her coffee-with-milk long-sleeved blouse, which she has on despite the hot and humid day of the Chicago summer. I feel a bit out of place in my plain T-shirt and cutoff shorts. I look at her, waiting for the Fragile Lady to order her whatever she wants to order. While the waiter is arranging the cups and saucers with cakes, a heavy silence is hovering above the table; the silence is almost visible – am I going nuts or can one pick up a knife and actually start cutting it?
'Have you ordered your wedding invitations? Any idea where you're having your reception? What about a photographer? Or, do you want a videographer? Do you want limos or just an interstate coach?' I'm lost in Karen's nonstop barrage. It looks as if the Fragile Lady has had some recent occasions of the matrimonial ties' celebrations. Has she thought of everything or has she got some sort of a list right there, under her neatly coiffured light blondish hair? Her smart, brown eyes on the wrinkled face of a faded beauty wait, while she is slowly stirring her herbal tea. "Well?"
"Not really," I mumble, nearly choking on a piece of pastry so unexpected the question was.
"My dear, you only have about six months left! And if you think it's a lot of time, you are mistaken," she does give me a smile. "We'll have to arrange a lot of things..." And she plunges into - I believe to be a totally unnecessary - explanation of what and when and how. Oh, my wedding!
I've failed another paper in my Psychology course and a mini-test in International Banking, and a take-home test in Business Communication. I feel like an undergrad, and not a Master's student with a whole lot of job prospects. I don't think I'll ever graduate from the U of I!
What a pleasure it is to look through the big gray books that contain all kinds of samples of invitations, napkins and this sort of -- Gosh! I shouldn't have brought Jeremy and his mother! Alright, his indifference is more or less tolerable. However, the same, and coupled with all the cooing and ahhhing and oooohing by Janette has turned what is usually quite an exciting experience, into an extremely irritating boredom and a freak show. And I have truly believed that it's the bride who is in charge of ordering those damn invitations! Not so with Janette apparently! In addition to the stories how she did the same when she was a bride, she starts arguing over such a triviality as where that idiotic bow should be affixed! At the top right corner or somewhere else. I can tell her exactly where she can affix that damn bow at!!! With all the anatomical details!!!
Of course, we pick the restaurant and the menu and make a list of guests and send the invitations out. With a pretty white and gold bow to match the paper and the text!
I shove a half a dozen of invites into my backpack and show up on campus. As usual, I find my friend Sue in the computer lab. As usual, and despite the summer heat, she is in some sort of a sweatshirt and baggy jeans; she is typing away on the computer creating her next paper. Her short hair and a bit masculine body make her look like a guy; interesting, but she never spent a single moment alone with one... She squeaks and rushes towards me and hugs me as if I've been somewhere in the vicinity of the North Pole for a long-long time. Even though she has heard about my upcoming nuptials, she is still excited and happy. I fish out one of the invitations and hand it to her. 'Oh, oh, oh! What a pretty bow!' She exclaims reminding me of a high-school girl before her prom. Gosh! Can they all stop getting high over such a nuisance as a bow on an invite?
I see who of my friends is around on campus and hand them the envelopes with the folded pieces of paper. As one may expect, the same excitement over and same compliments on the bow are flying all over the place... Except Mark, who remains calm and unmoved for some reason. I decide not to ask him any questions as I think I know why he is so cold... He has suffered enough during and after his breakup with that blonde Geography major. Well, I've run out of invitation... I've performed my duty...
Today the Fragile lady is taking me to the seamstress for another try of my wedding gown! Gosh! I love it! I just love it! Love it! Love it! Love it! I love it! I love the color! I love the fabric! I love the way it fits me! I love the frills! I love the way it looks on me! Or, the way I look in it!
However, I've made a mistake and asked Jeremy to accompany me. When I step out of the fitting room, he looks at me with his critical eye and inquires, 'What are those frills for?' Michelle the Seamstress glances at my fiancé in her usual, a bit sarcastic way and explains to him as if talking to a small child, “Well, Mr. Smythe, these frills add certain chic to the gown,” she pronounces that 'chic' with a deep French accent. “And I think your fiancée will look extraordinarily (all three 'r's have the same French pronunciation as 'chic') in it. You don't want her to look like an ordinary bride, n'est ce pas?'
“Of course not,” he agrees and approaches me. “Could I see it without frills? Could you tuck them under the--”
Ugh!
I'm going nuts! And it's all because of the argument over the seating arrangements! Everything goes fine until Jeremy's mother looks at the chart and nearly has a heart attack for some reason. Have we invited the Montague and the Capulet to attend our wedding reception? I don't think so... Anyway, she plays her weird solitaire with most of the names so that there won't be any misunderstanding during the dinner' as she puts it. What misunderstanding? Most of those people are our friends, and I don't believe there will be any kind of clashes or smashes!
The monstrosity of our wedding cake has been ordered. It has three layers with all the applicable roses and vignettes and whatnots; the top is decorated with two figurines... Are we going to look like that during the ceremony?
Of course, my mother and Jeremy's mother are ecstatic and fall in love with the cake at first sight. They are oooohing and aaaaaahing for what seems to be the eternity. Does the occasion warrant such an explosion of emotions over a piece of pastry?
'Now we need a suitable knife,' Janette squeaks. 'At my wedding the knife was too short, and I had to run it a couple of time through the same groove to cut a piece off. It was such an embarrassment!'
'We could use that Civil War saber above the mantle,' Jeremy suggests, and receives a look from his mother. I'm not sure which one has more steel in it, the mentioned weapon or the look - I only guess that if two did cross, the saber would be the one to end up in shreds and pieces. 'Color me ashamed, Ma,' is all he says... As usual. My future husband... A strong man... Presumably... I wonder what I would look like cutting the cake holding the highly decorated hilt in my hand and slowly... slowly... slowly watching the sharp blade dissect the soft flesh of the monster...
A quick nod from Janette, and she is proceeding as if nothing has happened, 'Well, where is that wedding planner, when you need her?' And the echo will reply, Where?
I sit at my computer in my bathrobe, thinking of the past six months. I close my eyes and tilt in my chair. I did need the planner, I do like my gown, the cake is great, the rings we're going to exchange at the ceremony are nearly perfect. And I believe that Jeremy is nearly perfect as a husband. Well, I suppose he is.
Absentmindedly, I'm scrolling up and down my Inbox; my eyes catch an old unread message. From Valerie. How have I managed to miss it? I click it open. Oh...
Dear Sarah, it runs,
What about your wedding gown? Have you bought it? Vincenzo is a really good restaurant. You should hold there your wedding dinner.... sweet serenade... hm... hm... hm... Soft light... Candles... Blah... Blah... Blah... Clientelle... most owners could only dream of...
Oh...
If your husband is not against your idea, then it is a really good place, where you can hold your wedding dinner. Although you have a wonderful relationship with your lover, listen to his opinion. Tell him--
My wedding is in two days!!!! Gosh! How am I supposed to bring this news to my current husband and to my lover?
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