On This Day (10 page)

I
t just figures that the first person I run into after leaving my room is my mother-in-law. And, as always, she is perfection with a capital
P
. Every platinum blond hair perfectly in place, skin so radiant she looks like an ad for Oil of Olay, and I hate to admit it, but her dress is absolutely stunning. Of course, I’m curious how Jennifer feels about it, since it’s almost white, and I’ve always heard that no one should wear white to the wedding except the bride. But as Catherine moves toward me, I notice the dress actually has some color in it; the shiny fabric has an opalescent quality. It shimmers with pinks and blues and lavender. Rather amazing really.

“Oh, you’re here,” Catherine says, and I wonder what that’s supposed to mean. Does it mean, “I’m glad you’re here,” or “It’s about time you got here,” or “Too bad you made it here”? I’m not sure.

“That’s a beautiful dress,” I tell her.

Apparently that was the right thing to say, because she smiles. “Thank you, dear. I got it when we were in New York last spring.” Then she seems to examine me, and I can tell by her expression that I don’t quite meet with her approval. “Is that what you’re wearing, Laura?” she finally asks.

She could’ve slapped me, and it wouldn’t have hurt this much. “Well, yes … uh,” I stammer, “it’s been hard to shop with the baby, you know, and before she was born, well, I was as big as a house, and I didn’t know what size I’d—”

“You should’ve told me it was a problem. I could’ve picked you up something suitable in New York.”

I take a deep breath and force a smile. “I just never thought of that, Catherine. But thanks for the offer, anyway.” Even if it is too late! God forgive me, but sometimes I want to strangle that woman!

“Oh well, people should understand—you being the new little mother and all.”

Now why does she have to say “little” like that? So degrading, such a put-down. But, determined to stay even keeled—for David’s sake—I smile even bigger and ask how things are going regarding the wedding. “Is there anything I can help with?”

“No, dear.” The placating tone again. “Jennifer is incredibly organized. She seems to have everything under control.”

I know I’m being overly sensitive, but I can’t help thinking that’s another slam, this one in regard to how things went at my wedding. Not that it was a disaster or anything, but David and I
were pretty easygoing about it. Since were both teachers, we’d planned our wedding for the first Saturday of spring break—allowing us almost a full week to vacation in Hawaii (a generous gift from David’s parents). And because we’d both been busy with our jobs, David’s coaching, church activities, and life in general, we tried to keep the wedding details to a minimum. Besides that, we’re both fairly laid-back people—or we were before this baby came along. Now I can never be sure. Naturally, things didn’t go exactly like clockwork at our wedding. For starters, the musician (a friend of mine) was late. And my dad had sprained his ankle just two days before, so he was forced to hobble down the aisle with nie on one arm and an aluminum crutch under the other. And there were other things too. Just funny little oddities, like the flower girl who ate the petals instead of dropping them and my great-grandpa who fell asleep and let out a loud snort just before we said, “I do.” But David and I simply laugh about these things now. G wish my mother-in-law could see the humor in them too.

“Jenny seems like a very together kind of girl,” I say. “I’m sure her wedding will be as lovely and picture perfect as she is.”

“Let’s hope so,” says Catherine, looking over her shoulder, then lowering her voice. “This whole thing is costing us a fortune.”

I feel my brows rise. Catherine never mentions money or expenses. And she certainly never complains about the cost of anything. Could they be experiencing some financial difficulty?

“Hello there,” says my father-in-law, Alex, as he steps up and
slips an arm around his wife’s trim waist. “You ladies are looking exceptionally lovely this evening.”

Catherine nods as if she expects as much, but I say, “Thank you,” and am genuinely grateful for his generous compliment. Alex is like that. Unlike Catherine, he is usually kind and gracious to everyone. I’m sure that’s why David and Michael both turned out so well.

“Where’s my little princess?” asks Alex.

I know he means Amy, because he’s called her that since day one. “She’s with the sitter,” I tell him.

He frowns. “You mean she’s not coming to Uncle Mike’s wedding?”

I shake my head no. “Catherine hired a sitter for us.”

“Amy is a dear,” says Catherine. “But all babies cry occasionally, and I wasn’t taking any chances on having a crying baby at
this
wedding.”

“Oh.” Alex looks only half convinced. “Well, how about the dinner? Can she make an appearance then?”

“Surely Amy will be fast asleep by that time,” says Catherine a bit too quickly.

Alex turns to me. “Well, Laura, if she’s not asleep, you must promise to bring her down. I want to dance with my little princess.”

I smile at him. “I do have a lacy pink dress for her.”

He claps his hands. “Perfect!”

Then the two of them move on, climbing back onto the social
ladder, I expect—which can only go up after talking to me. I feel a mixture of frustration and hope as I watch them mingling with ease and confidence among their friends and relatives.

“Hey, Laura,” says Ingrid as she hurries past me and toward the room where they are shooting some wedding party photos.

“Looking good,” I tell her as I check out the back of her bridesmaid gown. Very pretty. The full-skirted dresses are pale pink satin with an elegant off-the-shoulder cut. And they look expensive. I’m curious what Jenny’s gown looks like but not comfortable enough to go and peek.

Mostly I stand on the sidelines and watch as the photographer’s assistant calls various family members in for shots. As Catherine said, it seems to be running like clockwork, right down to the photography. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry when I think about our wedding photos. To save money, David invited a friend who had just been hired as a photographer for the local newspaper to do our photos. Of course, this guy was clueless about how to stage wedding photos, and while we got lots of great candid shots, we don’t have a single one with everyone in the wedding party present. Oh well.

“The photographer wants everyone to head down to the lake now,” announces the assistant as she checks her clipboard, as if she’s the director of a multimillion-dollar movie.

I look around for David, hoping we can walk together, but he must still be in the room with the other immediate family members.

“Come on now,” urges the girl. “Everyone who’s supposed to be in the large group shot, get on down there and get ready.”

“Hello, Laura,” says Margaret as she joins me, taking me by the arm. “Do you mind if I walk with you?”

“Not at all,” I say, relieved I don’t have to walk alone.

“How’s our little Amy?”

“Wonderful,” I tell her. “So good that I am curious if you and Elizabeth put some kind of magical spell on her.”

Margaret laughs. “Just love. But I guess that’s better than magic.”

“You look very nice,” I say as we go out the front door.

“Thank you. I was about to say the same to you. I think your little rest worked wonders.”

I notice that Margaret seems to be moving a bit slower than earlier today. “Are you feeling okay?” I ask as I match my pace to hers.

“A bit tired, I suppose. I tend to wear down with the day.”

“You and me both,” I admit. “But I figure it’s because of all my late-night feedings with Amy. Hopefully, that will settle down eventually.”

“Oh, it will, dear.” She pats my hand. “It’s just a matter of time.”

Margaret and I stand on the sidelines, waiting for the immediate family and wedding party members to join us. “There’s a bench over there,” I point out, “in case you’d like to rest while we wait.”

She nods. “That’d be nice, dear.”

So we go over, and I wonder if she feels as much an outsider as I do. But as I look at her expression, I don’t think so. I think it’s what she said—she’s tired. Just the same, I’m relieved to have her company. It gives me an excuse to sit comfortably on the sidelines. Let them think or say what they like. I know I don’t fit in with this crowd, and I probably never will. Furthermore, I’m not even sure I care anymore.

R
ush, rush, rush—I feel like I’m racing the clock right now. So many last-minute details when every second is precious. If only I were as organized as Jenny. Her brain actually seems to think in a straight line, where I tend to run around like a headless chicken at times. Even so, I am good at putting on a confident exterior. And somehow I convince people that things are under control. And it almost is.

Finally it all seems tied down, and it’s time to round up everyone for the photo shoot. I’m doing a quick head count to make sure they’re all here when I feel a little tap on my shoulder. I turn to see Jason standing behind me, wearing his best suit and a bright smile on his face.

“I made it, babe!”

I try not to look as irritated as I feel. And why is that? I remind
myself once again that this guy is my fiancé and I’m supposed to be nice to him. “Oh, hi, Jason,” I say in a cheerful tone that sounds pretty fake to my own ears. “I’m so glad you made it.”

He leans down and pecks me on the cheek. “Yeah, me too.”

Then I lower my voice. “But, uh, you’re not supposed to be in here for the photo shoot. Wedding party members only, you know.”

He frowns. “I just wanted to say hey and to let you know I got here all right. I thought you might appreciate that.”

I force another smile and nod. “Yeah, thanks. But you better beat it before the photographer’s assistant tries to put you in one of the photos.”
Or just beat it altogether
. I blink and wonder if I actually said that last line. But he seems okay, so I guess I didn’t.
Watch yourself, Ingrid!

“See you later then.” He turns and leaves, and I feel incredibly guilty.

“Is that the lucky guy?” asks Patrick as he makes a bad attempt to pin his boutonnière on his lapel. It ends up going sideways.

“Yeah, that’s Jason.” Without even asking, I reach up to help him with the rosebud. But as our hands brush, I feel a warmth running through me. I quickly adjust the pin, then step away “Yeah, that looks good now.”

“Thanks.” Then he walks over to join the other groomsmen and ushers. The guys are clustered around Michael, joking and teasing and basically acting like a bunch of middle-school kids. But I have to admit it’s kind of cute.

“Are you okay?” Lana asks me. “You look a little flushed. Coming down with something? Or just too much sun by the pool?”

“I’m fine,” I tell her. Then I go over to help Jenny with her veil. It seems to have come undone on one side.

“It’s weird,” Jenny tells me as I replace the loose hairpin. “I don’t feel nervous.”

“Seriously?”

“Not really. Oh, I’m a little tingly and slightly lightheaded, but—”

“When did you last eat?” I ask suddenly.

“What?”

“When did you last eat, Jenny?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“Right.” I turn to Lana. “Go get Jenny a soda—and not a diet one. She needs something with a little sugar in it. We don’t want her passing out when it’s time to say ‘I do.’”

“I won’t faint,” Jenny assures me.

“Hey, I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

Jenny hugs me. “You’re such a good maid of honor, Ingrid. I can’t wait to pay you back at your wedding.”

I have no idea what expression I’m wearing, but whatever it is makes Jenny look a bit worried. “What is it, Ingrid?” she asks.

I shrug. “Not now, Jenny. This is your day.”

“You and Jason?” Her eyes look troubled. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no.” I actually lie to my best friend. But it’s only to spare her from being distracted by my troubles. “Were fine, really. It’s just that I want to focus on you today.”

She smiles again. “Thanks.”

I mentally thump myself in the forehead.
Do not do that again
. What was I thinking—allowing myself to be so transparent? Obviously I wasn’t thinking at all. Flaky, flaky, flaky.

I continue to help the assistant round up the right candidates for the right photos, and I’m amazed at how many ways you can arrange various groups of people. I’m sure there must be some mathematical formula for all the variations, but I have no idea how it works. I’m just glad that so far we’re on schedule. I’m also glad to stay so busy that I can’t focus on my own problems. And before long, we’re heading outside for the larger group shots.

As I walk across the grass, I spy Jason, sitting by himself in the shade near the lodge. And for a moment I feel sorry for him. I mean, after all, I am his fiancée, and he came here today mostly for my sake, and then I go and brush him off like that. What is wrong with me? Then I study him a bit longer, and I feel another emotion rising in me.
Irritation
. But
why
is that? It’s like I really don’t want him here today, like I think he’s an interference or a nuisance or something. What’s up with that? And when did I turn into such a horrible person?

“Ingrid,” calls one of the bridesmaids, “I need help with this bouquet.”

So I hurry over, to discover that the ribbon has disengaged
itself from the flowers. I fiddle with it until I finally get it back into place. “There,” I tell her. “That should hold it together for a couple of hours.”

“How about you?” says Patrick.

“Huh?”

“You going to be able to hold it together for a couple of hours?”

I’m sure my face looks stunned as I stare up at him. How on earth does he know what’s going on inside me?

“Just kidding,” he says with a teasing grin.

“Oh yeah, right.”

Then he pats me on the back. “Hang in there, Ingrid. It’ll all be over before you know it.”

And maybe he’s right. Maybe it will all be over before I know it. But I’m not sure if I’m thinking about Jenny’s wedding or my engagement.