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Not a single thing about our wedding is perfect, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
First, one of my bridesmaids goes into labor an hour before the ceremony. I told Wren when she found out she was pregnant, I could move the wedding date up, but she demanded that I didn't dare do that.
"Besides, having a super pregnant bridesmaid is good luck," she had said to me when accompanying me to the wholesale flower market to decide on what I wanted in my bouquet.
I didn't mention to her that my dream spot in the butterfly garden at City Park was booked out two years in advance, so I was secretly relieved at her insistence.
I had a fabulous time planning my wedding with Wren, whose own w
edding had been a surprise to her.
When she went with me and the other bridesmaids and my Grams to help choose dresses, it was Wren's opinion that clicked with me. I had always thought my Grams' endorsement would matter the most. I love my Grams, but the wedding stuff brought up all kinds of things she never got to do with my biological mother.
I had Taffy flashbacks when Grams got upset because I wasn't going to wear her dress from fifty years ago. It's beautiful, but it just wasn't me. Too much lace and not enough glamour. I had always had my heart set on a form-fitting dress with some sparkle, some sequins, and feathers along the bottom.
I fell in love with that exact dress the moment I tried it on, but when I came out of the dressing room, everyone was underwhelmed except for Wren. Maybe it's the objectivity of someone who hasn't known you all your life. Maybe she didn't think I was getting too big for my britches. Who knows, but when I saw the look on her face, I knew it was the one.
She reacted as if the dress was already a given. "You'll need to skip the veil with this dress," she said, fluffing my hair. "You'll need old school Hollywood curls and an asymmetrical headpiece instead. And simple flowers, not roses. Tulips or calla lilies. Basic, because this dress is the opposite of basic."
I knew then that Wren and I were going to be friends for life.
Later, when we tasted cakes together, I asked her if she regretted not getting to plan her own wedding.
"Not at all," she'd said through a mouthful of banana cake. "Too much pressure. I'm not much for spending money on myself. I mean, I'm coming around, don't get me wrong. Sam gets frustrated because I never think to treat myself. He has to be the one to schedule my pedicures. I just never think of it on my own, and pregnancy brain has made that even worse. I'm having a blast watching you treat yourself and that's all the wedding excitement I need."
Not only does Wren go into labor an hour before the ceremony while we're having our makeup applied at the hotel across from City Park, but she also has to be carried off by her husband, with Wren shouting, "It's my first baby. This could take all day and it doesn't even hurt that bad!"
As Sam carefully picks her up and carries her down the hall away from the remaining bridal party, I hear him mutter something about if it were up to Wren, she'd have the baby outside like some kind of hippie with a witch doctor brushing her down with herbs. "…And no child of mine is gonna come into the world without the presence of a person with an actual M.D. behind their name." Hearing him say that makes Wren laugh and it makes me happy.
Shortly after Wren and Sam disappear, I learn that the judge set to do the ceremony has a last-minute emergency, so I have to scramble for someone among my professional contacts who is ordained to marry us.
And then, minutes before the ceremony begins, it rains unexpectedly, which wouldn't be a problem if the wedding were to take place in the hotel. But I am supposed to walk on the arm of my Pops from the hotel, across the street, and have the ceremony in the butterfly garden at City Park. But as a wedding planner, I always have a backup plan, and I've already made sure my guests are equipped with umbrellas. A little sprinkle is not going to drive this ceremony indoors.
"It's good luck," says my grandpa. "Besides, I made you this pretty umbrella, if you want to use it."
I look at what he's holding and see a standard umbrella but white, bedazzled with feathers, silk flowers, and sequins.
"Pops, did you do that yourself?" I ask.
He looks sheepish and nods. It looks a hundred percent like my Grams' craft room threw up on it, and I love it to bits. I hug my Pops so tight that tears threaten to ruin my makeup.
"But what's not good luck is the groom seeing you in your dress before the ceremony," says Grams, who's still slightly salty about the dress, and about the fact that I've already sneaked off twice today to kiss my gorgeous groom. "So I guess it all evens out."
I smile at her in the mirror while the makeup artist fixes my rouge. "That sounds about right for Smitty and me."
"And why do you have to call him Smitty? He has a perfectly nice name. Robert is a respectable name."
I try to control my facial expressions because I don't want to crack my makeup. "Grams, his bio dad is Robert, and we don't talk about the guy. Robert is anything but a dad to him. If anybody ever served Smitty as a dad, it was Sam Evans. And I'm extremely excited to have him and Wren as family."
Grams sighs and says, "I don't know why in the world you would keep a pregnant lady for a bridesmaid. I told you it would look odd in the photos, and now she's not even here. And neither is Smitty's best man because he's her husband!"
I shrug. "Traditionally, the best man is just there to keep the groom from legging it. I'm not worried, honestly."
Grams finally gives in and laughs. "You're right about that. That boy is smitten with our little girl." She hugs my shoulders and kisses me on the cheek. "We just want you to be happy, is all. If you're happy, then we're happy."
"I am, Grams."
Pops leaves to usher her to her seat before coming back across the street to walk me down the aisle. When I turn to examine my cheek in the mirror, I see a very faint imprint of Grams' lipstick there, and I decide to leave it.
