Toss the Bride (30 page)

My heart bangs in my chest. One hour until I am with Avery again, this time for good. Rather than have our photos taken after the ceremony, we will be taking them before. Avery and I are not too worried about the “don't see the bride” rule. This way, we can go straight to the reception without having to wait. I think we will look a little fresher, too, for the pictures. After everything is said and done, I am still a girlie girl, and I want to have a fabulous wedding album.

The hour passes quickly. All of a sudden, Iris is lifting the wedding gown out of its bag. Gwen's design is stunning. The candlelight satin creates a slim shape, offering a square neck and a deep back. Tiny pearls crisscross the garment. A detachable train of matte satin gathers at the waist and is held in place by three delicate rosettes. I am near tears. I cannot believe this beautiful dress is mine to wear.

“Let's get this thing on, Cinderella.”

While Iris holds up the folds of fabric, I step into the dress, feeling the heavy fabric move against my skin. It is a garment unlike any other. When she zips up the back panel and pats down the buttons on top of the seam, I get a little shiver.
Today I am getting married, today I am getting married, today I am getting married.

“Absolutely beautiful,” Iris says, near tears again. She shakes her head back and forth. “You look like a bride.”

“Your dress is gorgeous, too,” I say. “Gwen is amazing, don't you think?”

Iris wears a scarlet tea-length dress of matte satin with a matching silk band at the bust and hem. Strappy heels, and a gemstone necklace I gave her as a gift, complete the ensemble.

“It's time to go get you married,” my best friend says.

And then, just like that, the minutes slip away like before. But this time, I welcome the tick tock of the hours. Avery's dad sends a car, whisking us away to the Atlanta Botanical Garden and the rose garden, where the outdoor ceremony will take place. My mom and dad see me for the first time, and we have a special family minute, just holding hands and talking. Iris walks up to us with my veil. With more than a tear or two, my mother gently nestles the veil into my hair at the back of my head.

I feel like such a fairy princess. Although our part of the garden is sectioned off with tasteful white ropes, visitors can still see our party coming and going. “Ooh, Mommy, a bride!” I hear one little girl squeal. The photographer walks in between the empty white chairs, taking shots of family members. The heady scent of blooming roses fills the air. Mr. and Mrs. Leland arrive with more of their family. I look back toward the garden entrance. Where is Avery?

Maurice appears at my elbow. He whispers, “You'd better come with me.”

I do not like the look on his face. I turn red and follow Maurice away from the rose garden. He leads me down a short path until we stand beside the walled Japanese garden.

“Your groom would like a minute alone with his bride,” Maurice says. He makes a little bow and then disappears.

Avery steps through a small opening in the wall. He looks so handsome in his tuxedo that I gasp and feel nervous, excited, scared, happy—all at once. I finger the smooth lapel of his jacket and smile up at my almost-husband.

“Can you believe we're doing this?” he asks me.

“I know. It seems so right but so very strange.”

“You're beautiful, Macie,” Avery says, his eyes filling with tears. “You look very lovely.”

I spin around to show off my gown, but catch a heel on the gravel pathway. I stumble toward Avery, who stops my fall and then hugs me to his chest. “Let me be the first one to kiss the bride,” he says.

And that is how Maurice finds us a few minutes later. “Okay, people, plenty of time for that later. Macie, you'll need lipstick. See Iris. We have to get these pictures made, let's get moving!”

The rest is pretty basic for anyone who attends as many weddings as I do. There are violins and flowers and well-wishers. Women in big hats sigh as they remember their own weddings years earlier. I listen to the minister, who urges us to love and forgive, laugh and trust. Avery cries and so do I. When it is over, trolleys decorated with white ribbons ferry guests next door to the dock in Piedmont Park. Beneath strands of white lights strung in the trees, guests mingle in the early night air to the sounds of big band music. I dance and laugh with friends from Cutter. My parents slow dance like champs—who knew they could waltz?

Avery finally tells me about our wedding trip. We will be having the journey of a lifetime—two weeks in Australia and New Zealand. I am beyond thrilled. I knew we were going somewhere a passport was needed, but the other side of the world? Iris squeals when I tell her. We munch on slices of her magnificent cake. Once again, I am overwhelmed by how much goodness there is to life. Everyone I love dances or stands within a few yards of me. Avery twirls around the wooden dock flooring with two young, giggling second cousins.

Every bride remembers her wedding as a blur, and I am no exception. Through it all, the platters of shrimp and salmon, the toasts and dancing, the kisses from family and friends, I always feel Avery's eyes on me. We touch hands once, near the end of the reception. Little clumps of people still sit around tables talking under a clear, moonless night.

“Nice ring,” I say, turning Avery's hand over to catch a glimpse of the plain, platinum band.

“You, too. Are you ready to head home? I feel the need to carry someone across the threshold.”

I smile, reaching for my new husband. In my mind, we fast-forward another hour until we climb the steps to our new home. If anyone is out and about on this late evening, they would see a bride and groom stepping across the wide front porch where many an after-work conversation and Saturday morning brunch will take place in the years to come.

If our anonymous neighbor watches a few seconds more, he or she would witness the groom gather his bride into his arms and push open the old blue door. Then the scene goes dark and the neighbor walks on, perhaps remembering something from long ago. A few yards down, a dog barks just to be heard. Our new home, our new street, goes to sleep on this quiet night in October.

THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS.
An imprint of St. Martin's Press.

TOSS THE BRIDE
. Copyright © 2006 by Jennifer Manske Fenske. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

Chapter three originally appeared, in slightly different form, as “In the Okefenokee,” in
Nantahala
(Spring 2003).

www.stmartins.com

First Edition: January 2006

eISBN 9781466864344

First eBook edition: January 2014