Is this strange or what?” Caitlin asks, spinning around in her empty living room. My suitcase, Elmo’s carrier, and Caitlin’s makeup bag line the space that was once occupied by a retro metal diner table.
“Freedom,” I say, giving the emptiness a spin.
“What?”
“It feels like freedom to me.”
She puts her hands on slender hips and hikes up her polka-dotted silk pajama bottoms. “Could it really be this easy?”
“To move?” I pick up Elmo and smell his fur. He is my living security blanket.
“To change everything. My work, my address, my confidence, my parents, for goodness’ sake.”
Her optimism is catching. Something fuels the blood in my veins, and I am excited, as if my life is on the cusp of change as well. “Don’t forget, we have been praying about your career for over a year. There was a lot of heart labor and sweat equity put into this decision.” I resist telling her I have recorded more than a hundred library hours in my day planner.
“The prayers I won’t forget,” she spins twice more. “I hope I have this much faith in my future when I get to New York.” Caitlin reaches for the wall to steady herself.
“We need faith in the future God has for us,” I say for my benefit more than hers.
“You’re right.” She sits down where her beanbags used to be. “After all this, I still want to think I’m in control. Now, that is baggage I wouldn’t mind leaving behind.”
“I do it too. I invest in false securities and then wonder why I am unhappy.”
“Like your life makeover last year.”
“Exactly. I had reasonable inspiration but not the right motivation. Change can be so therapeutic, but it should move you forward, not just keep you tied to the same old lies.”
Caitlin thinks about this for a moment and then falls backward, as if the weight of reflection is too much for her. She stomps her feet and yells. “Sadie is stinkin’ getting married today!”
“I hope you aren’t planning to provide the toast this evening.”
“What time is it?” she asks without changing position.
I spin my Swatch to the top of my wrist. “It is eleven o’clock.”
She stomps her feet again. “Sadie is stinkin’ getting married in eight hours!”
“Again with the sweet talk.”
Caitlin sits upright and stares at me with serious eyes. “My change is easier than your change.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, not really wanting to hear her answer.
She looks down at her toes and her ponytail bobs atop her head. She says softly, “I didn’t want to think something was wrong—between you and Beau—because it would have meant not believing in the perfect relationship.” She stops and looks at the coved ceiling. “Not believing in what I hoped would happen to me.”
“I never asked to be the poster girl for the single women in my life. Certainly Sadie has taken care of that.”
“But we don’t all relate to Sadie. She seems too perfect, whereas you are…”
“This conversation isn’t helping my morale, in case that was your objective.”
“You are real, Mari. And we were so happy for you and Beau.”
“And now that things are not going so well?” I say this with more emotion than I intend.
“We want the best for you. And—I hope I’m not overstepping my bounds here—but I don’t know that Beau is it. You don’t need my two-bits of wisdom, but if you are needing someone in your corner, I’m here for you.”
“For another day, anyway.”
She gives me a hug
“Look at us—a circus act.” Angelica takes in the mirror’s reflection of the three of us in our bridesmaid dresses.
“It’s not so bad,” I say, softening her comments while smoothing out what I think is a wrinkle, but turns out to be a contrasting stripe of gray.
“I’m telling you, we could take this on the road and make good money.”
The door to the church’s nursery opens up, and Melanie bounds in with her matching disaster. She joins us in our lineup.
I concede. “Okay, now maybe we could travel.”
“What are you girls talking about? Isn’t this fun? I’ve always wanted to wear a fancy dress and be the belle of the ball.” Melanie curtseys.
I adjust my bangs. “Technically, that would be Sadie’s role. Today, anyway.”
She laughs and spreads a thin layer of clear gloss on her lips while crouching close to the mirror.
“I like your hairdo, Caitlin,” Melanie says enthusiastically.
Caitlin touches the edges of her hair proudly. “It’s my bed-head design number twenty-one,” she says, smiling shyly. “I woke up with this incredible flip in my normally subtle front curl, so I had to add another hairdo to the list.”
Melanie is baffled but still smiles with admiration.
“See?” Caitlin removes the rhinestone clip from atop her head.
“Holy cowlick, bridesmaid!” I say. The others nod, too afraid to name the peaked wall of hair above Caitlin’s small head.
Satisfied that her point has been made, Caitlin secures the hair back in place.
“Showtime, ladies.” Sadie enters the room, and for the first time we see the bridal beauty in all her splendor.
“Ooh!” We say in unison.
Sadie is breathtaking. Bare shoulders lead to a close-fitting bodice vertically lined with white silk ribbon which flow into a full silk skirt and a long train.
“I wanted the maker of my fabulous veil to do the honors.” She holds up the beautiful head piece and layers of tulle to Caitlin. The two of them spend a few private moments in front of the mirror while the rest of us stand in the background pointing out what we like best about Sadie’s dress.
A knock on the door alerts us to Kevin Milano’s entrance. The groom cannot see Sadie, but the expensive photographer can. He snaps a few candid shots of Sadie and Caitlin and then asks us all to follow him to the church courtyard.
We are all giggling as though this was our first and not our umpteenth round of being a bridesmaid. I become emotional seeing Sadie walk beside the fountain in her dress. Her skin glows, her eyes sparkle, and she looks like the most radiant bride ever. Kevin thinks so too. He is taking countless shots of her as she sits near the water, runs her fingers through the spray, and laughs at our random comments and advice.
“When you walk down the aisle, don’t feel obligated to make eye contact with the guests,” Angelica says. “It just slows you down, and you always leave out someone important.”
“Keep the dangling strands on the right of your head brushed back, or your eyes will be hidden in the photos of you two lighting the unity candle.” Caitlin preserves her status as the hair princess.
Sadie starts to look anxious, as if the details are becoming overwhelming.
“When Carson leans in to kiss you, tilt your head up. The last wedding I went to, the bride tilted down and the groom got her nose,” Angelica adds.
“Don’t tear the tags off of your mattress!” I say with conviction. Everyone turns to look at me and I shrug. I know I have nothing to offer Sadie in this moment except community and comic relief when she needs it.