Sadie Hawkins Day

by Sydney Michelle

 

Chapter Sixteen

 

Don't ask me how we make it up the aisle; I haven't the foggiest idea. The next thing I know, I'm getting congratulations from my bridesmaids and the photographer is trying to line us up for group photos. I'm weepy and happy and several hands short, trying to handle my skirts, my bouquet, my veil and hold Blake's hand.

It must take less time than it seems. I had dreaded the shots with Blake's family, knowing Mrs. Jones, strange, that's me now, still wasn't happy. She has improved. Her demeanor is up to almost gracious. This still isn't her dream for her daughter, but you don't feel like you need to turn on the heat in August. I wish she were happier about it, but with her daughter Blake in a skirted tux and her son Bren holding a bunch of posies in the bridesmaid line, she has a lot to get used to. Instead of being mother of the bride, she's relegated to mother of the groom. As things go on this day, that's about as invisible as you can get. Which she probably finds a relief.

Drew and Jan, as best woman and maid of honor, accompany us to the reception and help us in and out of the limo. Without help, my gown would trail out the door. With all that goes on, the excitement, the rush, the lack of anything to eat, a bride does well not to have her head bounce across the floor. She definitely needs a keeper and I am no exception.

The crowd mills in the anteroom, waits for us to form up. Punch and cookies would not hold them much longer, but the buffet line is ready. Mom jokes if the purpose of the reception was to be sure we got wedding gifts, it would have been cheaper to just buy them.

But we line up properly, my folks to get names, Mom next to me to do the introductions, then Blake, then her folks, then Drew and Jan. The rest of the wedding party, including my nephew Dale who made a darling ring bearer, are claiming seats and places at the head of the serving line. After a quick bite they have to serve cakes and punch so they are spared receiving. Jan is being very diligent in her escort duties to be sure Bren does not feel left out.

Dale had had to be threatened and bribed by his mother, Claire, to participate. Five year old boys are not inclined to satin knee breeches suits and ringlets, even five year old boys with blonde hair to the small of their backs. Sampson, a copy of the "Blue Boy" and pictures of the Founding Fathers had not diminished the imagined stigma of curls and silk. It took a combination of a season pass to Water World and the threat of no Goober cartoons to get him to cooperate.

Once he had been cajoled into a trial run at my mom's salon, he liked being fussed over by Mrs. Jenkins and her staff. But the trump card had been Louisa Del Gallo, the neighborhood sweetheart with long black hair, telling him she thought his hair was nice and asking him to come over and play. He developed his first puppy love crush. The chance to be with her as a special friend, to touch her and play with each other's hair was just too much to resist.

So there he sits, legs swinging gently, small plates of sand tarts in his lap, looking around expectantly for Louisa to come through the door. She is his "date" for the event and he feels very proud and happy and grownup. Claire has rehearsed his manners and simple dance steps for a month and he is going to be a fitting beau for his belle.

The doors open and the rush is on. Smile, nod, confine the hand shake to fingertips to get through it with an intact paw, listen to something murmured, pass the person to Blake with an "I'd like you to meet my spouse, Miz Blake Jones. Blake, this is Miz Whatshername, one of Mother's oldest friends." Try not to bounce too much when the toes of your heels start to pinch.

The room fills quickly, the babble creeping up in volume toward a roar. Cutlery clatters on plates, glasses clink, laughter cascades through the hall. People are having a good time even as I become painfully aware I hadn't eaten that day despite Mom's urgings.

You have no idea how difficult it is to smile for the birdie while you pretend to cut a cake when you're stomach is growling. Or it would if it weren't cinched a good two inches smaller than normal. There's a reason for that tradition of the bride and groom feeding each other besides the nurturing symbolism: it's the only time you get your tongue wrapped around food!

There's supposed to be a break while the cake is divvied up, but we're too busy receiving friends who felt the line just wasn't enough to do more than sip some champagne. That is if your sister and brother-in-law remember to bring you some. I am eternally grateful, and will do the same for her someday, when Jen pops shrimp pinwheels into my mouth. It isn't the most elegant moment caught on tape, me with bare fingertips from lace gloves pressed to crimson lips before chipmunk cheeks as I bend forward to chew, swallow, and listen, but it is so-o good.

One couple we are glad to see is Thelma Coombs and her escort, Kenzie Reyneux. We really like Thelma, not just because she helped Blake make me over. She is genuinely nice, smart, and who better to steal beauty and poise tips from than a queen? After her reign, we made a point of inviting her to our little soirees. When she started disappearing regularly weekends, we suspected something, but Thelma just put it down to ongoing appearances, keeping her hand in for motivational speech honorariums. Still, she seemed unusually happy after some of those trips.

Her combined Journalism and Poli Sci majors, along with her name recognition, should have produced major market offers, but she chose to stay in-state. Somehow her explanation of a chance to anchor as well as do some outside work didn't quite ring true. There's more to life than career, but our capital is small potatoes. All we could figure was that she was shooting for a political PR slot a few years down the line. Either that, or there was a fellah. And here he is!

He is a hunk, even for someone who doesn't lean that way. Just as Sophia Loren made women step back in recognition that she set a standard, some men make guys state a simple fact: He's handsome. Then we move a little closer to our women and wonder if we've been paying quite enough attention lately.

If the camera were kind, he can rack it in simply looking studly for bodice ripper covers. The gorgeous Kennie has two thick chestnut curls, a love lock before, a colonial queue behind. Not only is every hair in place, he fills a tux admirably, pearl studs and cufflinks accenting classic ruffles. He smiles, he listens, no wonder Thelma had better things to do than our little parties.

Worse, he's soft spoken, has manners, and pays compliments freely without a hint of insincerity. The only good thing about him is the diamond Thelma wears: an emerald cut antique setting, his great grandmother's ring and the cause of the extra smile in Thelma's eyes.

Thelma doesn't make an announcement, she's too collected for that, but I have to whisper in her ear, "When?"

She smiles and whispers back, "Last weekend. We'd been talking, but Kennie didn't want us to come without a commitment. So I guess I owe the timing to you."

"What about your career?"

"Sugar, a career can wait. Kids can't. Besides, would you tell Blake to wait?"

I shake my head.

"I'll do a little PR, a little performing until the kids are up, then see if I have the need or fire to fight for high dollars. I can always broker. So when are you two going to have a family?"

There it is. The ink isn't even dry and somebody is trying to get me in the family way.

"Not for awhile. Blake has a clerkship, and then long hours at a firm."

"Sugar, enjoy each other for awhile. But don't let her hours stop you two. That's why you got into the program, not just to look gorgeous. If you're still at the capital, we should car pool."

Now she practically has us picking out the kids' pre-school! You certainly can't accuse Thelma of not thinking ahead; I haven't even officially been laid yet!

"That would be nice."

"Kennie's restaurant in the capital is The Back Bench. You'll have better luck getting me through there or the station than at my apartment. Call me as soon as you two settle in."

"He cooks with that hair?"

"A French Braid and nape tuck and it fits fine under a toque. Call us."

With that she gathers up the magnificent Kennie and begins to make the rounds.

"Toasts! Toasts! Toasts!" The chant picks up around the room. Thank goodness we stuck to our determination to not have liquor or the shivaree would have gotten completely out of hand.

Try climbing up step stools and chairs onto a table when you can't see where your feet are landing. At least Blake's tux skirt doesn't obliterate her steps. Me, I have to close my eyes and hope Jan and Jen steer me right.

Dad was first. "Jaimie, Blake, you made a commitment as old as time but ever new. There will be good times and hard times; but may you ever have one another for love and support."

"Hear, Hear!" And then a tipple, Blake and I turning to each other.

Mr. Jones is up. "The father of the groom is the least important part of a wedding. I don't pay the bills, most of them, I don't get to drive the train, I'm not even important enough to blame should anything go wrong. Which thankfully it hasn't. Knock wood." He does. "So this is my time to shine. Let's hope I don't blow it." He raises his glass.

"Blake, you told Mother and me that you loved Jaimie, that you could not imagine life apart. Jaimie, I've come to know you feel much the same about Blake. That's most of the battle. Hold onto that, cherish it, nourish it, remind each other that's how you feel about each other and give each other reason to know it's still real. You are charting your own course and often you may feel all you have is each other. So my toast for you is that when seas are rough, when storm winds blow, when landmarks are hard to find, trust one another to stay on course but bail like hell. Do that and you will come through into the safe, still harbor. May you find the journey to your lives' destination filled with love and devotion."

Another smile, another sip as Drew comes around the table, front and center.

"Jaimie, Blake, we have been friends and partners in crime for quite awhile now. So often you hear that wedding bells are breaking up that old gang of mine, but we have a special bond that will keep us together. I remember when Blake first met Jaimie and remarked that Jaimie had . . . Well, she's got it now, but good." Drew raised her flute. "May the winds blow at your back and the ground rise softly to meet your feet. May your flowers bloom large and smell sweet and what rain that falls, drift down like dew."

We sipped from our ever filling saucers to Drew's touch of the Blarney. The trouble with saucer champagnes? You can't really judge how much you're inhaling. Especially when your "friends" keep topping it off between takes.

Jan stood there a vision in pink. She's little fuzzy, an angel in a hot pink cloud, floating. But it's definitely Jan, good ol' upright, do it right, no surprises Jan.

"Blake, a year and a half ago you started the journey that has led us to today. Jaimie was a little fuzzy at first, but you persisted and the rest of us are grateful for that. Not just for our rocks, but saving us the prospect of a librarian out there who has to spell the alphabet on her fingers. Now if you can just do something about Jaimie trying to sing, and I use that word liberally, Oh, What A Beautiful Morning every day. On the other hand, your attempts at Some Enchanted Evening when you hit the door in the evening won't have Tin Pan Alley beating a path to your door either. What I'm trying to say, ladies, is: 'Keep your day jobs.'

"Jaimie, you've been a great friend. Only a great friend could tell you this: that fuzzy green stuff in the refrigerator? It's not the gourmet version of New Mexican tomatillo sauce. If you ever dig, and I do mean dig, to the back of the fridge, you'll find stuff with that on it, so toss it. You know that Jack Lemmon scene where he throws spaghetti against the wall and if it sticks, it's done? Well, Blake thinks the spaghetti is supposed to stick into the wall. Fortunately Jaimie and Blake like to make the same thing for dinner: Reservations!

"I really will miss you both, and not just by the lack of clothing strewn about the place. I, and all of us you roped into being part of this shindig, love you two to death. It is your beginning for when two lie together they will keep each other warm, and if one should falter or fall, the other shall pick them up. May joy, and love, and happiness dwell among you; may the sun shine bright and rainbows end in your back yard, and may your life together be all that you hope it will be and more. Everyone here wishes you only the best over the coming years. May you enjoy life to the fullest and continue to spread your happiness among all you know. To your health and good fortune."

After that roast and toast, what can we do? We drain our glasses. When we look up, Jen and Bren are standing front and center.

"No set of toasts would be complete without your siblings horning in on the act."

"Here's to no longer fighting over who has the bathroom."

"Here's to not having to share parking space."

"Here's to no longer arguing over how much salt and spice goes in the food."

"Here's to not having to keep track of the last time you fed the dog."

"And above all here's to the empty space you'll leave in our lives but never in our hearts."

"You can choose your friends."

"But not your relatives."

"But if we were free to choose, we couldn't ask for better than you."

"I love you, Jaimie. May happiness fold about you like a warm blanket."

"I love you Blake. May good fortune follow you always."

"To the happy couple!"

Another raised glass, another drain. Will we be able to get down without falling down?

"Response! Response!"

A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. Somehow we rise, wobbling, but rise to the occasion. Without steadying hands, I'm sure we would go kersplat! Now wouldn't that be a pretty how-de-do?

"Friends, Romans, countrymen. Wrong speech. Is it nobler in the mind to endure the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or turning to face them, vanquish them? Wrong clime. Oh, happy band conspiring to usurp Cupid's bow, to prick and prickle and so bring together Beatrice and Benedict. A good heart is the sun and the moon; or rather the sun, not the moon. For it shines bright and keeps its course truly. So good friends, if thee wouldst be happy, get thee a wife."

Blake would be the eloquent purloiner, I, the simple wife. "Family and friends, you honor us with your presence on this, our happiest day of days, our blessed nuptial day. May our happiness shine upon you and reflect the joy you have given us."

We intertwine our arms, Blake looking into my eyes. "To thee I will be true. For I cannot be mine own, nor any thing to any, if I not be thine. To this I am most constant."

I look into Blake's eyes. "I pledge my troth to my center sun. It is thyself, mine own self's better part, mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart."

We tilt the saucers and drink, with our eyes more than our lips.

Progress has to be made, traditions and proprieties observed. We are lifted down, Blake kneels for the symbolic deflowering, the removal of my garter. At least friends and family aren't expected to witness the actual consummation of the marriage anymore. It's bad enough to have yards of moire satin, taffeta, and chiffon pulled up to your waist to expose garter belt and stockings and a small piece of elastic with rose bud appliques. The public performance of your darling's hands running up your thighs makes you want to laugh or blush. We had been doing it for almost two years, I had shown way more skin at the pool side bridal shower, but that public intimacy said to the world that your spouse could and would touch you anywhere. Not only that, your response will be as a hopelessly mewling pet, your hormones in total control until you clamp tightly in a releasing spasm. And you wouldn't have it any other way. Eat your heart out, singles.

"And now it's time for the happy couple's first dance together. At their request, the first dance for Miz and Mrs. Jones is If Ever I Would Leave You."

Blake holds out her arms as Lancelot's tribute to love's devotion starts. That their love was illicit, makes it all the more fitting. I move inside her arms, put my hand, my faith, my trust in her, my hem rising with the wrist loop as I follow. The slow waltz is perfect to let the fog dissipate under the glow from Blake's eyes. Those brown pools, slightly above mine thanks to stacked heels, fill with love and pride as we turn slowly around the room. She joins, soto voce, with the last verse, bending close for the last line, "No, never would I leave you, at all."

Hearing those words, the touch of her cheek, the press of her hand on mine, it becomes real. I am hers and she is mine and that's how I want it to be, the way it should be.

I close my eyes, tilt my head. Our lips find each other as the music fades, a long, tender kiss of affection.

"And now for their dance with their parents."

We part, my dad and her mother come forward. The music starts up, Sunrise, Sunset, as Dad leads me into a foxtrot.

"Happy?"

"Delirious. Hungry, but delirious. Thank you, Dad."

"So eat, already. This is costing me an unexpected fortune. I hope your sister won't be too disappointed that I spent her wedding money on yours."

"If she keeps after Bren the way she has, maybe the Jones's can pay for the next one."

"Oh right. At least she could carry on my name. I haven't asked a lot from life, but this was definitely not on the list."

"Are you disappointed in me?"

"Surprised is a better word. You sure you're happy with this? We could always have it annulled."

"Don't you dare try, unless you want your grandchildren to be bastards."

"So you're really going to have children?"

I knew he meant me personally. "I just don't want to hear you whining 'When are you two going to get started?' Don't worry, you'll have grandkids to take fishing."

"You sure they all won't be too worried about dirtying their clothes?"

"Did I? Did Jen?"

"No, I suppose not."

"So be happy for me. Be happy that I found someone to love who loves me."

"I am. At least I'm trying. It's just I keep thinking it's Jen in that dress."

"Are you really unhappy?"

"A little uncomfortable. It's like hearing a favorite hymn in an up tempo beat. It takes some getting used to."

"Do you want us not to come visit?"

"Just don't come live with us. Your mother and I have gotten used to having the house to ourselves and not having to worry whether one of you two will wander in."

"Dad!"

"You think you got here by immaculate conception?"

"Did you think about your parents doing it?"

"I'm going to have a hard time with what you two will be doing together tonight."

"So get Mom to distract you."

"I believe she already has plans along that line."

"Good for her!"

We silently danced a long turn.

"So are you Okay with me and Blake being together next time we visit?"

"Your mother already plans to redecorate. Just don't be a stranger."

"We won't. And Dad?"

"Hhm?"

"When we are going to have a child, you and Mom will be the first to know."

The music stops, then starts for the whole wedding party, Love Is a Many Splendored Thing. So the play list is slow and romantic: it's a wedding. People are supposed to touch and move together, not troll by shaking their booty. Not until the focus leaves anyway.

I manage a quick glance around the floor as Blake leads me through a swooping turn. Jen is leading Bren who is struggling to remember his hand goes up on her shoulder. Mr. Jones keeps putting his hand on Mrs. Jones's hips and she keeps moving it back to her waist. And Dale is dancing a very stiff box step with Louisa.

They are just so cute. His brow is furrowed trying to remember what to do next, talk and count at the same time. She's taking everything in without moving her head away from him an inch. Only five and already she's a little minx. By the time she's fifteen, the boys will crawl over broken glass for her. On the next sweep past, she seems to be subtly leading him so she can get a better view of the party.

The music ends, the guests crowd onto the floor as Blake leads me to the head table where plates wait for us. Not that we get to pick up a fork. The parade of well wishers continues, the quick pressing of hands, the kissing of cheeks, comments ranging from the tried and true to the trite and threadbare. The worst are some of my old friends from high school, covering their nervousness with bad jokes and puns. How many times can you try to respond to "Be good, be careful, better yet, be good and careful," as though you hadn't already heard it a thousand times?

Mom's hairdresser and her husband had just finished their best wishes when I felt a tug on my skirt. A quick look down brought Dale and Louisa into view.

"Miz Jones? I'm Louisa Del Gallo. I didn't have a chance to speak to you when I came in. I want to thank you for inviting me. You are a beautiful bride."

I'm sure her mother had rehearsed that speech with her, after all she's standing back a few feet, but Louisa delivered it with a smile and without a bobble.

"Why thank you, Louisa. Say hello to Louisa and Dale, Blake. Louisa, my husband, Blake Jones." Somehow "spouse" seems too abstract for a five year old.

"Hello, Louisa, Dale. You look awfully pretty today, Louisa."

"Thank you, Mr. Jones. I wanted to look nice for the party." She turned her head to Dale. "And for Dale." Dale looks down, but he can't stop the grin spreading across his face.

"Why you certainly do, Sweetheart." Her jet black hair forms a lightly teased halo around her face while long thick curls trail from the back of her head. Balloon shoulders grace a scoop neck on a knee length, petticoated party dress. A tiny gold chain holds a gold cross around her throat while tiny cameos grace her lobes. There is just a glint of lip gloss on her dark rose lips on a complexion gilded by her summer tan. Her eyes are deep brown, almost black, and her lashes are already long if not lush. No wonder Dale stopped complaining.

"And doesn't Dale look winsome today too?"

Louisa took his hand in hers. "Oh, he's the most bonny boy I've ever known. I like his hair a lot."

That did it. The hook's set. Dale blushes and shivers with delight. He's hers, heart and soul. As much as any five year old can pledge undying devotion, he'll do it. His kite, his bike, even his rock collection, they're all hers for the asking. Whatever she asks, he'll do. I know just how he feels.

"Have you enjoyed today, Dale?" Blake smiles sweetly at my pleased but oh, so embarrassed nephew.

He looks up. "Yes, sir, thank you, sir. I like the jelly tarts best. Did I do alright?"

"You did just fine. Did you enjoy your dance with Louisa?"

"It's the first time I ever danced with a girl. It's Okay. I was afraid I'd hurt her."

Louisa lifts his hand. "You were nice. And very gentle. I like dancing with you." She gives his hand a little squeeze. She is no dummy when it comes to the care and feeding of the male ego.

Dale practically floats. "You did?"

"Yes, I did. Would you dance with me again?"

Silly question. At this moment, he would dive head first into the punch bowl if she asks.

They disappear, the watchful eyes of their mothers following.

"You were very sweet to Dale."

"He's a nice boy. I hope our sons will be a lot like him."

"Long curls and tagging after a girl?"

"I had well mannered and able to sit still for more than two minutes in mind. But knowing how to treat a girl won't hurt. I remember a few too many frog gigs and braid pulls for comfort."

"Treats girls like little gods. Check."

"Goddesses, if you please. No, just like members of the human race."

"Are you sure I'm qualified to raise your offspring?"

"Loving 'em is the only qualification people come with. It's not like they come with an instruction manual. Why don't we dance again?"

"Tempting, but I'd rather eat. I'm famished. Fill my water glass will you please? One more wine and I'll have a head like at graduation. That's no way to start a honeymoon."

I reach for a fork but no way. Jan and Drew heave into view.

"Why aren't you two on the floor? You need to enjoy your party as much as you can before you have to change to leave." Jan glanced at her wrist. "Which is in about ten minutes."

"Can't we just eat?"

"And delay my catching the bouquet? After all I've done for you the last three years we've roomed together? You want to jinx my wedding?"

"Just one bite?"

"Okay, just one. Then out you go."

Gulp, fork and chew, swallow, gulp, sneak another fork full. Two chipmunks advance to the center of the floor just before the deejay starts up Night and Day. Chew gum and walk? Try chewing the almost first solid food you've had all day in a full mouth and dancing without choking, falling over, or spewing all over your partner. People offer congratulations as they dance by and all we can do is smile, sorta, and nod.

All my bridesmaids make a point of dancing by to give us a wink, or a nod, or a thumbs up. Even Jen and Bren wind up dancing slowly beside us to Dancing in the Dark.

"Sister-in-law of mine? May I ask you a question?"

I swallow and smile at Bren. "Keep it clean, sister-in-law." I'm in a dress, he's in a dress, why not?

"Does putting on a tux turn every woman into an octopus? Does Blake check your buns every minute on the minute?"

"Maybe it's just you look so lovely. But be nice, Jen."

"I thought I was. I just want to make sure my new relation has a good time."

"Careful, bro. Wearing a dress full time might be catching. Although," Blake looks at me smiling, "I haven't heard any complaints lately."

Jan steers Bren away. "You'd look lovely in peach, Sweetie. There's a filmy little number . . ."

"Where does Bren go to school?"

"Knoxville."

"That's close to Peabody, isn't it?"

"Fairly. Why?"

"I just wondered how Bren's brown hair would look swept up? Tear drop earrings, I think. Say for a Halloween Masquerade?"

"I'm going to be too busy taking care of my wife to take care of my brother. I suggest you follow a similar course."

"Yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full. But how do you think he'd look?"

"He made a beauty of a bridesmaid. I expect he'd be presentable. Why? Are they giving away trips to Florida?"

"You never know."

I lean close, but we only get to take a couple of steps.

"Before the happy couple leaves us, a last request." The deejay cues up Never My Love. It might be called dancing somewhere, our arms around each other's waists, but there isn't a lot of movement. Swaying, yes, but foot movement, no. Fingers touch my nape, my head rests on her shoulder, my palms rest on her lapels. Heaven is just a few layers away, but I make myself behave.

The song ends and our attendants surround us. "Time to go, kids." Jan takes me by the arm, leading me away as Drew steers Blake in the other direction. I blow a kiss.

 

Chapter Seventeen

 

It takes slightly fewer people to get me out of my gown than it took to get me in it. Mom and Jen and Jan fuss around, bagging everything for the cleaners as I sway in my stocking feet.

"Jaimie! Don't just stand there, get dressed!"

I look around, trying to focus, find the hanging bag with my traveling clothes. "Where?"

"Jaimie, darling, did you have anything to eat?" Mom gets real close and concerned.

I nod. "Some cake. And some appetizers."

"Oh Lord. How much did you drink?"

"Donno. Toasts."

"Darling you should listen to your old mother. Jen, go get her a plate, creamy stuff and a little meat. And stop by Blake's changing room and make sure they make sure she's in condition to drive. Get her a plate too. And coffee."

There's a bustle in the room as Mom and Jan ease me into a chair.

"Jan, talk to my addle pated child while I get some damp cloths."

Jan strokes my hand. "Wake up, sleepy head. You still have to throw the bouquet. And you have to promise to take care of me when Drew and I tie the knot."

"Thank you, Jan. You're a good frien'. 'Spite what you said 'bout my cooking."

"Don't I know it. Do you need to use the restroom?"

I shake my head, then nod. "Wouldn't hurt." I'm sitting, slip gathered around my waist when I hear a voice.

"Where is he? Where is that knuckle headed brother of mine?"

Can't a girl go in privacy? Between Mom daubing the back of my neck with cool towels and Jen shoving food in my mouth, I can barely tinkle.

Jan and Jen help me back to the chair, smooth my slip. Mom keeps pouring food and coffee down me as Jen brings over my shoes. I'm all robin's egg blue, even the shoes.

"Isn't it nice we'll all be together? And Thelma too? We'll have so much fun together, your Blake clerking at the Court, my Drew with her law firm. We can have parties, and picnics, and still get our hair done together." Jan is impossibly perky.

"You'll have to give the parties. You're the hostess."

"That's alright, I like it. Our patterns blend. I'll prep and you can still clean. We're a team, you and I, even down to one day helping each other with our kids."

"Sure. You'll be Fertile Myrtle."

"Now stop that. You know you want kids too. If we get preggie together, we can help each other out."

"Sure you can stand to get out of your girdle and shirtwaist? No offense, but you really look good in a wasp waist dress and black stilettos, and you seem to like passing around canapes in a frilly little hostess apron. Won't work if you're swollen like a grape."

"Now you just chew and swallow a little more. I do like looking good. It makes Drew get all hot and bothered when I'm all tidy. She just has to ruffle my feathers a little. But there's some of the cutest maternity outfits now. If we get implanted next fall, we won't have to carry through the heat. Good sex doesn't have to end just because you're pregnant, does it, Mrs. Blair?"

"Drink some more coffee, Dear. You getting back with us now? It's awkward the last couple of months, but I'm sure you children will find ways to get around the hump. There's always touching and it feels good just to be held sometimes."

"All this talk of pregnancies is making me nervous."

"Not for you, Jen, not yet anyway. Just don't wait too long. It gets harder faster than you realize."

"Maybe she'll marry Bren and make him have the babies."

"Maybe. I could lead him around with big hair and a big belly, point and go 'Hoo, hah! I did that!' Then I wouldn't have to endure labor."

"What do you say, Jaimie? Want to start our families together? In about a year?"

"I haven't even been bedded yet and you're trying to get me knocked up already?"

"You don't have to be so grumpy about it. It was only a suggestion." Jan looked hurt.

"Look. Dad's not the only one who's still getting used to things. If I'm gonna, and not just nurse, it would be nice to be with a friend."

"What about me? Don't you think I want someone to share and understand when I'm going through it the first time?"

"I figured you were looking forward to being all glowy."

"I am. But it's a little scary, too."

"That's right, Jaimie. It's new, and wonderful, and distressing, and awesome all rolled into one. Especially your first. When I carried you, I had days when I was unbearably happy. And days when I just knew I was going to screw up the birth, or you. I burned a lot of phone time to my mother, but it was Mrs. Jenkins who really got me through. She was having her second, and she could listen and sympathize, and tell me I wasn't completely nuts."

"So think about it? Please?"

"At your wedding we'll talk. Promise. By then I'll be Sated Sadie, married lady."

"Can we get this show on the road? I don't want Bren to cool down too much."

"I think I'd rather you cooled down a little, Jen. Take it from your mother, too eager has scared off many a young man."

"But today he's a young lady and needs to be pursued."

"It's wooed, Dear. There's a difference. I'm sure he knows you're interested. By the way, how was Blake doing?"

"Better than her bride. But they'll stuff food down her and make sure she can walk a straight line before Bren gives us the word."

"Upsy-daisy. We need to get you dressed. I'll be standing front and center so a nice soft arc to the bouquet, Okay?"

I'm standing without wobbling as Jen helps me into my shoes. Being dressed is no picnic: pearl blouse, straight knee length skirt, hip length mid-sleeve jacket. My jewelry is changed, stud and drop in my ears, pearl strand around my throat, gold bracelet on my right wrist, discards in a soft bag. Mom stuffs my clutch purse while Jan freshens my lipstick. We all admire my wedding set, me especially.

Mrs. Jones. Mrs. Blake Jones. So new but so right. So I've practiced writing it for the last three months.

They get me walking, making sure I can get to the car without losing it. When I walk from one end to the other, pivot and come back, we settle onto the settees, waiting for the word to go.

"Do you think our children might marry? Your son, my daughter? And vice-versa?"

"Don't try to overplan, Dear. Children aren't like radishes; they tend to have minds of their own, as you two illustrate."

"I know, Mrs. Blair. Still, it would be nice."

"You live nearby, share similar values, it could happen. Just don't pin your hopes on it."

"What do you think, Jaimie?"

"If our sons want to follow in our high heels, emulate their contented comen mothers, they might. I'd like my son to wear my bridal gown someday if that's the way he wants to go."

"Take one day at a time. Just be happy if they're settled with someone they love and who loves them. After all that's what you asked of your father and me."

"True. Thanks, Mom. We haven't even had kids yet. It's premature to wondering about future spouses."

"I think you'll look so precious, brother of mine, all pooched out just before you deliver. How do they do that anyway? C-section?"

"Of course. It's not like we could expel the watermelon. No cutesy gross videos of our births. Drew will have to suffer through my deliveries in the waiting room like a good dam."

"You're really going to bear your babies, Jan?"

"Uh-huh. Mom's the youngest of her siblings and some of my cousins have already had babies. Last family reunion, they were watching them run and talking about what they had gone through. You remember when the Princess of Japan talked about how wonderful it was to have that little life growing in her? That's how my cousins felt, despite their complaints about bloating, and nausea and back aches. It sounded more like old soldiers' campaign stories: without a little discomfort, you couldn't brag about it. When my breasts began to burgeon, I was pretty sure I wanted to go all the way. When they tested our ability to lactate, I got all sad because I didn't have a baby to nurse. I feel blessed that I'll be able to bear. Some women may find the idea confining: for me it's fulfilling."

"I didn't realize you felt that strongly about it. I imagine you'll breeze through your time with hardly a blip. After all heavy upchucking hardly fits your sense of propriety. And how ever would you schedule it? If I do decide to carry, I'd sure want a buddy available to compare notes and to commiserate with."

There's a knock on the door and Bren's brown head slips in. "Three minutes, Okay? Blake can blow in the tube without making it go tilt."

"She'll be ready."

"I'm just going to slip out for a moment. You going to be Okay, brother?"

I nod.

"You are going to keep up with Jean and Jodi, aren't you? After all, you've gone through so much together."

"The net makes it easier, Mom, e-mail and digital photos and all. We'll see Jodi every year at our annual base lines. She'll come down from St. Louis where Shelby's working in a corporate counsel office. Jean's going to be a harder to see. Nikki's working for a medical malpractice firm in Houston."

"Will they be Okay? So far from the program?"

"The programs in a lot of places, Mrs. Blair. Washington University will look after Jodi; Texas Medical Center will see to Jean. They'll be Okay, poochy bellies and all."

Jen slips back in, her compact out, powdering her nose. She fishes for her lipstick, gives her lips a quick coat. "You ready? I told Bren I'd have you at the top of the corridor in a minute."

"I'd better run get in position, Mrs. Blair. If you and Jen can handle our bride. Think pink when you toss, Okay?"

"Jen? Can you keep your hands off Bren long enough to help Jamie? I ought to go find your father. Men are so helpless at weddings."

Jen picks up my little bag and traveling case, holds open the door. "Sure thing, Mom. Let's go, mother-to-be."

Bren is leading a slightly pale Blake who is wearing a dove gray pant suit. We turn to the reception hall. The deejay starts Love and Marriage, our cue for a final appearance. We walk through the doors arm and arm, my first entrance as Mrs. Blake Jones. Jen and Bren head for the doorway out. There's a mass of long dresses standing to the side, the unmarried females, plus my she-male buddies, waiting for the bouquet. Jan is front and center, unmistakable in pink. Standing just before her is Louisa, tiny and fragile in her white organza, but not wanting to miss a thing.

I step forward, stoop and beckon her forward. Such a tiny thing could get crushed in the rush. I pull a single pink rose bud from my bouquet and hand it to her.

"Especially for me?"

"Uh-huh. Why don't you go stand with Dale? Here's a mum for him."

She runs over to where their mothers stand, showing off the flowers. She hands the red and white mum to Dale and plants a big one on his cheek. Dale blushes and beams all at once. Everybody claps with delight.

I stand back, line up on Jan, turn around. "One, two, three." Blake has checked my alignment before I toss my bouquet up and back, hoping it flies straight.

"Yes! Yes! Drew, Honey, we're next!" Jan did it.

We're almost done. We home in on our parents for one last round of thank you's, well wishes and teary hugs. They're losing their first child to another and we're taking that last big step out from under their sheltering wings.

"Mother would have been so happy." Grams, the last of my grandparents, passed the summer before I met Blake. It suddenly strikes me just how much Mom has undergone the last few years, her life turned inside out except for Dad.

"I'm sure she would, Mom. I'll do all I can to make you proud of me." One thing for sure, a son in a dress bearing babies would be some sort of a pace setter. Let's hope I am more successful than the Great Auk.

We hug. I kiss Mom's cheek, then Dad, then Blake's parents.

Mrs. Jones is less stiff than a steel girder, she actually squeezes my shoulders. "You take good care of Blake, you hear? I want her to be as happy as she thinks she's going to be."

"I'll do everything I can, Mrs. Jones. We've had time to know there's more to being together than the bedroom. I'll be a good wife to her in every way."

"Consider one piece of advice from an old man, will you?"

"I'll try, Papa Jones."

"Tonight, you'll be tired, exhausted. I know you two aren't new to the sack, but people still have big expectations for the wedding night. Don't be afraid to just rest, enjoy being close, and put off any fireworks until the morning. After that, there's always room service."

"Thank you. We'll see how it goes."

"So when do we see you two next?"

"Jan and Drew's wedding is in three weeks, Labor Day Weekend. You'll be there?"

"Joplin? Yes."

"Jean and Nikki are the end of September. And Jodi and Shelby are mid-December. I'm afraid wedding bells will eat up our off time until after the first of the year."

"Stay in touch. Don't let Blake do all the writing. That will let Margaret get a little more comfortable with you for an in-law."

"I'll try."

"And one more thing."

"Yes, sir?"

"Get your thank you's done before the next wedding."

I see Jen give me the high sign. The car has been pulled around, gassed and ready to go. Decorated within an inch of its life as well, I'll bet.

"Blake, Honey, it's time."

I hug Mom and Dad again while Blake hugs her parents. Mom, like Polonius, can't quite let go.

"When is Jodi getting married? She seems like a nice girl, a little scattered, but nice."

"December. They're getting a mountain chalet. It's a waste. Jodi won't let Shelby out of the sleeping bag until it's time for her to go back to work. If Shelby can get Jodi on the plane. We gotta go Mom."

"I know, Dear. Jan and Drew are Labor Day. We'll see you then. But Jean and Nikki?"

"End of September. She's going to try to model a little in Houston afterwards, trade shows. Mom, we really need to get on the way."

"Kiss for luck."

Doing it is faster than arguing. I grab Blake's hand, pulling her toward the door.

There it was: the gauntlet. Three hundred friends and acquaintances waiting to pelt us with rice and birdseed, fertility and good fortune. We certainly would need an extra dose of luck, but I could stand going easy on the fertility. Not that four is so few these days.

We take deep breaths, spy Jan and Drew holding the car doors open. We look at each other, smile. "Duck! One, two, three!" We run on Blake's count, headed for the car as fast as my high heeled feet can carry me.

The bags are bad enough. Thank goodness Jen and her friends bagged it rather than having them throw the loose stuff!

Blake has the car in motion before I get the seat belt on. Thank goodness they had the good sense not to paint the front windshield! I lower the window, stick my head out and wave back at our friends standing on the curb, heading off to be alone at last with my beloved.

The last one I see as we turn the corner is Jean, waving for all she's worth with Shelby standing beside her. Lordy she has great legs. With a small behind and the perkiest pair of any of us, she should fit right in with the Texas beauties. I can just imagine her, big smile, hair piled high on top of her head, exquisite makeup, standing beside some over-powered, over-priced vehicle at an Auto Show, pointing her tapering fingers at some imagined feature. That ought to move iron.

I settle back into the seat, hoping our friends actually put our luggage in the trunk. Ten days down river to New Orleans requires something to wear despite their jokes otherwise. There is a persistent clank from behind.

"Blake?! Is something wrong with the car?" Just what I had wanted for a honeymoon: two days waiting for the car to be fixed.

"Just the usual noise makers I expect. Is there a park nearby?"

Three blocks down and two blocks over is a small playground. We would look awfully strange, two chicly dressed people cutting strings and crepe streamers and washing windows if it weren't obvious what we were doing. A few people honk as they pass. It only takes a few minutes although it seems like forever. Trash in the can, Jen's empty pail and squeegee in the back, we settle into the seats. I take back every nasty thing I ever said about my sister.

I'm buckling in, having checked the map pocket for navigation aids as Blake starts the car. I feel a touch, fingers cup my nape. I look up, smile to see Blake leaning close, her eyes closing. I lean into her, our lips meet, we enfold each other. I go weak. I'm Mrs. Blake Alba Jones, wife, and that's who I want to be, what I want to be, should be. I am hers, giving her my all and receiving all in return.

After forever, but never enough, we break for air, our arms holding each other, our foreheads touching. For awhile, there is only the sound of our breathing.

"So, Mrs. Jones, how do you like married life so far?"

"So far, Miz Jones, it's made me a nervous wreak. If I had known getting married was this much of a hassle, we'd have continued to live in sin."

"But if we weren't, the Study wouldn't impregnate you. Besides, I like having a wife, rather than a girlfriend, to have and to hold."

"You really want us to have children, don't you?"

"In the worst way. I suppose I could have them and work, but kids need someone there for them if possible, so after the first . . . You'll love being a mommy, I just know you will."

"Is that like you 'knew' I would like wearing hairdo's and a dress and makeup?"

Blair grins. I see it even in the dim light. "Uh-huh. You're not still holding that against me, are you?"

"How could I? You were right. You always are. Usually."

"So you'll trail along with me for awhile? And defer to my judgement about children?"

"Depends. Will you still love me when I'm all bloated and can't see my toes, or throw up every morning?"

"In sickness and in health, for better or for worse, you'll always be my Sugar-Bear."

"You will take care of me, won't you, Blakey-Bear?"

"Unto my last breath, forever and ever, Amen, my love."

"Then lead on, Miz Jones, and Mrs. Jones will follow you anywhere. But be careful or I'll turn into a witch."

Blake looks puzzled "How's that?"

I smile; she never saw it coming. "I'll blow into your ear and you'll turn into a hotel."

Blake roars with laughter, shoves the car in gear. The engine roars and we drive off into the rest of our lives.

 

The End

 

 

 

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