Page 10 of This Is How It Started
“Adam, don’t you have groomsmen duties to attend to?” my mother asks pointedly and shoos him out of the room, calling, “And Campbell was looking for you.”
Whitney commandeers one of the nightstands to set up her blow dryer, flat iron and brushes and pulls a chair in front of the full-length antique mirror that used to be in the guest suite that is now Dad and Brooke’s room. Without a second thought, Hannah plops her ass into the seat and starts instructing Whitney on how she wants her hair. “Not too tight at the crown, with little whisps framing my face.”
Josie and I exchange another look, and I resume my silent mantra of not turning into bridezilla. It doesn’t stop me, however, from wishing my mother would remind Hannah that it’s my day and not hers.
Josie hands me the remaining champagne flute and fills it until the bubbles spill over onto my robe. “Drink up.”
We both stifle a giggle. Maybe a couple of tokes from Adam’s joint wasn’t such a bad idea. I wonder if Josh is in the other room lighting up a second doob with my brother. The thing about Josh is, even stoned, he’d slay at this wedding. I think of that Sammy Davis Jr. quote Josh constantly says: “I have to be a star like another man has to breathe.”
My mother looks at her watch. “Rachel, honey, it’s time to get ready. You don’t want to be late for your own wedding.”
I bob my chin at Hannah, whose curly hair has been tamed into a sophisticated version of a messy bun.
“Whitney, chop-chop, darling.” Mommie Dearest actually snaps her fingers, and I feel a sting of mortification rise on my cheeks.
Whitney winks. “I’ve got this, Shana.” She shellacks Hannah’s hair with a tsunami of hairspray and gently pushes my sister out of the chair. “Be careful when you put on your dress not to mess up my masterpiece.”
Hannah disappears inside the bathroom to change. Whitney whisks me into the spot Hannah’s left while Josie pours me another glass of bubbly.
“Just a few sips,” Mom tells me.
I bristle, but she’s right. The previous glass has gone a little to my head. I barely ate at the rehearsal dinner and only had a small bowl of fruit for breakfast. But I feel a bit of nerves coming on—the idea of having two hundred pairs of eyes on me as I walk down the aisle makes my stomach roil like the first time I rode the Matterhorn in Disneyland—and the wine settles me.
And suddenly I wish we’d just gone to Vegas or to the beach or to the mountains, somewhere where it was just the two of us, our immediate families, and a few friends.
But then I think of Josh and how in less than an hour we’ll be married. For some reason that song he always sings pops into my head. “I’ve got the world on a string...sittin’ on a rainbow...what a world, what a life, I’m in love!” And a smile splits my face.
I must’ve checked out for a little while because my mother is saying, “Rachel, what’s gotten into you? You’re not even listening. I was telling you about Brooke.”
The last thing I want to hear about on my wedding day is my father’s paramour and my parents’ failed marriage.
Hannah comes out of the bathroom and does a little twirl and my mouth falls open. Josie is staring too, and it takes a lot to impress my best friend. My older sister is about to upstage me at my own wedding. I let her and Josie pick their own dresses. My only rule was that they had to be the same shade of blue, something bordering on cerulean. Originally, I’d wanted black, but my mother said it was bad luck. I still don’t know where she got that from, but who wants to risk it? So blue was my second choice.
And Hannah, who mostly wears blacks and browns and an occasional red power suit, is killing it. The dress brings out her blue eyes, which I’ve always been jealous of, mine being plain old brown. The bodice clings to her incredible rack, which is also a source of great envy. I barely fill a B cup. The only thing I have on her are my legs. They’re long and toned and unfortunately will be hidden from view in my full-length gown.
As I stare at Hannah, I kind of wish I’d gone for a mini skirt. “Wow, you look amazing.”
“You need a little bling. Everything is so plain,” my mother says, and Hannah and I share a look before smothering a laugh. Good old Mom.
Whitney manages to copy my photo perfectly. And while I don’t look anything like the model in the picture, I’m thrilled with the results. Hannah, Josie and Mom help me into my gown, which takes what seems like an eternity. Everyone is uber careful not to mess up my hair or get any makeup on the white satin crepe fabric. The dress is a knockoff of Pippa Middleton’s bridesmaid dress from the royal wedding and clings to me like a wet T-shirt.
“Did you bring Spanx?” my mother asks, making me immediately self-conscious.
“No. I thought it would be good to breathe for the next four hours. Why? Do I look fat?”
“You don’t need Spanx,” Hannah says and shoots daggers at my mother. “You look beautiful, Rachel.”
There are a million tiny buttons to do on the back of the dress, and Josie’s nimble fingers have taken on the task. “You do look beautiful,” she says. “I’ve never seen a more gorgeous bride. Oh my God, I’m going to cry.”
And that right there is the reason Josie Blum has been my best friend since the fourth grade when the two of us bonded over s’mores at Ramah in the Sierra, otherwise known as Jew camp. She had me at “There are so many bugs here.”
Unlike me, Josie has found her niche in the world (a saying I think my mother coined). Two years ago, she started her own personal shopping business, and now her clientele list includes a couple of Gettys, a former mayor, and a porn star. In other words, she’s a big freaking deal while I’m still trying to launch. Not that I begrudge her the success. Just the opposite. Nothing makes me happier than for my people to reach the stars. But between Josie and Hannah, a girl could get an inferiority complex.
I turn to look at my reflection in the antique mirror and like what I see. I don’t have Hannah’s boobs or blue eyes. Or Josie’s high cheekbones and bee-stung lips. I never did have Mom’s bohemian style. But I look pretty and confident and, most of all, happy.
And why shouldn’t I? Today I’m marrying Joshua Ackermann, the love of my life.
Chapter 4
