Page 38 of Husband Material
She gave me a disapproving look. “Don’t tell me what I can do, Luc.” Then, to my intense relief, she turned to Judy. “But I do think he’s right. Besides, being married to you would clearly be awful.”
Judy gave a won’t-stand-for-this-disparagement huff. “I beg your pardon. Being married to me is a wonderful experience. That’s why so many people have wanted to do it.”
“I’m with Mum on this one,” I said. “Marriages are like court appearances—the fact that you’ve had a lot of them doesn’t necessarily mean you’re doing them well.”
That didn’t seem to help. “You’re missing out, Odile.”
“Perhaps. But I wouldn’t want to ruin our friendship. And anyway, I do not think I enjoyed being married so much the last time.”
I could see that, but I wasn’t sure I liked the implication. “Do you not think Dad was a bit of an outlier? Like he’s basically the worst person you could possibly have been married to.”
Mum gave me a reassuring pat. “I am sure that is the case, mon caneton. And I am sure that if you and Oliver want to be married, you will be far happier with each other than I was with your father. But for me—I think it is a boat that has sailed.”
There was no melancholy in the way she said it, even if it was in some ways an inherently melancholy sentiment. And Mum was always very adamant that she was proud of the life she’d lived and the choices she’d made. Which was good because I was proud of them too. And I wouldn’treallyhave minded if she’d wanted to marry Judy. Although since it might have put me in line to be Baron Pfaffle, I would at that point have had to admit that Oliver was right and I was posher than I thought.
We bustled back into the guest room and laid down our various offerings on top of the discarded articles of clothing that Bridge had decided shedidn’twant to get married in.
“Well,” said Judy. “Here they are. Not all of them are mine, technically. That one was my sister’s.” She pointed at a long, flowing gown in an ’80s style. “That one was my aunt’s, andthatone, I think, I wound up with after a particularly heavy night of drinking somewhere in Monaco—don’t ask.”
Bridge came hesitantly over and took a look. “Oh,” she said with a tremor in her voice that should have sent ripples through people’s mimosas, “they seem…lovely?”
“No need to be polite,” insisted Judy, for whomNo need to be politewas practically a family motto. “Well aware that half of them are ghastly and the other half are worse, but they aresuitable. And certainly better than wearing nothing at all—and I speak from experience in that regard.”
The bridesmaids gave her a look of collective interrogation.
“It was the sixties, he was American, there was a lot of mud and flowers,” she explained. “All very harmonious, I’m sure, but one does get ratherbitten.”
Bridge was holding dresses up to herself and checking the mirror. “I think this one’s too short.”
“Sixties again,” explained Judy. “Fabulous time.”
“And this one”—she tried another—“might be too frilly.”
“That’s the sister. Frilly woman all around.”
“And this one…” Bridge held up a full-sleeved, almost fairy-tale gown with a train that stayed on the bed as she took the rest of it across the room. “Luc, talk me out of this because this is exactly the dress I wanted when I was nine years old, and nine-year-olds have no taste.”
Judy had a faraway look on her face. “Nowthatis from my 1980s husband. Rich as Croesus, fabulous in bed, otherwise a complete shit.”
“Well”—Mum gave a laconic shrug—“that was the eighties for you.”
“Yes, I don’t know how I’d have got through it if it hadn’t been for the cocaine.”
I looked at the dress. It was definitely…of its era. From a time when if you wanted to show your friends how much better and happier than them you were, you had to blow a ton of money on something vulgar and expensive, instead of just Instagramming yourself in front of something you didn’t really own like we did in our more enlightened age. “It’s… It might be the best option?”
Bridge was staring at herself in the mirror with an expression of profoundly mixed emotions. “Is it wrong that I sort of love it?”
“You can do nothing wrong today,” said Bernadette. “That’s the joy of being a bride.”
Jennifer set down her mimosa and moved to a better vantage point. “I think I unironically like it. It’s got a Princess Diana vibe.”
“Sign of the times,” explained Judy. “All wedding dresses had a Princess Diana vibe for a full decade.”
“Wasn’t precisely a model marriage, though, was it?” Melanie pointed out.
“That wasn’t the dress’s fault,” protested Bridge, suddenly strangely defensive of the honour of a forty-year-old taffeta gown.
Judy clapped her hands. “Well, if you like it, you can absolutely have it. We might need to make one or twotinyadjustments, but that’s why Matron taught me to sew all those years ago.”
