Page 2 of A Smart Girl's Guide to Second Chances
I wished that my two best friends, Lily and Stella, had been able to come to the fitting to diffuse Mum’s energy. But Lily and Stella both had young kids and I knew that for them just getting to the wedding was going to require a military-style operation. In our thirties, weddings had transfigured from ‘bacchanal’ to ‘logistics’.
‘Or,’ I continued, ‘they’ve got five weeks to make a new one.’ I stepped off the pedestal they’d placed me on to pin in my dress.
‘So you don’t think the wedding is starting to feel a bit...’
I could see Mum casting around for a synonym for ‘cursed’. I cut her off before she could find one. ‘Do we have to go over the agreed-upon “Rules of Rebecca and Matt’s Wedding” again?’ I asked. I didn’t wait for her to reply. ‘Number one: you’ll try to get on with Matt’s mum.’
Mum pouted. ‘But she’s just so... nice!’ she said. ‘I’m convinced she’s secretly a serial killer.’
I suppressed a giggle. Matt’s mum was unrelentingly lovely. Jane was the kind of woman who’d drive across town to drop off some windfall lemons from her tree.
‘Number two: there will be no mentions of the curse. Because there is no family curse. Curses aren’t a real thing.’
‘I’m just being silly, darling. And of course, “curse” isn’t quite the right word.’
‘Exactly,’ I said.
‘Though itisinteresting that all the women in our family didn’t marry their first fiancé.’ Mum counted on her fingers. ‘There’s Grandma Evelyn, her sister, my cousin – and me.’
When I was a teenager, my grandma had sat me down and told me that it was family lore that all the female members of our family were doomed to never marry our first fiancé. But that wasn’t all! No, she went on – our engagements would break off and, in a fit of unbridled passion, we would marry another man instead. And that other man would be all wrong for us.
Some teenage girls got a bat mitzvah or a confirmation service. In our family we got a curse.
‘Who believes in curses anyway? Apart from Greek yiayias and people in Disney movies?’ I asked.
‘Many people believe there are things in the world beyond their understanding. That they aren’t in control ofeverything.’ She gave me a pointed look.
Before I could reply, a woman emerged from a fitting room wearing an ivory silk dress with a corset top and princess skirt. When her mother, who’d been waiting nervously on the edge of a white suede couch, saw her daughter, her hands flew to her mouth and tears began to stream down her face. Though she tried to speak she was clearly overcome. The bride’s lips were now wobbling too.
‘Do you love it?’ the mother finally managed to get out as she pawed at the mascara that had welled under her eyes.
‘I do. It’s perfect. I just... know this is the one,’ the bride said, her own eyes now glistening. ‘This. Is. It. I feel it. It’s everything I’ve dreamed of!’
‘Oh, my darling girl!’ She threw her still-shaking arms around her daughter. Then, entwined like an emotional DNA strand, they both jigged up and down, joy radiating off them.
Mum and I pretended not to watch, but we had both fallen silent, transfixed.
‘You do loveyourdress, don’t you?’ Mum asked.
I pulled my gaze away from the Gilmore Girls.
‘Of course they’ll alter it. But you love it, right? Because you’re meant to wear something that makes you feel like the best version of you on your wedding day, not just something that... you think will do the job. You can’t be sensible about your wedding dress – you have to fall madly in love with it,’ Mum said, her voice laden with meaning, as she hitched up one of the too-long silk straps that had fallen off my shoulder.
‘Did you love your wedding dresses?’ I asked. Mum had married Dad in an eighties meringue that would have done Princess Di proud. Then she’d married her second husband, Hamish, at a simple town hall ceremony – a move that was very out of character for a woman who felt the urge to celebrate everything. I hadn’t been there but had seen the photos. Mum, whose favourite colour was the rainbow, had worn a simple duck-egg-blue shift dress.
‘This isn’t about me, darling,’ Mum said. ‘All I’m saying is that it’s never too late to change your mind.’
‘This dress ticks everything on my list. One, I can wear a proper bra under it; two, I won’t have to go on a juice cleanse to fit into it; and three, I’ll be able to sit down.’
‘I’m not sure that happiness is as simple as ticking off everything on a list,’ she said.
I took a deep yin-yoga breath.
‘I am happy, Mum. The dress is great. And in five weeks, I’m going to marry Matt in it. Well, in a version of it that doesn’t make me look like an “after” shot in an ad for Ozempic,’ I said, as I began to swish towards the dressing room to get changed back into my navy suit.
‘Then I’ll be the one who breaks the family curse,’ I added under my breath. In just over a month, I was marrying my first (and last) fiancé. There were going to be no broken engagements.
‘Well, I’m glad you’re in love with the dress!’ Mum called after me as I yanked the coral velvet curtains shut, wishing my bridal boutique energy was more elegant, chic lady than petulant teenager.
