Page 86 of Fathers of the Bride
“He’s still married to me,” I said.
Jeffery looked at each of us and said, “The three of you are almost as bad as the Lincoln-Collinses.”
“I heard that,” Pudge yelled.
“Me too,” Lissa called out after her.
“That’s not very sensitive.”
Lowering his voice, Jeffery added, “They’re obviously not in a polyamorous relationship. Which I would respect. But since they’re not, I don’t have to.”
“Since you’re here,” I said. “What exactly is a polyamorous relationship? They didn’t have those when I was young.”
“Well, it means that you’re capable and interested in maintaining more than one romantic relationship,” Jeffery explained.
“Oh, we did have those, we just called them—” I stopped myself before I used one of the many derogatory words for the sexually adventurous.
Andy poured himself a glass of champagne, saying, “It’s like an open relationship, but you all have dinner and talk about your feelings.”
“That’s a little reductive,” Jeffery explained to Andy’s back. I noticed he seemed a bit on edge—Andy not Jeffery. He kept peeking around the corner to the lobby and glancing at his phone. I walked up behind him and asked, “Do you need the men’s room?”
“No, I donotneed the men’s room.”
“All right, fine. You seem antsy.”
“I’m just excited about seeing Kelly’s dress.”
“Well, I think we’re all excited about that.” I glanced over at Raj and Jeffery who were chatting amiably. “It looks like your friend is making a friend.”
Andy shrugged. “Or a follower. Though I don’t think he knows the difference.”
“Can you believe Pudge is still trying to co-opt the wedding? She’s so controlling. I can’t imagine how Avery stands her.” He wasn’t paying any attention to me. He was fidgeting again and looking out toward the lobby. “Really, Andy, just go to the men’s room. There’s no shame in it. At our age, it becomes more freq—”
He walked away from me down toward the lobby. A little offended, I wandered over to the wall of cotton duck blocking off the dressing room and eavesdropped.
“I can’t believe you got it on the first try,” I heard Kelly say.
“I just listened to you. That’s all.” That was Timpani.
“But I barely said anything.”
“What can you tell us about the dress?” That was Pudge, gruff and demanding.
“It’s vintage satin, lace and tulle. Originally used on separate dresses which were rescued from a Santa Barbara bridal shop going out of business ten or fifteen years ago. We’ll need to take the bodice in a bit. If you like it, that is.”
It sounded wonderful. Why weren’t they opening the drape? Obviously, Kelly was dressed.
“What would you do with that hair?” Martha asked in a not very nice way. I mean, yes, Kelly’s hair was in a messy in-between stage and there was no time to grow it out. Which was no reason to be snarky.
Timpani could have been reading my mind when she said, “I’d go with a severe cut. Something very sixties.”
I almost yelled out ‘Mia Farrow, Mia Farrow.’ Not that I’m a huge fan, but thatRosemary’s Babylook. Oh my God!
“Really?”
“And a pearl headband holding the veil in place.”
And then, Timpani pulled back the drape and Kelly was standing there in the loveliest dress. Long lace sleeves, a scalloped modest neckline, tailored lace bodice—which did need to come in a little, layers and layers of tulle over a satin skirt. The hem was the perfect length. She looked just like a girl in a magazine. Or she would after a haircut. And a touch of makeup.
