I waited outside while my mother stayed inside, in urgent conversation with Georgia. I smiled to myself. I imagined how surprised she would be when I wore her first choice on the day of our wedding. Despite the aggravation caused by her over the top planning of every event, I really did appreciate my mother and her efforts to make things nice for her family. I almost felt guilty about not giving her the satisfaction of picking the perfect dress. Then I remembered my 16th birthday party.
The rest of the trip was a whirlwind of activity. We registered for china and silverware that we would never use. It was easier to just comply. I tried to argue that none of our friends were going to shop in New York City and my mother insisted some might and also that if you register in Macy’s and Tiffany in New York, you registered in Los Angeles too. “Computers,” she said knowingly.
So we registered.
She bought necklaces for the bridesmaids and flower girl and Andrew’s sisters and mom and my grandmother and anyone else she could think of while we were at Tiffany. I cringed when they told her the total and she handed across her credit card. “I’ve been waiting for this my whole life,” she said. I drew the line at meeting with a floral designer.
“We are not getting flowers in New York!” I insisted.
“No,” she said, “But it may give us some ideas…”
I let her meet with the floral designer and I flopped on the bed in our hotel room. I ignored the pile of Modern Bride magazines my mom had left for me to peruse.
“We have to get the cake figured out next,” she said.
I decided, as I closed my eyes and tried to block out the garish design on the china my mom had insisted I pick, let her pick the cake. By the time the party was over it would be consumed anyway.
********************************************
On the morning of the wedding, I was having my hair and makeup done by the army of stylists my mother had hired. A deliveryman knocked on the door and walked in with a wrapped parcel. “Delivery from Kleinfeld’s,” he said. Behind him marched a camera crew from “Say Yes to the Dress.”
How could I have forgotten the camera crew? Of course, my mother could have given me a heads up before she led them into my dressing room! She hurried off to finalize some details of the wedding I didn't know about yet.
There was another knock on the door and another deliveryman. “Delivery from Kleinfeld’s,” he said.
My head whipped toward the door and the woman applying eyeliner gasped as she drew a black-brown gash across my cheek.
I looked between the two deliverymen with their two parcels from Kleinfeld’s. The camera was trained on my face, eye-liner and all.
The rest of the trip was a whirlwind of activity. We registered for china and silverware that we would never use. It was easier to just comply. I tried to argue that none of our friends were going to shop in New York City and my mother insisted some might and also that if you register in Macy’s and Tiffany in New York, you registered in Los Angeles too. “Computers,” she said knowingly.
So we registered.
She bought necklaces for the bridesmaids and flower girl and Andrew’s sisters and mom and my grandmother and anyone else she could think of while we were at Tiffany. I cringed when they told her the total and she handed across her credit card. “I’ve been waiting for this my whole life,” she said. I drew the line at meeting with a floral designer.
“We are not getting flowers in New York!” I insisted.
“No,” she said, “But it may give us some ideas…”
I let her meet with the floral designer and I flopped on the bed in our hotel room. I ignored the pile of Modern Bride magazines my mom had left for me to peruse.
“We have to get the cake figured out next,” she said.
I decided, as I closed my eyes and tried to block out the garish design on the china my mom had insisted I pick, let her pick the cake. By the time the party was over it would be consumed anyway.
********************************************
On the morning of the wedding, I was having my hair and makeup done by the army of stylists my mother had hired. A deliveryman knocked on the door and walked in with a wrapped parcel. “Delivery from Kleinfeld’s,” he said. Behind him marched a camera crew from “Say Yes to the Dress.”
How could I have forgotten the camera crew? Of course, my mother could have given me a heads up before she led them into my dressing room! She hurried off to finalize some details of the wedding I didn't know about yet.
There was another knock on the door and another deliveryman. “Delivery from Kleinfeld’s,” he said.
My head whipped toward the door and the woman applying eyeliner gasped as she drew a black-brown gash across my cheek.
I looked between the two deliverymen with their two parcels from Kleinfeld’s. The camera was trained on my face, eye-liner and all.
