Why did I even bring this up? Surely, it won’t get me out of his interrogation but will only bring more!
“I don’t know if I could agree to that.” He leaned closer, as if inspecting my face for clues of deception. “I haven’t heard anything about a guy you’re courting.”
Courting.I flashed my eyes heavenward.Are we back in the Renaissance?
“You know of him. It’s Nick, my friend I meet for Christmas every year,” I divulged, thankful I had so much knowledge of Nick, I could answer questions about him for days. “We didn’t really date, because it’s long distance. It just came up.” I blew a breath, letting my gaze fall to the floor, as I struggled to make this all sound not insane. I tacked on, “He works in an office. He’s from Vermont but lives in New York, and he's a huge Jets fan.”
“I’m going to need to meet him.” His cadence sounded more like a question than a statement.
“You totally can,” I said reassuringly as I pushed my sleeves back, trying to let some air in. Suddenly I was feeling a tad warm. “You will . . . meet him. Sometime. We were so excited to get married and start our lives together we couldn’t wait to plan a big day.” I clumsily elbowed him while I tacked on a grin. “As you said, my clock’s ticking.”
He stared off into the room, letting the silence linger. I was about to start blubbering out more details, but he pulled his gaze back to lock on mine, and I sucked in a hard breath. Moisture in his steel blue eyes. My dad, theMarine, had tears in his eyes. His voice came out hushed, “I don’t believe my baby girl is finally getting married.”
I tugged my lips into a toothy grin, feeling the guilt of lying to my dad take hold of me but I managed to squeak out, “Yeah, isn’t it fantastic.”
He reached out, placing his arm around me, squeezing me into a loving hug, and pinning me tightly. My dad, theMarine, was getting emotional!
“It’s not the way I’d imagined it,” he whispered, but since his mouth was close to my ear, I heard him perfectly. “I would have hoped to be able to walk you down the aisle, but if it’s what you want, I’ll give you my blessing.”
“It is.” My voice was weak, afraid he could decipher my untruthfulness.
He did that crazy, tell-tale thing they do in movies where people blink, and lightly touch their eye like they have a loose eyelash, but everybody knows they are fighting back a tear. Instead of getting mad about the deception, it makes everyone in the audience cry sooo much harder. I wasn’t on the verge of crying, though. Not even close because I wasn’t actually getting married. Okay, maybe I had a small tear.
“I’ve been holding onto something,” he started, but then stopped to take a dramatic swallow, which did not affect the sting in my eye! “I have something for your wedding day and since I won’t be there, I’d like to give it to you now.”
“I don’t—” I tried to shake my head no, but the look on my father’s face was one of joy, mixed with pride, and wrapped up in love.I can’t break his heart now!I could come up with a left-at-the-altar story later for when I came home without a husband, but right at this moment, I saw how much this meant to him. Swallowing my guilt, I smiled sweetly back at him and said, “I’d be honored to get any gift from you.”
My dad wasn’t ever much of a giver when it came to material items. He was apull yourself up by your bootstraps and pay your own wayguy. Even for birthdays and Christmas I never got anything extravagant. A replenishment of socks, maybe some pajamas and books, or a single DVD or doll I had on my wish list. Gifts were always practical, and just in time, so this seemed odd, especially since I hadn’t even come close to getting engaged. That he said he had planned something and even saved it for years for my wedding was so far from his character, my entire interest was piqued, and I followed him up to his room.
I slowed my steps as I passed by my old room, still preserved exactly how’d I left it, with Justin Bieber posters on the walls and giant fake sunflowers shoved in every available space. I cringed, thinking the least he could do was shut the door or better yet remodel it into an office.
He waved me inside his room, saying, “It’s right in here.”
Pausing against the door, my curiosity was full speed when he opened the bi-fold closet doors, passing over his rows of pressed suits and sweaters until he got all the way to the end and retrieved a hanger sealed with a thick garment bag that hung to the floor. It was beige, plain and had matched the dull wall paint. It blended in so much I had never noticed it hanging there, even though I did recall the many times I—in my younger days—had hidden in his closet for hide-and-seek.
He carried the garment bag with two hands—one holding the hanger and the other hand preventing the bottom from dragging on the floor—as he walked it over to his king-size bed, neatly made with tight military corners. Without a word from his sealed lips, he unzipped it from the bottom and pulled out a dress. I didn’t have to touch it to know the fabric had to be the most expensive silk with a lace overlay skirt that wrapped at the waist and flowed out. It was officially dated in terms of fashion trends, but I didn’t care. It was beautiful.
It wasn’t so much the dress that made the air in my chest grow shallow, but I sensed my dad was about to open up about something he’d never told me. He wasn’t a man of many words, and most of his personal life was private. I remained respectfully quiet while he started his story with slow, carefully selected words.
“As you know, your mother and I never had a proper wedding. We said vows in the church rectory weeks before I got shipped to Iraq. Your mother had this dress but refused to wear it. She said it wasn’t right for our little make-shift ceremony, and she wanted to save it for a big wedding. I’ll never understand God’s timing, but maybe he knew I’d need you. When I shipped out, we already knew you were on your way.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, stretching his leg out as if his knee had been bothering him more than usual, and continued, “When I came home, I found this dress still hanging in the closet here, and I asked her to try it on. Shefreakedout, sobbing, so upset that I had seen it. I know what they say. How a groom wasn’t supposed to see the dress, but we were already married with a baby. She refused to wear it until the ‘big’ wedding day, but she didn’t want to set a date for our big wedding until she lost the baby weight. Such a perfectionist for details, but I didn’t argue because I thought we’d have all the time in the world to make these memories . . .”
He lowered his gaze back to the dress, his lashes hooding his eyes perfectly so I couldn’t see his inflections, but I heard a remorseful tone in his words. “No one tells you the things that hurt the most are the memories you didn’t make. If I’d known then she would have a fatal seizure, I'd have made her wear the dress. Not just to the wedding, but at home, while we danced in front of the fire. Or shoot, I’d make her wear it to run through the rain, if I’d known that was her last chance.” He raised his eyes to mine, and even though I’d expected them to be moist because mine were stinging, his were dry. It wasn't insensitivity, though. It was stoic. A deep line creased between his eyes, and he spoke in a stern voice, “Charlotte, life’s too shortnotto wear the dress. Don’t wait for perfection. Life is best lived pushing through the imperfections.”
I swallowed hard, pushing down an entire flood of tears that threatened to tsunami down my face. I knew my mother had died from a seizure and that wasn’t new. Throughout my entire life, I’d always wondered what moments would be like if my mother had been there. I never wanted for anything, but I always felt something was missing. This was the first time, I’d ever heard my dad speak of his loss. I’d never looked through his eyes and seen how hard that would have been for him, to do all the things with me, without Mom.
Although his story was a recollection of what he had lived, I knew it was purposely married with metaphors he wanted me to understand as life advice. He’d been nagging me for years to get married and have a family. I always assumed he didn’t want me to be one of those old ladies who talked to vegetables. I saw his plight differently now. He’d been storing my mother’s wedding dress all these years, and it had to be a haunting reminder of everything they put on hold for a better time, to eventually have no time left.
“What is anybody ever really waiting for?” His question hit me like a truck while his eyes pierced through the remaining layer of composure I had left.
His question had a haunting rhythm to it. I didn’t want to waste my life waiting to make the memories, only to eventually run out of time. Reaching forward, I lightly grazed my fingers across the edge of the dress collar. It truly was the most beautiful dress I’d ever seen. Even though I didn’t remember my mother, because I was a baby when she passed, I knew she would have been the most beautiful woman ever in this gown.
My dad’s soft voice broke my thoughts. “I’m proud of you, Charlotte, for living your life. Promise me you’ll wear the dress.”
I ran my tongue along my lips, hoping it would make my words come out easier. Even though he was in control of his emotions, this conversation had caused my eyes to burn. I always thought my dad was a grump. I had no idea he was sentimental about this stuff.I’m going to suffer dearly for these lies!I blinked, securing the tears back as I mustered my reply, “I’ll wear the dress.”
four
