“There’s one over there with Swarovski crystals on the bodice,” my mother says.
“You can wear it,” I mutter.
It was not my idea to come to the bridal salon in Boston. My mother had a dream that revealed us shopping here, in the Priscilla showroom, and after that there was no escaping a trip. She is a big believer in the predictive power of the subconscious.
My mother—who took a week to adjust to the fact that Vanessa and I were a couple—is even more excited about the wedding than we are. I secretly think she loves Vanessa more than she loves me, since Vanessa is the grounded, good-head-on-her-shoulders daughter she never had—the one who can talk about IRAs and retirement planning and who keeps a birthday book so she never forgets to send a card. I think my mother truly believes Vanessa will take care of me forever; whereas with Max, she had her doubts.
But I’m itchy, in this place that’s full of other brides who have weddings without complications. I feel like I’m being smothered by tulle and lace and satin, and I haven’t even tried on a single dress yet.
When the salesclerk approaches us and asks if she can help, my mother steps forward with a bright smile. “My gay daughter’s getting married,” she announces.
I can feel my cheeks burn. “Why am I suddenly yourgaydaughter?”
“Well, I’d think, of all people,you’dknow the answer to that.”
“You never introduced me before as your straight daughter.”
My mother’s face falls. “I thought youwantedme to be proud of you.”
“Don’t make thismyfault,” I say.
The salesclerk looks from me to my mother. “Why don’t I give you a few more minutes?” she asks, and she slinks away.
“Now look at what you’ve done. You’ve made her uncomfortable,” my mother sighs.
“Are youkidding?”I grab a sequined pump from a rack. “‘Hi,’” I mimic. “‘Do you have this shoe for my mother the sadomasochist? She wears a seven and a half.’”
“First of all, I’m not into S and M. And second of all, that shoe is absolutely hideous.” She looks at me. “You know, not everyone is out to attack you. Just because you’re a new member of a minority group doesn’t mean you have to assume the worst about everyone else.”
I sit down on the white couch, in the middle of a mountain of tulle. “That’s easy for you to say. You aren’t getting pamphlets, daily, from the Eternal Glory Church. ‘Ten Tiny Steps to Jesus.’ ‘Straight≠ Hate.’” I look up at her. “You may feel like trumpeting my relationship status, but I don’t. It’s not worth making someone squirm.” I glance at the salesclerk, who is wrapping a gown in plastic. “For all we know, she sings in the Eternal Glory Church choir.”
“For all we know,” my mother counters, “she’s gay, too.” She sits down next to me, and the dresses pouf up around us, a tiny explosion. “Honey . . . what’s wrong?”
To my great embarrassment, my eyes well up with tears. “I don’t know what to wear to my own wedding,” I admit.
My mother takes one look at me, then grabs my hand and pulls me up from the couch and downstairs onto Boylston Street. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“The bride’s supposed to be the focus of all the attention,” I sob. “But what happens when there are two brides?”
“Well, what’s Vanessa wearing?”
“A suit.” A beautiful white suit she found at Marshalls that fits like it was tailored to her. But I have never worn a suit in my life.
“Then I’d think you can wear anything you want . . .”
“Not white,” I blurt out.
My mother purses her lips. “Because you were already married?”
“No. Because—” Before I can say what has been lying smooth and heavy on my heart, like a fresh layer of asphalt, I snap my mouth shut.
“Because what?” my mother urges.
“Because it’s agaywedding,” I whisper.
When Vanessa proposed, I never even thought twice about saying yes. But I would have been entirely happy to get married at a courthouse in Massachusetts, instead of having a big ceremony and reception. “Come on, Zo,” she had said. “There are two times in your life everyone you love comes together—your wedding and your funeral—and I know I won’t have nearly as much fun at the second one.” But even as I sat down every night with Vanessa at the computer to research bands and venues for the reception, I kept thinking I would find the escape hatch, the way to convince Vanessa to just take a vacation to Turks and Caicos instead.
And yet.
