all the associated frills of visiting a bridal boutique. The velvet sofa, the billowing satin draped behind the mirrors, the plush ivory carpets. This was new to me, the whole bridal thing.
No, that wasn't true. I hadn't forfeited my share of save-the-dates or bachelorette weekends. I'd attended plenty of weddings for camp and college friends. YouTube once taught me how to sew a strapless bra into a bridesmaid dress because alterations weren't in my budget. I'd consumed an ample quantity of Say Yes to the Dress.
However, I'd never witnessed a mother-of-the-bride dressing down a florist or acting as the bride's shoulder of support during her final fitting. I'd never really been in it.
"Don't mention it," I said. "This is fun."
Magnolia stared at her reflection in the trio of mirrors surrounding the pedestal. "It is fun." She said that as if she'd only now realized it. "I have to remind myself it's really just a big party with a random assortment of sacred choreographies to make it difficult but also awesome."
"Don't forget about the embedded patriarchal structures and unattainable social standards," I added with a laugh because we weren't dismantling the marital-industrial complex today. Just kicking a few rocks at it while drinking champagne.
"Right? God save me if I accidentally use my third cousin's colors from her wedding nine years ago or the same first dance song Rob's sister's maid of honor played when she got married. Don't get me started on some of the traditions. I know they have significance to some people but, dude, I arrived at this point through some majorly non-traditional paths and a lot of that stuff feels uncomfortable to me. I'm too old for someone to give me away, you know? And it's not about my dad because he's awesome and he'll do anything I ask." She met my eyes in the mirror. "My father is walking me down the aisle but I couldn't hang with any of the 'who gives this woman' language in the ceremony. I give myself. No one else has that right."
I felt that in my bones. So much that I couldn't respond for a moment for fear of a blubbering flood of words falling from my mouth. Instead, I took a sip of the now-flat champagne and nodded. "That's fair. I get it."
"Thank you for not telling me I'm a selfish wench for not wanting my father to essentially hand off ownership of me to my future husband in front of three hundred people," she replied.
Though there was a part of me that didn't get it, not because I wanted to be given away but because it hadn't crossed my mind anyone would wrestle with the degree to which their father would be involved in their wedding ceremony. I couldn't sympathize with Magnolia too much as I still didn't know what an ordinary father-daughter relationship looked like. To my mind, it was much like wondering how I'd handle an extra toe. You'd paint the nail of course but did you play it up with a ring or anklet or live life like it didn't exist?
I didn't know the answer to that one but I nodded along with Magnolia just the same.
"These are good problems to have. I'm aware of that," she continued. "I'm fortunate to have all this and I shouldn't whine about being given away or abandoning all my anti-diet mindsets to squeeze into this dress. I'm surrounded by blessings and I get to marry my favorite guy in a few days and my life is good."
"But a cheeseburger would be real nice right about now."
Magnolia pointed at my reflection. "Bingo."
From the other side of the shop, Diana called, "Zelda? Zelda, where did you go, dear?"
"We're right here, Mom," Magnolia replied. "Just turn around, take a few steps away from all the white and fluffy stuff, and—there you go. See? We didn't go anywhere."
Diana shot her daughter a huffy glare. "Zelda, I found the most unbelievable dress for you."
"I already found one," I said. "With the spaghetti straps and the full skirt? Floral print, no back?"
"That's for Magnolia's wedding," she replied, clearly amused at my confusion. "This is for your wedding."
I wasn't even drinking the champagne and I choked. "What?" I asked between coughs.
A sales assistant appeared beside Diana, a pool of silvery fabric spilling over her arms.
"You have to try it on," Diana insisted.
My stomach was both in my throat and on the floor. "Oh, I can't—"
"Mom, you're being pushy."
"It's not pushy when it's helpful," Diana replied. "What