One For the Scrapbook

The dress won’t fit. The. Dress. Won’t. FIT! Why on earth did I eat all of those macaroons twenty-four hours ago? I knew it was a mistake— I should have fasted before the wedding like every other normal woman in America instead of pre-celebrating the night before with my irresponsible friends like teenagers at a slumber party.

I start to panic more as I pace the small dressing room, squeezing my stomach and inhaling as much air as I can. This can’t be happening. I look in the mirror at my panting face, my makeup starting to bead and smear on my forehead and eyelids. NOOOOOOOOOO!

I want to curl up and bawl but know it would only make the situation worse physically and probably emotionally.

“Come on Abraham Hicks, where are you right now? Help me raise my vibrations and manifest a FLAT STOMACH!” I shout at the book on my dressing table, Ask and It is Given. Except I’m asking very loudly, and the universe is not giving.

A knock at the door pushes my fear and frustration over the edge as my eyes well with tears fixed on escaping. I take a deep breath and clear my throat, trying to sound normal.

“Yes?” I squeak, failing.

“Sandy, are you okay?” Jennifer asks as she knocks louder, “Let me in.”

I hesitate, watching the doorknob jiggle.

“Okay, hold on,” I finally say.

I pull up the skirt of my fluffy white dress, the delicate feathers swaying back and forth and unlock the door, tugging at the old antique knob.

Jennifer pushes the door open, her perfect face perfectly made up. I hate her. Why does my Maid of Honor have to be so pretty and I so fat on the day of my wedding?

“Stop looking at me like that,” she says as she enters.

“Like what?” I turn my head away and take my feathers to the other side of the room.

“What’s happening, why haven’t you let me in yet? We need to do the finishing touches on your hair and make-up, and I can’t find your mom anywhere.”

Her eyes widen, “Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet, Sandy!” She points her bony French tip at me threateningly, “This would seriously crush Dan and just between you and me, I don’t think he would forgive you, he’s a Taurus.”

I scoff at her.

“Jennifer, I don’t have cold feet,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Then why aren’t your shoes on yet?” She points to my bare, freshly manicured feet.

“Because my goddamn dress doesn’t fit! I can’t zip it up and I’m not going to get married if I can’t zip it up! And don’t even try to make some stupid suggestion like leaving it half open.”

I sulk to the corner and sit on an ottoman, crossing my arms and facing the wall.

“Why didn’t you text me then? I could have helped you, you fool.”

“Don’t call me a fool on my wedding day, you baboon.”

Best friends since first grade, we still trade childish insults like we do Pinterest recipes now.

“You’re the baboon,” she says, reaching for the zipper on the back of my dress.

“The fabric is stuck at the bottom of the zipper thing. If you had let me help, you would have known that a lot earlier instead of thirty minutes before your own wedding, huh?”

My mouth gapes open and I fight back another round of tears. I hate her and I love her.

“Thank you,” I whimper.

“Stand up.”

I obey and she tugs at the zipper, releasing the fabric and gently, amazingly, zips it centimeter by centimeter until my ribcage is hugged in the thick, lacey fabric.

“I love you so much,” I sob.

“I love you too,” she says, combing out my loose curls with her fingers, “and I got you a surprise,” she grins mischievously.

“What is it?”

“I can’t give it to you right now or else you’d probably ruin your own wedding.”

I look at her with raised eyebrows, expecting an explanation.

“I got some edibles!” She whispers, her eyes wide with excitement.

“Edibles? Why?”

I can’t imagine being stoned at my own wedding, or worse, nauseous and paranoid around a hundred people and my soon-to-be in-laws while wearing a feather dress.

“They’re for your honeymoon, stupid!”

“Oh,” I sit down again let her fix my makeup, “Yeah, that actually does sound good, thank you,” I laugh.

I imagine Dan and I laying on white Caribbean sand, drinking pina coladas and staring at the sunset.

“But only eat like a quarter of one at time, okay? I had them when I went camping with Sam last month and man, I did not know up from down and I only ate half.”

“Okay, thanks for the advice, Pineapple Express,” I smile at her, adjusting my strapless bra without shame.

“And you just gotta remember to take them out of the other dressing room’s mini fridge before you go,” she says while powdering my cheeks and forehead with highlighter.

She snorts, “Imagine if some old couple getting married after you guys happens to eat them.”

“Ha, yeah that would be funny,” I say to myself in the mirror, finally looking like the bride I always imagined. This is actually going to work out okay after all, thank you Abraham.

After a few more minutes of Jennifer helping me with my touch-ups and strapping on my shoes, she leaves to meet the other bridesmaids at the altar. I check my phone and see a text from Dan, making my heart skip a beat.

I know it’s kinda taboo but I really want to kiss my girlfriend one last time before I marry my new wife. Will you meet me in my dressing room an hour before?

I can’t help but smile and feel grateful that I’m marrying such a romantic. I put my phone in my bag and lock the door behind me. I step out of the dressing room and onto decorative Spanish tiles that countless happy brides have walked on before.

A large iron clock on the wall tells me I’m going to be Mrs. Dan Lofter in exactly twenty-minutes. I look down the empty corridor and see his dressing room, the door closed. Is there actually any harm in seeing each other before getting married? I ask myself.

“Dan?” I whisper, trying the knob and opening the door to the darkened room.“I got your text.”

I push open the door and let my eyes adjust to the light. My stomach flips a thousand times at the figures before me, pulling apart and scurrying like mice.

“MOM? What the hell is going on!” I scream.

Her lipstick smudged and dress hanging off one shoulder, my mom stares at me like a fish with red eyes, opening and closing her mouth without words. I then notice Dan is still dressed in his normal everyday clothes, his tuxedo hanging on the back of the door, his face covered in red lipstick.

“Sandy?” Dan asks confused, looking from my mother to me. “I thought…” he gulps and steps back as though he’s going to be sick.

“Yes, Dan, what the hell are you doing!”

He doubles over, clutching at his stomach, “I don’t feel so good.”

“How do you think I feel!” I scream with my arms flailing in the air like a cartoon character.

My mom stumbles over and sits down on a chaise, covering her eyes with a round throw pillow.

“Sandy, honey, if you could just keep it down, I need to take a nap,” she mumbles with the air of sophisticated heiress.

“NO! I don’t know what is going on, apparently I’m in the Twilight Zone and my mom and FIANCEE are…” I can’t even finish my words.

“Sandy! Sandy!” I hear Jennifer screaming my name in the corridor, her voice as panicked as I feel. She stumbles into the dressing room with an empty Ziplock bag in her hand.

“Oh my God, Sandy, somebody ate all the edibles,” she cries.

My head drops as my world continues to rotate upside down.

“Well, I think I know who ate them,” I say dryly, all my saliva somehow evaporated.

“Did they…” she inquires, looking curiously at doubled-over Dan and my passed-out mother.

“Yup,” I say as quietly as possible.

Jennifer reaches for my hand and pets my wrist.

“Oh, Sandy, I’m so sorry,” she squeezes my hand.

After a moment she says softly, “Maybe everyone can wait a little while and we can fix it.”

I swallow hard.

“My mom and fiancée ate all my honeymoon edibles and made out the day of my wedding, Jennifer. I don’t think we can fix this,” I croak.

“Well, this is definitely one for the scrapbook,” she says.