Tan wedding

“A guest can’t wear a white dress to a wedding,” said Marion. “A tan dress is fine but white? Never.” 

She was sitting beside me, looking charming in a conservative, sleeveless, knee-length dress that buttoned down the back. The dress looked, to my eyes, white. I have always been a touch colorblind but, previously, my errors had been in distinguishing between green and yellow. White and tan had not given me much trouble, up to now. 

Marion and I were sitting together at a long table, which was covered in blank cards, envelopes, and magic markers. I was struggling to come up with another gift to bestow upon the bride and groom. Three months ago, I ordered the happy couple a fine set of dessert plates from their registry. A few weeks later, I was asked to, and did, contribute to the magical honeymoon in Las Vegas. 

Today, arriving here at the ceremony, the wedding planner led us here to this table, where we were invited to “Fulfil the deepest wishes of Ioana and Chad by proposing an event that they can do together with you, their beloved friends and family. Possibilities include going out to a meal together, seeing a play, or visiting a foreign country.”

Marion sat down beside me and introduced herself. She knew me already from photographs, she said. She was the partner of Cody’s eldest brother, Jeremy. 

“What did you give to fulfil their deepest wishes?” I asked, pointing to the cards. 

“Ah,” Marion smiled. “I love it when my friends think of me on their vacations. So I promised to send Ioana and Chad a postcard from each and every city when Jeremy and I travel across Asia in the autumn.”

For my part, I drew some lovely illustrations, added some thoughtful wishes, and offered to participate in a “stroll in the countryside at sunset.” Time and place to be determined. 

By way of background, Cody and I had met fifteen months ago on a dating website. I wish I could tell you something more romantic. For instance, our eyes locked on our first day at university, we hooked up on spring break in Cancun. Something like that. But, in actual fact, I had already given up on these types of romantic beginnings. Cody and I met on a website. 

Things were going well. Cody possessed the three qualities that I prized in a mate: a job, fidelity, and the wherewithal to consent to a spontaneous weekend away when I suggested one of a Friday afternoon. Each of my previous partners had lacked one or two or (in the case of William) all three of these prized qualities.

Yes, after a year and a quarter I still found Cody stylish enough, funny enough, sensitive enough, smart enough, chatty enough. Independent enough. Hygienic enough. 

The problem was his family. I hadn’t met them. I learned early on that he had two brothers, Chad and Jeremy. After sustained pressure, he conceded to having a father and in the end a mother too. 

I concluded that he was ashamed of them. Now that I am telling you this story, I suppose that, alternatively, he might have been ashamed of me. Frankly, this had never occurred to me. 

Anyways, the months with Cody passed and I never managed to meet his family. Then, at last, big news. Jeremy (the oldest brother) was getting married to his longtime girlfriend, Marion. They had been living in Vancouver together for years and, stable in their careers, had resolved to wed there in Canada and to start a family. Cody received the elegant invitations and RSVP-ed for himself and for me as the plus-one. 

A June wedding on the Pacific. From the weighted invites alone you knew it would be a tasteful affair. There, surrounded by friends and gaiety, in the summer sunsets at the edge of the world, I would be unveiled to everyone. I could familiarise and ingratiate myself. Terrific. I couldn’t wait. 

The wrinkle came in the form of Ioana. A few weeks after Marion dispatched her invitations, Chad and Ioana met in Paris through mutual friends. There was a whirlwind romance on the bridges across the Seine. Chad skipped his flight home, then the replacement flight. Within two weeks, Ioana had been introduced to the parents. Within four, they were engaged. 

Ioana said that she “needed” to be married at Mountview country club in Poughkeepsie, her hometown. The venue was booked for two solid years except for one weekend in April. And so it was that the grand family reunion would be Chad and Ioana’s wedding in Poughkeepsie in April. The June nuptials in Vancouver would be the follow-up, the after-thought.

That’s how we found ourselves in Poughkeepsie, seated on little folding chairs looking up towards the altar. It was a cold Northeast April day. I shivered and instructed Cody to give me his jacket and hold me tighter.  

Chad took his position at the top of the aisle and we waited. I knew that the bride would not arrive in the first ten minutes and so I was not annoyed. Even after twenty minutes, I was willing to give Ioana the benefit of the doubt. But my charity ended at the thirty minute mark. Around me, too, I heard murmurs of dissatisfaction and wailing babies. 

Ioana was a full hour late. I couldn’t feel my legs. Even the priest was cursing by the time she finally showed up. 

Following the ceremony, we were ushered into a little garden area. Weeping willows lined the banks of a thin stream. We were served canapés and I did finally shake hands with Cody’s family. The mother, a heart doctor, was kind but a little awkward. The professor father was gregarious, even a little cloying. 

I was standing and chatting in a large ring with the inner circle - the parents, Cody and Jeremy, Marion, the principal aunts and uncles. Only Ioana and Chad were missing - they were having their photographs taken. Cody’s father, addressing Marion, turned the conversation towards the June wedding in Vancouver. 

Marion blew her cheeks out. “It’s a lot of work,” she said. “The guest list, the invitations, the venue, the catering, the dress - which will now need to be altered again.” She touched her midriff gently with both hands.

The father looked blank but the mother jolted, spilling her wine. 

“Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness!” she cried. “You’re -“

Marion nodded. 

The aunts and uncles began clapping and cheering. The entire wedding party turned and there was a general confusion. Someone asked if an ambulance was needed. Finally, Cody’s father tapped his wineglass.

“My friends and family,” he announced. “Today we are truly blessed. Not only do we welcome Ioana into our family, but we anticipate a brand new life. Marion is pregnant! A girl!”

There was hooting and applause. At this moment, I noticed that Chad and Ioana had appeared at the edge of the garden. Chad was a foot or two behind his new bride, watching her nervously. 

The wedding dinner was in a long hall with wood-panel ceilings and portraits of dead golfers on the walls. Ioana and Chad had been placed at a two-person table at the top of the room. Ioana looked like smoke would soon come out of her ears. A few valiant well-wishers approached their little table but slunk away unhappily after a quick exchange. The best man, a university chum, laboured through his speech, which was probably funny when he wrote it. Ioana seethed. Finally, the dancing started up. Ioana danced but she was visibly still furious. Have you ever seen someone dance an angry chicken? 

It was clear to everyone that the only reasonable response was to get as drunk as possible as soon as possible. We were well on our way and so no one noticed when the bride went missing. 

Suddenly there was a shriek from the kitchen. Cody and I were standing by the double swinging doors and so we barged in: Cody, then me, then the full wedding party behind us. Ioana was standing on one end of the long kitchen alley, eyes narrowed, a drumstick in her hand. At the other end, Marion stood, defiant in her “tan” dress. Beside her was the wedding cake. There was a long silence; no one moved. Suddenly, behind us, someone’s fork clattered onto the kitchen tiles.  

Ioana wheeled back and let the drumstick fly. A direct hit in the middle of Marion’s torso, leaving a brown smudge across her “tan” dress front. Her eyes steady on the bride, Marion reached over for a wad of cake, making a claw mark through the smooth white icing. She balled it like a snowball and hurled it at Ioana. Ioana was retreating quickly now, so the cake hit on her back by the shoulder - above her wedding dress. But, simultaneously, Marion was already advancing like an assassin with a spare gravy boat. With a splash, the folds of Ioana’s white dress were covered in thick brown sauce. 

A general melee ensued. Some of the guests were helping, others were “helping”. A small contingent, like me, were merely watching and trying to stay clean.

The battle ended. Ioana and Chad left in a storm. The caterers were livid at the state of the kitchen. They hadn’t even been tipped. 

Marion was coated in food and I think a little blood. Nevertheless, she grabbed my elbow as she was leaving. 

“Some wedding, hey?” she said. She was smiling, triumphant. 

I saw her off with a little hug. I would see her again in June in Vancouver for a second round. 

Cody and I were left to deal with the caterers but that was fine. It was not to be the last mess that Cody and I were left to tidy up together.