All They Want Is A Bride

Shoulders back, lift the chin, and don’t forget to smile. Today will go perfectly, I know it will. The guests have almost all arrived, the flowers are beautiful, and the dress fits like a glove. Breathe. Everyone gets nervous before they get married…or so I was told. But these aren’t nerves, they’re just butterflies – one million butterflies sitting in the pit of my stomach. It’s fine, everything is fine. Now, smile.

I watch as the reflection of my face splits in two, showcasing a set of perfectly straight teeth, lifting my cheekbones just the right amount, and puffing my eyes just so, resulting in a spark of excitement along my irises. The rays of the sun radiate off of my freshly oiled skin, curating a glow along my dimples that trickles down along my jaw. Truly a captivating vision. But…the smile doesn’t quite reach my eyes, and the excitement could be misconstrued as panic from a certain angle, and my lips, having just lost their shimmer, were quivering ever so slightly. 

I let the expression drop and release a small sigh. This is nothing new – just smile, I chastise. I part my lips again in another attempt but give up halfway through, opting to just look at my face. There aren’t any imperfections that I can see: my face has been washed, and my brows have been plucked…except for a loose strand of hair that catches my attention and I promptly push it back into place. My eyes drift to the hair piece pinning one half of my hair behind my ear, glinting in the afternoon sun. Phantom hands caress my temple as I hear Grandmother’s soft, gravelly voice, “There. As beautiful as a flower, Tesoro.” I inhale deeply. That interaction just this morning feels like a lifetime ago and I take another deep breath as I go to touch the cluster of pink, rose-shaped diamonds, trying not to disturb the hair itself. A treasured heirloom passed down to brides through the generations.

“Five minutes until you have to be at the doors. Your grandmother’s making sure the priest has the right version of the vows so you probably have about ten,” a soft voice calls, slipping through the space of the slightly open door. 

It startles me and I drop my hand, smoothing out the crease between my brows as I say, “No, if she said five then I’ll be down in five. Thanks, Leo.”

I pick up my mother’s brush and gently rake it through my hair, letting it fall over my shoulder, and I find myself taking in the expanse of the vanity: the ancient, beautifully crafted jewelry box, the matching, equally as beautiful music box, and the small bouquet of roses sitting in their vase. Those phantom hands once again caress my shoulders, A token of our namesake for this special day, Tesoro. And what better way to celebrate than with the song of our people? Our people, our community, who’re all showing up for this very special occasion. 

The tune had since stopped playing, the woman, with her arms down at her sides and her palms upturned, stands stationary in the shallow cavern. The lilting notes of the almost haunting melody have always brought me comfort, even this morning among the bustle of fixing my hair and dress, but I close the lid, not wanting to hear even the slightest hint of strain, and I shut my eyes against a forming knot in my stomach. I breathe deeply as I return the brush to its original spot.

“Are you okay?” Leo’s voice, closer now, forces my face into one of neutrality as I meet his gaze in the mirror.

I grin weakly and feel my spine straighten on its own accord. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You just don’t seem like you’re about to get married, is all,” he says, shrugging as he shoves his hands into his pants pockets. “Looks like you’re about to be sick.”

“Just butterflies.” I busy myself with pulling earrings out of the jewelry box and fastening them onto my ears.

I hear Leo sigh and can sense him rubbing his eyes. “If you don’t want to do this, we can leave right now. I’ll have you out of here before the sun sets,” he says, and although I know he’s serious, there’s a hint of laughter in his words. 

And for a moment – just a moment – I find myself wondering. What would it feel like to just leave? No explanations, or hard conversations. What would it be like to just walk away? To put this dress back into Grandmother’s closet and lock the door forever? It would be new, of course; uncertain, even. Maybe…

I blink away the thought. “Not what a bride wants to hear on her wedding day,” I say in an attempt at humor. “It’s fine – I’m fine. Everyone’s here already and Alessio’s waiting.” I stand, and try to smooth the nonexistent wrinkles on the white satin.

“But nobody is forcing you to go through with this. You don’t have to–”

I turn sharply. “Grandmother says that Alessio is a good man, Leo. He’s willing to help us, and he seems nice, so why wouldn’t I marry him? A union like this is beneficial to the community, and Grandmother says it’ll allow us to grow. So please, stop.”

Leo raises his hands in surrender, sighing as he turns to leave. He stops briefly and says, “You can still change your mind is all I was trying to say.” And with that, he disappears down the hall.

I shake my head. I don’t need thoughts of doubt clouding my mind. This is a good thing, I think, though my voice sounds a little too similar to Grandmother’s. I take one last look in the mirror before I follow. My heels scrape against the wood floors as I descend the winding staircase, and it’s an effort to keep from looking down as the eyes of my family track my every movement. I smile graciously.

When I reach them, I’m met with an onslaught of hugs and kisses and tears. My sisters greet me  and tell me how beautiful I look; my mother and father sandwich me in their embrace, my father blubbering too much to get any words out, all the while my mother tries to console him and compliment me at the same time; my aunt, uncle and cousins envelope me in a whirlwind of excited chitchat, each taking turns with their hugs and kisses. And then I turn as Grandmother floats over to me, embracing me in her strong arms. I tense just the slightest amount, but my smile feels very close to genuine. She pulls back and cups my face in her hands, her eyes sliding over every inch of me, beginning from the crown of my head to the hem of my dress, her expression growing more and more pinched. I wince and brace for the streamline of critiques that are sure to follow, but she only lifts her hand and flips a single hair strand from right to left. And then she smiles. And then I smile, my shoulders slumping in relief that I have not disappointed her.

“You are perfect, Tesoro. The perfect bride. They will be so pleased,” she says, her gravelly voice filled with satisfaction. The rest of my family seem to release a collective breath and erupt into animated chatter.

Grandmother turns and extends her hand expectantly as my sister rushes to hand over the bouquet. She fixes the flowers slightly before taking my hands and locking my fingers around the cold stems. She takes me by the elbow and stations me directly in front of the doors that conceal the aisle and room beyond. My family begins to filter out through a side door, departing with words of love and well wishes. And it’s as I’m staring at the closed double doors, that my eyes start to fill with tears.

“Shoulders back.” Grandmother’s hands pull at my bare skin. “Lift the chin.” Her fingers tilt my head slightly upward. “And don’t forget to smile, Tesoro,” she breathes soothingly. She brushes my hair to fall over my shoulder. “Make us proud.” 

Then she’s gone. And I’m left alone. Alone…and about to be married to a man I don’t really know. I can feel my heartbeat in my throat as a prickle of sweat begins to form at my hairline. Breathe. What will our marriage be like? Alessio didn’t object to the prospect of marriage, but is this something he even wants? Am I what he wants? Just breathe. Is he caring and compassionate, or is he stern and cold? Will he take my hand as we walk to the market or will he insist on traveling alone? Will I be able to go out on my own? Just try to breathe.

I hear the music begin to play and any minute the door will open. Get it together, I reprimand, trying to take deep breaths. 

I will never be able to meet anyone else, and if I do… Alessio’s ring will forever tie us together, bound for eternity, one of the poets said. Will I be my own person?

The doors open and I try to school my features as I begin the seemingly long trek to the altar – to my future, waiting for me. I feel the tears once again rim my eyes, but I cannot bear to let anyone see me cry. I look down at the flowers in my hand, the red rose seeming to fill more space than it should. 

“You are a gift, Tesoro, a gift not only to your family but to everyone in our community. One day, you will help us prosper, but for now, you have many responsibilities to fulfill. Stay focused and make us proud.”

“Shoulders back and lift the chin, Tesoro. Walking should feel like floating when done right, and more importantly it should look like floating. And don’t forget to smile.”

“The clothes should complement the complexion, not contrast it. And the hair, the hair must accentuate the face, not hide it.”

“You do not interrupt and you do not speak above the appropriate volume. It just isn’t done.”

“Make us proud, Tesoro.”

The memories hit me with a force so strong that I stumble only the tiniest bit, but it’s enough to elicit small gasps from the guests around me. 

Make us proud. A sentiment always whispered, encouraged, demanded. It has been the foundation of every aspect of my life. The basis of a product of someone else’s design. There has never been any room for error, never been room for a single misstep.

Nobody is forcing you to do this. A statement so true and yet so far from it. 

I don’t want this, I never wanted this. The confession rattles around in my head and I can’t breathe. My carefully crafted, carefully practiced composure slips and I’m overwhelmed with the need to run, run, run. Someone begins to say something, but it falls on deaf ears as I turn and sprint out of the church, leaving the uproar behind.

I run and run and I don’t look back for even a single second. I run all the way to the water, a sort of manic laughter bursting its way out of me in a way I never dared laugh before. As I reach the sand, I kick each leg into the air and watch my shoes fly in opposite directions and land among the soft grains. I laugh again and race to the shore, the water cooling my heated flesh and soaking into the hem of my dress. I bend and scoop water onto my arms and then onto my face, feeling the oil slide off of me while I watch the surface glitter under the burning sun. And I hear a slight splash.

I look down and see the hairpiece shimmering in the water, half buried in the seabed, and I crouch to pick it up, staring at the cluster of diamonds. I know I’ve disappointed Grandmother, beyond any reconciliation I could offer, and I wait for the blanket of guilt and shame to wrap around my mind, the hairpiece growing heavier and heavier in my hand as I watch the ocean kiss my ankles. I wait and I wait but the guilt and shame never surface. Instead, I feel the seabreeze carry away all that immense weight and leave me with a steady heartbeat and a broad smile. 

I raise my arm back above my head and chuck the jeweled roses as far into the reef as I can. I inhale deeply and sink to my knees, letting the water surround my waist fully as it washes onto the shore. I close my eyes and laugh once again. This is happiness.

“Signorina?”

I open my eyes, and find the priest looking at me expectantly. My eyes drift to Alessio standing tall and as firm as a wall in front of me. My hands are in his, his ring on my left finger. I can feel the eyes of my grandmother on me. 

Make us proud.

“I do,” I say, my quivering voice barely audible.

“You may now kiss your bride.”

I close my eyes, as I’m supposed to do, and I feel his lips, warm and unyielding, press against mine for the first time. I feel my saltwater tears slide down my cheeks.

Outside the church, as we’re receiving our congratulations, my grandmother floats toward the both of us and gives each of our hands a light squeeze.

My family approaches Alessio and starts up an amicable conversation, my father trying to look stern even as his tears leave dark tracks along his face.

“Well done, Tesoro. You are truly the most perfect bride,” my grandmother tells me softly.

I look at her as she diligently wipes my newly forming tears away.

“A picture of the bride and groom!” someone calls from the crowd and everyone chirps their agreement.

Alessio and I are ushered to stand in front of the double doors and he offers me the crook of his arm to hold. I take it and look at him. He smiles sadly at me before turning to face the guests. 

I follow suit, and smile as I’m supposed to.