It Had To Be You – Catherine Lockstone
Synopsis: A memoir of a special day, replete with accidental juicing and a healthy dash of chaos.
Genre: Comedy
Location: Wedding
Object: Oven Mitt
As I fumbled into my lacy poof of a dress in front of the brocante mirror, Josephine angrily signed at me “You haven’t done THE FOUR THINGS”. My sister could be silent and still yell at me, one of her more irritating traits.
I can look back on my wedding day with several years of perspective and see it all very differently. I’m not sure how I ended up in a place where I had closely held opinions about the color of the edging on the name cards for the reception tables.
We anguished over those tables for weeks on end. What if Uncle Ernie were to finally tell Aunt Tabatha what he really thinks of her topiary obsession? Cousin Walter’s well-rehearsed monologue on ills he perceives in society did not need yet another audience. The tables filled with friends of the Mother of the Groom. My college roommate, his ex-neighbor, our cat sitter – the lists just went on and on. Tables one to fifteen, ten per table, peccadillos noted and catered for, all planned. Pink sugar coated almonds or purple foil wrapped chocolates in the matte or shiny white boxes? Should the table runners be sage green or lime green? Should the bows on the chairs match the table runners?
When I agreed to marry my partner of nearly twelve years, it wasn’t clear that I would, a few months later, be standing in front of a mirror with an anachronistic symbol of the patriarchy perched akimbo on my too fluffy hair. My best friend and companion in many an adventure, our relationship is egalitarian and adoring and precious to us both. The reason I’m looking like Wedding Barbie is all down to his mother. And to spread the responsibility, he can’t say no to her and I guess I got lost in trying to make everyone happy.
So there I was, trying to remember exactly what the “four things” were that I had forgotten.
“Number one – something old. Number two – something new. Number three – something borrowed. Number four – something blue.” Josephine was trying to be patient with me but I could tell how important this was to her. Josephine was always one of those girls who imagined this day to the nth degree. I had hoped and prayed for my prince charming, but there was no “fantasy wedding” scenario end to my story.
“You’re late Charlotte. You’re really very late.”
“For a very important date?” I don’t think the charming twinkle in my eye had the desired effect on my sister as a flurry of irritation came back at me.
I could hear the music starting in the main hall. I could hear people gathering. And I was supposed to indulge in a superstitious scavenger hunt? I did a second check that everything that was supposed to be buttoned was buttoned, and took off for the only place I could think of – the kitchen.
Can you imagine the scene? A kitchen full of focused people prepping for a fine-dining wedding reception for 150, and in bursts a frantic meringue, red cheeked and out of breath. I was panicked and rushing and if I’m honest I was pretty damn hungry too. The first thing I saw was a tatty blue oven mitt – and I knew in a flash I had something old, borrowed and blue all in one hit. I grabbed it off the oven rail and rummaged under my skirts to position it as a makeshift bustle. Now. I needed something new. I saw lots of things way too bulky – mixers, new pans, platters – and I could hear the first strains of Mendelssohn on the organ.
Perhaps it was fate, who knows, but as I desperately looked for options I spotted a bowl of ripe, freshly picked plums. All that meal planning – they’d be heading in to roast and serve with a cheese tart as part of one of our meticulously thought through starters for dinner. I grabbed a plum – something new! – and shoved it down into my bra, nestled in nicely.
I ran out and reassured Josephine of my success as we tumbled to the door and she started her walk up the aisle.
The ceremony was a blur. I didn’t promise to obey. We had tried to edit as much of the antiquity out of the service as possible. I remember Andrew’s face when he saw me – even though I was ruddy cheeked and my hair wasn’t quite right and my dress was a bit tousled and I know I looked like a deer in the headlights. His hair was on lock down, no doubt his mother was seeing her little boy on his first day of school. Andrew’s eyes told me why I was doing all this mess – I saw my love reflected back at me.
Once conjoined in matrimony, we ran the gauntlet of well-wishers. I felt like I had almost made it through whatever this day was destined to be when my new mother-in-law pulled me in for a hug. Every second went into slow-mo for me as our chests made contact and I remembered the plum. As the embrace tightened I felt the squish and release of the plum and looked down to find juice staining the front of my dress, and hers. I looked up and saw Josephine’s face stretch into a gasp – as she realized what my last second innovations in the kitchen had yielded. My very prim mother-in-law pulled out of our hug to find matching stains on her carefully chosen ensemble, and at that precise moment I wanted nothing more than to be swallowed whole by the dance floor.
I could see my mother-in-law start to take full measure of exactly what her family had bargained into when Andrew stepped in between us. He tenderly placed a kiss on his mother’s head. “I’m sure there is a story Mum, there always is.”
Oh Andrew, there is a story.