Three and a Half Weeks(196)

“Yeah, well, I’m not pure, for one thing. Plus, I’m right about its origin. You can check it out yourself on the Internet.”

She sniffs. “You shouldn’t believe everything you read on the Internet, Ella. Okay,” she says, apparently dismissing my comments, “so I’ve loaned you an ankle bracelet, so that’s old and borrowed, you have a blue ribbon on your garter belt, your jewelry is all new, courtesy of a generous husband-to-be—all bases are covered. You look absolutely beautiful, Ella.”

Uh-oh. The tears are starting already. “Mom, don’t start or we’ll ruin our make-up and I sat in that chair for almost an hour to have it applied. Stop.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie. Pull on the veil—they’re about to call us.”

We were supposed to get ready in my mom’s hotel suite but things were changed at the last minute. Ian’s parents wanted me to come down their beautiful sweeping staircase a la Scarlet O’Hara. Since that wouldn’t be possible if I arrived by limousine, Faith requested we get ready at the estate.

Four hundred-plus guests could not be squeezed into the entrance foyer so closed-circuit cameras are positioned along my route, with screens mounted outside so the guests can watch my hopefully graceful descent down the staircase. At the foot of it, my father will meet me and escort me outside. Ian won’t be able to see the screens from his vantage point so he won’t see me in my gown until I reach the white-sheeted aisle.



A low but insistent knock on the door snaps me out of my reverie at the mirror. My mom answers it and I can spot Mason just beyond. He smiles and winks at me. Mom turns around. “It’s time to go, Ella.”

Time to go? Already? My heart picks up a warp-speed rhythm and I feel my face perspiring. No! I cannot ruin my make-up. I helplessly look over at Mariah but she can’t seem to rip her eyes away from Mason to lend some assistance. I’m only the bride, after all.

I glance back at my mother. “Shouldn’t I take some Valium or Xanax or something, Mom? I’m terrified.”

“No, honey, because then you’ll be in a drugged stupor.” She looks around. “I know! Hang on for one minute.” She goes to the door and calls for Mason. He returns, they confer, and he nods.

“Just hang tight, sweetie,” my mom says as Mason disappears again.

About three minutes later, Mason returns with a tray of flutes filled with champagne. “Thank you, kind sir,” my mother tells him and accepts the tray. There are four glasses, one for each of us. I should just take Mariah’s and have two since she isn’t being a very attentive maid of honor.

“Give me that glass,” I say, and down it in one swallow.

“Ella, for God’s sake!”

“Mom, what part of I’m terrified didn’t you understand? There are four hundred freaking people down there. What if I trip on my gown and dive down the stairs head first? Then what?”

“Then we make a trip to the ER. You’re more likely to do that with the champagne on board,” she says wryly.”

“Then why on earth did you give it to me?” I snap.

“Oh, God. If you’re like this today, I don’t want to be around you when you’re giving birth, Ella. For crying out loud, you’re going to be married, not walking to the electric chair.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” I say, feeling seconds away from breaking down. I am seriously stressed.

Mariah leans in to whisper in my ear. “Just chill the fuck out, girlfriend. You’re getting crazed and frightening your mother. Take a deep breath and think about who is at the end of this walk, waiting for you.” She pulls back to look at me. “Okay?”

I nod. Yes, she’s right. I’m freaking out and have to stop.



We all go into the hallway. I’m relieved to feel comfortable walking in the shoes and the gown. I can do this, I think. Too soon we reach the staircase and form a line, starting with my mother, followed by Zoe, and then Mariah. Then… it’s my turn. I should have had a bigger bridal party—easier to get lost in the crowd.

The music begins as my mother descends the long, winding staircase. The volume is low as we all make our way down, ten seconds apart. It was timed so that one would reach the bottom when the next begins her way down. They wanted me on the stairs alone so I have to count to fifteen.

Now I’m at the top and I watch as Mariah nears the bottom of the staircase. As soon as she’s off, my father appears, looking up at me. I take my first step, focusing on nothing but my dad’s face. It helps. In my head, I count the steps. I know there are twenty-four steps. I reach my dad and he takes my hand, kisses it, and passes it through the crook of his arm.