You Don't Own Me(114)

‘Simple!’ my mother explodes. ‘Where’s the fun in that?’ She throws her hands up animatedly. ‘This is a once-in-a-lifetime event. Who are you to deny yourself the best and most beautiful wedding dress possible on your big day?’

My mother is right. A wedding should be fun. Every gypsy wedding that I have attended, even the tackiest, most over-the-top ones with white stretch-limos and chocolate fountains have been far more enjoyable, exciting, and dramatic than any of the elegant, color-coordinated, chair-covered, non-gypsy ones. And when I think back, a sedate wedding is classy and admirable, but it is the big gypsy weddings that are unforgettable.

I look at Thelma. ‘You know what, I will have that big ball gown after all.’

But Thelma is not the queen of the gypsy bridal dress for nothing. ‘I can do you a mermaid wedding dress and make your mother happy too,’ she declares confidently.

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really.’

And she is as good as her word. The very next day she comes back with two sketches. Ma and me agree on a fit-and-flare design with a sweetheart neckline, pearls on the bodice, and hundreds and hundreds of taffeta handkerchiefs sewn together to make the billowing skirt and train. It comes with a little bolero for the church. The whole ensemble is in shades of oyster.

In a week Thelma calls me for my first fitting. The three of us drive over to her shop. It is exciting and frightening. I’m not sure if she can really pull of a big mermaid dress.

‘Come in,’ she says. I can tell she is eager to show us her creation. She takes us quickly to the back of the shop. In a move that is pure drama, she pauses in front of a closed door, and with her hand on the handle, turns to us and asks, ‘Are you ready for this?’

My mother, Maddy, and I nod. While butterflies flutter in my stomach, she theatrically flings open the door.

The dress is on a stand, its train of thousands of taffeta squares spread out like an enormous fish tail behind it. I gasp and stare in amazement. My mother squeals like a young girl and Maddy claps her hands with delight. Any fears I had that it would be tacky or too My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding are laid to rest forever. The dress is amazing. Totally and utterly spectacular. It is a masterpiece, pure and simple.

The days pass in a blur of hectic activity and excitement. Only moments shine through with full HD clarity. Those rare moments I look at in amazed wonder, sometimes disbelief. So this is my life. A week before the wedding, I give up my apartment, transport most of my stuff into BJ’s home, and move into my mother’s house. At this point BJ and I are no longer able to see each other alone and the separation is pure torture.

But suddenly, before I know it, my wedding day is upon me. I wake up early, a bundle of nerves, and lie very quietly in the dark. Already, I can hear my mother and aunts moving about the house. I put my hand on my stomach. It’s still flat, but my baby is growing inside.

‘We’re getting married today,’ I whisper, and a thrill of excitement runs through me.

Maddy is the first to arrive and we eat breakfast in my bedroom together. We speak in whispers and giggle quietly as if we are children on a midnight adventure.

The hairdresser arrives at seven. Ma makes her a cup of coffee and she sets about separating my hair into two parts, gathering the top half into a bun at the back of my head and putting corkscrew curls into the lower half and leaving them trailing down my back and shoulders. She fits a princess tiara over my head, and the make-up artist takes me on. She spends an hour on my face, painting, dabbing, drawing, brushing, and then gluing on individual spikes of false eyelashes.

By now the house is crowded with friends and relatives bringing presents. Gypsies are generous gift givers and the pile of presents soon fills the dining table and spills onto the floor, and still more well-wishers are flooding through the doors. Ma breaks into the stack of champagne cases and the house heaves as if it is a party.

Then the dress arrives.

From my window I watch Thelma and her two assistants carefully carry it into the house. They bring it upstairs to my room and Thelma and her assistants help me into it. My heart is racing with nerves.

‘Oh, oh, oh,’ exclaims a delighted Maddie. ‘You look stunning.’

When I have been laced into the dress and the veil fixed into place, I walk over to the mirror with bated breath.

And … almost do not recognize the person in the mirror. I look like I have stepped out of a page of a fairytale. Ma, who has changed into a pretty grey-blue dress, has tears in her eyes. She dabs them away carefully with the edge of a tissue.

‘You look absolutely beautiful, Layla,’ she says.

‘You were right, Ma. The dress is perfect.’