Epilogue: The Wedding: Arianna
Six months later
No one expected the wind.
Marge stands behind Wynona, rapidly braiding her hair and setting it with a metric ton of hair spray. “Hand me a pin, sis,” she says.
Wynona passes her one, holding it over her shoulder.
The stylist attending to my hairdo adds another row of pearl seed clips to one side. “I’m doubling up,” she says. “Your hair isn’t going to move even if a hurricane hits.”
“Don’t mention any natural disasters,” Mom says. “Not when we’re out at sea.” She has two stylists working on her, one on hair, one on makeup. We have a ridiculous amount of help. Even Grace has her own assistant.
I scrunch my face at the baby, now fourteen months and toddling pretty well. She makes the same face back at me. She’s precious in a ruffly white dress. It has a long white cape that hits the back of her knees, tied to her shoulders with little pink bows. She’s like a mini super hero.
She holds a basket, although she can’t really walk and carry it at the same time without help. She’s not that steady.
“I love the cape,” Wynona says. “It’s a hoot.”
“What are you talking about?” Mom asks. She doesn’t think anything wedding related should be a “hoot.”
Dell’s mom and I pass a conspiratorial glance. I guess nobody told Mom about Grace’s cape.
I’m certainly not going to enlighten her.
“Your hair looks great,” I say. “Elegant and windproof.”
“We could move the wedding indoors, you know,” she says.
“Now, Bridget,” Wynona scolds her. “Arianna wanted a wedding on the sea. It’s not the same in a ballroom.”
“We’re all going to blow away,” Mom says.
“Nonsense,” Wynona fires back.
They’ve been at each other like this since we picked Wynona and Byron up in Birmingham, but there’s no real malice in their bickering. Just two very different women working out their vastly opposite worldviews.
A lot like Dell and his father. They’ve never made up, not really. But Dell did take Byron on his plane. With my dad there to referee, they managed to find some common ground. They can be civil, if nothing else.
So it’s not perfect, but it’s pretty good. Good enough.
Marge backs away from Wynona. “You’re as pretty as a picture,” she says.
Wynona touches her hair. “It feels like a football on my head.”
“It’s lovely,” I say. And it is. Marge has worked the braids together into a French twist. Neither of them were willing to let one of our stylists touch them.
“All done here.” My hairdresser pats my shoulder. I stand up. The white silk robe floats around me. My makeup is done. It’s probably about time to put on my dress.
The photographer hurries in. “Got the groom and the groomsmen,” he says. “Time for some preparation photos of the bridal party.”
“Great,” Wynona says flatly. “I don’t have my face on.”
Mom stares the photographer down. “You will not take a single image of me until I say so.” One of her girls holds a white towel in front of her face.
“Well, we agree on that,” Wynona says. She and Marge look at each other and crack up.
“How about the bride?” he asks. “Can we get some of you?”
“Of course,” I say. I pick up Grace and hold her up to my cheek.
“Beautiful,” he says, snapping shot after shot.
Grace lets go of the basket and it hits the ground, petals scattering. She lets out an unhappy cry.
“It’s okay, sugar lump,” I say, setting her down. “You can put all the pretty petals back in the basket.” Her baby cape almost flips over, revealing the words, but I quickly drop it back into place.
“Why don’t you take Grace over to Dell?” I say to the girl who is watching her for the duration of the trip.
“Good idea,” Marge says.
“In my day, babies were women’s work,” Mom says.
I have to laugh. “Mom, you had a nanny, a tutor, and a housekeeper watching over me.”
“All women!” she says from behind the towel.
The photographer snaps shots of my dress, hanging by a window. We’re on the upper level of the cruise ship in a triple suite, so there are balconies in every room.
When Dell and I settled on a cruise, we knew setting sail out of Mobile, Alabama, would satisfy both camps. Fancy and elite enough for the Harts. Close enough for the Birmingham contingent to drive up and get on the boat.
About four hundred of the ship’s six hundred passengers are attending the wedding. My mother and father won the battle of large and inclusive over small and intimate. We had tried to book a private ship, but the size of our guest list made that impossible unless we waited two years for the wedding.
That wasn’t going to happen.
“Let me get snaps of the ring,” the photographer says. His assistant brings him my flower bouquet, and he takes several shots of my hand with the arrangement, the diamond Dell bought in Paris almost a year ago bright and sparkling.
My mother finally decides she is “done enough” for photographs, and we take a few shots together with me still in the robe. Then I get partially dressed and we take more of her pretending to fasten the back of the gown.
I grow more jittery as the moment arrives. I’m not sure why.
My mom is doing fine. Dell’s dad has controlled himself. Wynona is our comic relief.
We have plenty of help, assistants and stylists and more than one butler. After an argument, our butler Bernard was convinced to go mostly off duty. He did insist that no one but him would assist Dell in the preparation for the actual wedding.
Dell assigned a butler to his butler just for fun. Every time we have seen the two men together, they have been arguing over the correct fold for a silk handkerchief or the proper way to store a decanter of brandy.
It’s been amusing.
Finally, the dress is secured, by a stylist, not my mother, and the photographers leave to prepare for the ceremony itself. The entire main deck has been cleared and set with rows and rows of white chairs.
“Fifteen minutes!” Cara, the wedding planner, pokes her head in. “I assume everyone is ready!”
“We are!” Mom says.
“Time for us to go too,” Marge says. She hustles Wynona out.
The stylists give me and Mom one more look over and assure us they’ll be on standby if the weather plays havoc with our dresses or hair. Then they also abandon the room.
Mom gives me one more kiss. “You have a lovely moment up there. I am so very honored and pleased to be here with you on this day.”
This makes my eyes tear up.
So many times she wasn’t there.
But today, she’s here.
“Don’t you cry,” she says, dabbing the corners of my eyes with a small tissue. “You paid very good money for this look. And it’s lovely.”
I try to smile. “I’m glad you’re here, Mom.”
“Of course I would be. And I know I wasn’t always. I know I put my work before you. I knew it at the time.” She tucks the tissue in her sleeve. “I just didn’t know how to stop. I didn’t know how to just sit with a small child and be.”
Now her eyes are wet.
“Don’t you cry either,” I say.
She nods, pulling the tissue out again. “I’m glad you’ve made better decisions with your daughter, even though you’ve attended woefully few charity balls.”
There’s a knock at the door. Dad pops his head in. “Is it time for me to escort my baby girl down the aisle?”
“It is,” I say.
Donovan is behind him, followed by Taylor. She brings in Grace. “Time for us to get ready for our big moment!” she says.
Donovan takes Mom’s arm. Since I don’t have a brother, and Dad will be with me, Donovan’s escorting her to her seat before heading back to walk in with Dell as best man.
“Look at you,” Dad says. “You are a vision.”
“Super beautiful,” Taylor says. She holds Grace on her hip. Grace keeps tipping the basket, spilling petals.
The other bridesmaids flow into the room. “It’s almost time!” one says, a daughter of one of my father’s associates. Three of them are girls I barely know, part of the package agreement with my parents.
Then there are some of the teachers at my Child Spa. I brought as many as I could spare for a few days. Mom insisted I had to have at least seven to have a respectable showing of support for a wedding this size.
I allowed it. It didn’t matter to me who stood up there as long as I was next to Dell.
Dell could not be convinced to place his dad next to him, so it’s his brother, his uncle Travis, Daniel Dean, and four men from his company. We wanted Bernard to take part, but he said he would have plenty of duties already.
The wedding planner returns. “Everyone is seated,” she says. “Ready?”
I give a nod.
The bridesmaids follow her, my father and I in the rear. The girl helping Grace takes her from Taylor.
Their dresses are all the palest possible shade of pink, sleek sheaths that flare out behind them on the floor. They look like a row of tulips walking down the hall.
I press a hand where the beaded bodice meets the flare of the skirt. This body couldn’t do a mermaid dress, but the empire waist is flattering and lovely. The train is a mile long, dissolving into gentle tiers of sheer tulle and seed pearls.
I realize I’ve forgotten my flowers, but Taylor turns when I stop. She’s holding both of our bouquets. “That’s what I’m here for,” she says. “Don’t worry.”
“Thank you,” I tell her. “I guess I need you as much at my wedding as at my spa.”
My father takes my arm. “It will be fine, Arianna. Everything is well in hand.”
We approach the exit to the side of the boat that will lead us to the main deck. When the wedding planner slides the door open, I breathe in the sea air, salty and warm.
I feel better instantly. We walk along the deck, past a few guests playing shuffleboard on the polished wood. They stop to watch us go by.
We pause at the end of the wall. The music greets us, a full orchestra playing near the stern of the deck. The white chairs are filled with guests. A gazebo, constructed just for our wedding, is covered with white flowers at the apex of the ship. The minister waits beneath it in a white robe, his arms cradling a black binder.
As we wait, Dell appears on the opposite side, arriving from the other deck. He has always worn a suit well, and his tuxedo is no exception, black and formal with a bright white shirt and white tie. He looks spectacular. I can scarcely believe he is about to be my husband.
Behind him is Maximillion, our greyhound, resplendent with his shiny pale fur and dashing black bow tie. When Dell stops, Maximillion immediately sits very properly on his haunches, his nose in the air. The crowd laughs.
Donovan is next. When he stands beside Dell, he ribs him about something, and they all chuckle. Maximillion turns as if to tell them, "Be proper, now."
A young woman in a peach dress approaches, her hair blowing every direction. She holds the hand of a small boy, about three. He’s Trey, the ring bearer. She must be Amanda, one of the Birmingham cousins.
I have only heard of them. She’s the daughter of one of Byron’s sisters. She lives in Atlanta, so I hadn’t gotten around to meeting her yet.
“This is Trey,” she says. “I hope he does what he’s supposed to!”
The assistant sets Grace down next to him. They stare at each other for a moment. Grace gives him her serious expression.
I kneel down next to them. “Hello, Trey, this is Grace. Do you think you can help her down the aisle? She has only just learned to walk.”
The boy looks up at his mother, who nods at him.
He takes Grace’s hand.
“Okay,” Amanda says. “Cross your fingers.”
“It’s time,” the planner says. “Just wait on the music change.”
We listen for a moment. The song ends and there is a small pause. I spot Grandma Jessie on the end of the row, ribbons threaded through the spokes of her wheelchair.
Everyone is here.
The first bridesmaids make their way to the center aisle and begin their slow walk to the front.
Taylor hands me my bouquet. “You ready for this?”
“I think so,” I say.
“Not too late to jump ship and row back to shore,” Dad says.
I laugh. “We’re two days out to sea now.”
“That would be a fair bit of paddling.”
“My turn,” Taylor says. She kisses my cheek. “I would never have seen this day coming based on the moment you two met.”
I have to agree. Dell was an arrogant, stiff, womanizing bachelor.
But I hadn’t been the one to change him.
The baby had.
Grace.
She’s changed us both for the better.
Taylor departs. Amanda and the assistant help the two little ones to the end of the aisle.
“Now, go!” Amanda says.
The assistant hangs back, not sure if she should follow. They toddle forward. Grace drops her basket, and Trey picks it up and hands it back to her.
The crowd makes a collective happy sigh.
“Let’s get in place,” the planner says.
My father and I move to the end of the aisle. All eyes are on the little ones, still making their way to the front.
Dad and I shift into position and the planner moves behind me to straighten my train.
Grace and Trey keep moving forward at their toddling pace. Then Grace sees Dell and calls out, “Dada!” and races toward him.
My eyes spring with tears again, and I wish for Mom’s tissue.
Dell picks Grace up and kisses her cheek. Dada was her first word. She’s still working on Mama.
“Here, sweetheart,” my own father says, passing me a tissue. “Your mother told me to be prepared.”
I dab my eyes and tuck the tissue into the bottom of the bouquet. “Thank you.”
“Looks like that little girl has her daddy wrapped around her finger,” he says.
“She does.”
Taylor comes forward to take Grace from Dell. She protests until she sees her grandma Wynona, and toddles over to her. Wynona picks her up and sits her in her lap on the front row.
The music shifts again and the minister lifts his hands for everyone to stand.
My father moves us forward, and I feel all eyes shifting to me.
I keep my gaze on Dell. He stands tall, his hands clasped together. He can’t take his eyes off me, nor me him.
Calm, immutable Dell. It’s his last moment as a single dad. We’ve been in this together for a long while now, but this seals it. I will be his. He will be mine. And Grace will have her family come together, months after her adoption made us officially her parents.
We walk past people I recognize and others I don’t know. Faces, lives, other love affairs, more families.
I keep my attention on Dell, this moment, this incredible beautiful anticipation. As I make it to the front of the chairs, the sky opens wide, blue and clear, separated from the ocean by only the most subtle shift of color.
When I reach Dell, my father passes my hand to him. Dell kisses my fingers.
“Take care of her,” my father says.
“You know I will,” Dell replies.
And then it’s just the two of us, repeating the words we practiced, adding a few of our own. The music plays. The unity candle blows out and we have to light it three times, laughing all the while.
When the minister is about to pronounce us husband and wife, Grace decides she has had enough. She wiggles down from Wynona’s lap and races forward, crashing into Dell’s legs.
He laughs and picks her up.
The minister nods at us. “I guess I will simply have to pronounce you a family,” he says.
I kiss Grace on the tippy top of her soft downy head, just now gathering enough wisps of hair to hold a tiny bow. Dell does the same.
Then we hold her between us, our lips finding that place that has long since become familiar, our bodies creating an arc over Grace. It’s as it should be, as she brought us together. Her needs superseded ours. And in loving her, we learned to love each other as well.
When we finally part, the crowd cheers and claps. Dell picks up Grace, lifting her high in the air.
As he brings her down, he flips her little white cape to the opposite side.
Everyone erupts as they spot the words printed on it.
I’m the Plus One.