Futures and Frosting

Son of a bitch, I’m going to ugly cry. Some women can pull off crying without their make-up running or fluids leaking from every hole in their face but not me. I’m in a gorgeous gown, my hair is professionally done, my make-up is flawless and in three seconds I’m going to ruin it all by losing complete control of the muscles in my face. I’m going to try really hard to stay quiet which is going to f**k me over because it’s going to force me to make sounds that you only hear in the middle of the night on the Discovery Channel. By the time I’m finished, I’m going to look like I have pink eye after being punched in the face by Mike Tyson.

This is all Liz’s fault. Why does she have to look so beautiful?

We’re standing in the alcove at the back of the church, just seconds away from walking down the aisle. The other bridesmaids have already left to meet their groomsmen at the front of the alter, the doors leading into the church closing behind them to keep the guests' first view of the bride a secret until the last minute.

Mrs. Gates is busy fluttering around Liz making last minute adjustments to the train of her dress and reminding her to smile, but not too much or the creases at the corners of her eyes will show in the pictures. She’s standing up and squatting down over and over as she circles Liz, and I giggle-snort around the tears forming in my eyes since she reminds me of a horse on a merry-go-round. I suddenly want to ask Liz if she has a riding crop I can borrow so I can whip her mother and make her go faster.

“I can’t believe you’re getting married,” I whisper to my best friend as we both ignore her mother reminding Liz to clench her butt cheeks as she walks.

“Me either,” she says with a smile through her own tears.

“I love Jim and I know you two will be so happy together,” I reassure her. “But as your best friend, it is my duty to tell you that should you need it, my car is right outside, fully gassed with the keys in the ignition and a suitcase with vodka in it in the trunk. I’ve also been keeping my pimp hand strong, just in case Jim gets out of line and needs a little bitch slap.”

She laughs and I lean in to give her a quick hug, careful to avoid tugging on her veil or messing up any part of her. I do not need the wrath of Mary Gates raining down upon me.

“Thanks, BFF. I love you.”

The sound of gagging and thumping interrupts our Hallmark card moment and we turned to see Jim’s little cousin Melissa in her flower girl dress straddling Gavin on the floor and trying to choke him. Gavin flails and kicks beneath her, trying to dislodge her hands from around his neck.

“Hey!” I whisper-yell. They both cease all movement and turn to stare at me. “What are you doing?!”

Gavin shoves with all of his might and Melissa tumbles off of him. He scrambles up, grabbing his fallen ring bearer pillow and clutching it to his chest.

“She freaking hell took my pillow! Stupid punk!” Gavin says loudly.

“He kicked me in my no-no-zone!” Melissa complains with a stomp of her foot.

“Oh my,” Mrs. Gates mutters.

“You should eat dirt!” Gavin turns and yells at Melissa.

“I will NOT eat dirt!” she counterattacks.

“EAT IT WITH YOUR CHICKEN FACE!”

It's complete and utter child anarchy and before I can pick a kid to yell at, the organ music changes and begins playing the song that I needed to walk down the aisle to with Gavin and Melissa right behind me.

I quickly bend down in front of both of them and stare them square in the face with as stern of an expression as I can muster.

“Both of you little monsters, listen up. As soon as you step foot out of those doors, you better have smiles on your faces and your outside voices duct taped inside your bodies. If you speak, push, shove, swear, argue, or even blink at each other I will haul your asses out of that church and lock you in the basement with the scary clowns.”

I huff to emphasize my point and stand, tugging up the front of my strapless dress.

“If I see a clown, I’m going to punch him in the nuts.”

“Gavin Allen!” I scold.

“What? We didn’t step fru dose doors yet,” he argues, pointing behind me.

“Kid has a point,” Liz whispers.

“Behave,” I whisper through clenched teeth as I turn and nodded to the two church attendants so they can open the double doors for my entrance.

“My mom’s not afraid to punch a kid,” I hear Gavin whisper to Melissa as I take my first step down the aisle.

Thankfully, my threat pays off and both kids make it to the front of the church without killing each other. The ceremony is beautiful and the only interruption came during communion.

Liz is Catholic so she had wanted a full, Roman Catholic service. Carter is a “sort-of” Catholic in that he was baptized, made his First Communion and everything else he was required to do while growing up, but he only goes to church for holidays, weddings, and funerals. Regardless, when it comes time for communion, he gets in line and takes Gavin with him since Gavin is on his side of the church through the ceremony.

I really don’t believe in any one religion, but I have been known to sit in on a few services every once in a while just in case someone up there is taking notes. I sit in my seat in the front row with one other bridesmaid who isn’t Catholic and we watch the procession and smile at those who walk by. I crane my neck and watch happily as Carter holds Gavin’s hand while he stands in front of the priest and receives his little Jesus wafer. In the quiet serenity of the process, with only the beautiful sounds of the organ to fill the silence, Gavin’s voice bursts through the tranquility.