Chapter Twenty-Eight
Terra
It didn’t get easier. Not even a little bit. With each hour that ticked off the clock, I felt that there was one more thing that had gone wrong.
“I swear,” I snapped. “How does something like that just quit? I’ve never had a curling iron quit. Never.”
“Things break,” Michelle said. “She’ll be here in a minute with a new one.”
Angelina was on a mad dash to Target to get a new curling iron, and my hair was only half curled. With the wedding an hour away, I sat in my bra and panties, drinking wine.
The woman we’d hired to do the wedding party’s hair scrambled from bridesmaid to bridesmaid, primping, scrunching, and filling the room with the scent of hairspray. A shoe with a broken heel sat at the side of my chair. It was the day’s first disaster, but when it happened, I knew it wouldn’t be the only one.
Now, I was certain the entire event would be plagued with disastrous affairs.
“I’m going to have a nervous breakdown,” I said. “I’m serious.”
Michelle poured another glass of wine, took the empty one from me, and handed me the full one.
“Drink.”
“It’ll be a miracle if I make it in there fully clothed. My dress will probably disintegrate as I walk down the aisle.”
She raised the bottle to her lips and took a long drink. “Drink.”
I took a drink, and then another. I looked at Michelle. “I swear.”
She nodded toward the glass. “Drink.”
“My shoe, and then the thing with my lashes. And now? For fuck’s sake.” I took a drink and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “I’ve had curling irons for years. They don’t break. Not unless you drop them in the sink or something.”
I took another drink, glaring at the curling iron that sat on the floor beside me.
Michelle lifted the bottle and wagged her eyebrows as she drank.
“Got it,” Angelina announced as she ran into the room.
My mother was right behind her. She looked at me and shook her head. “You need to stop with the wine. You’ve been drinking all morning.”
“It’s been a disaster, Mother.”
She tried to be stern, but couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s only going to get worse if you’re drunk.”
I finished my wine, and handed the empty glass to her. “Here. I’m done.”
She took the glass and then turned toward Michelle. “How much has she had?”
Michelle raised the empty bottle. “This is number three, but I’ve been helping.”
“Michelle Tovelli!” my mother gasped. “You’re the matron of honor. You’re supposed to look after her.”
“I’m fine,” I said with a dismissive wave. I tried to stand, and when I did, my head spun in circles. I fell into the chair and admitted the truth. “Okay. Maybe not fine.”
I looked around the room. “I need bread. Someone get me some bread! I need to soak up this alcohol.”
After staring at my bare feet for a moment, I looked up. Angelina stood nervously at the edge of the room.
“Angelina, get me some bread, please.”
“Hey, whatever your name is,” Michelle barked across the room. “The curling iron is here.”
“Be right there,” the hairstylist said.
“Who brings one curling iron to a wedding?” Michelle whispered. “Who is this girl?”
I shrugged. “They recommended her at the salon.”
Michelle looked her up and down, and then scoffed. “With what you’re paying her, maybe she can afford two curling irons at the next wedding.”
“I’m drunk,” I murmured.
She looked at me and then shook her head. “You’re just nervous. People’s knees lock up at these things all the time. They faint. That’s how nervous they get.”
I didn’t need to hear wedding war stories, that much I was sure of. I wondered just how much of the room was rotating from my nerves, and how much was from alcohol consumption.
“I feel like I just got off that ride that spins you in circles while the other thing is spinning, too.”
“You’ll feel better when it’s over.”
“If I make it that long.”
“Here.” Angelina handed Michelle a plate. “Have her eat this.”
I craned my neck toward it. “What is it?”
Michelle lowered the plate into my eyesight. “A sandwich and some other shit.”
I grabbed the sandwich and began eating it as if I were starved. “Oh. My. God. Where’d you get this?”
“They’re out in the hallway, set up for us to eat. There’s a whole table of them.”
I took another bite. “Get me another?”
She smiled and turned away. After a moment, she returned. “Here.”
I’d already finished the hoagie, and was trying to convince myself that the food was making me feel better. I eagerly grabbed the other sandwich, not sure if my recovery was wishful thinking, or the handiwork of the food.
I was halfway through Italian sub number two, and the hairstylist stepped to my side. She looked me over, and then let out a sigh.
I shot her a look. “What?”
She smiled. “A low bun chignon with a lot of curls. Is that still what you want?”
“Mmhhmm.”
The food was sitting heavily in my stomach, and the alcohol was making me sleepy. I felt like I needed a nap. I took the last bite of sandwich, leaned back in the chair, and closed my eyes.
While Michelle blabbed about nothing, and my mother gave me a speech about drinking too much before the wedding, the hairstylist curled my hair. I faded in and out of sleep the entire time, hoping the little rest I could obtain would keep me from collapsing on my way down the aisle.
After what seemed like no time, I heard her announcement.
“I’m done,” she said. “Take a look.”
I opened my tired eyes, took the mirror from her hand, and looked at my reflection. The updo looked marvelous. I looked at Michelle, and then my mother.
Both were all but in tears.
“You look beautiful,” my mother exclaimed. “More than beautiful. Gorgeous.”
Michelle nodded repeatedly.
I stood partially, balanced myself against the arms of the chair, and then let go.
So far, so good.
“I think I’m okay now,” I said with a laugh. “I was pretty trashed a little bit ago.”
“Thirty minutes!” the wedding planner barked into the room.
“We should wait until the last minute for the dress, shouldn’t we?”
“Not the last minute,” my mother said. “What if there’s a problem? You should put it on now.”
I may have looked beautiful, but I wasn’t ready. I felt tense, and my nerves were shot. “I need another drink.”
“Terra Agrioli!” my mother snapped. “No more to drink. Just stand here. We’ll get the dress.”
In no time, Michelle and my mother walked into the room with the dress draped over their arms.
I looked at it, and then at each of them. The dress looked stunning, no different than when I tried on the example at the store. I glanced around the room. Bridesmaids stood with their mouths agape, and their eyes fixed on my dress.
“Oohs,” “aahs,” and “oh my Gods” filled the room.
It was happening. In a matter of minutes, I was going to be married.
My stomach knotted.
I looked at the dress, and then met my mother’s gaze. The room started to spin.
I broke out in a sweat. “I’m not... I don’t think... I don’t feel... I don’t feel very good.”
“Maybe you need to poop,” my mother said. “You should go poop before you put on the dress.”
I pressed my lower abdomen. “I think I need...”
I gazed at the floor.
And, I vomited.
“To puke.” I looked up. “I needed to puke.”