Planning a summer wedding in October, Abby Giles learns, involves much magical thinking.
Wool coat hanging by the door, while leaves fall outside, she flips through images of peonies, then hydrangeas, then gardenias, and doesn't know how to tell her future mother-in-law that she lacks strong opinions on flowers. She says everything is “nice” and “cute” and “a good option” (She's especially proud of that last reaction, so adult!) yet senses that Angela wants her to say more, to have an overarching vision of the perfect ceremony and reception. When she and her mother brunched in Angela's kitchen the weekend after the engagement, Abby thought the meal would be an informal meeting of the mothers; instead, Angela immediately dove into the topic of the wedding. What did Abby think of a June wedding, right after graduation?
June had felt far away then, but after researching and creating an intimidating checklist with the help of women more than twice her age, time began to accelerate and now it feels like she has no time to plan at all. Accustomed to summer days that stretch into weeks and slowly ticking classroom clocks, this is her first experience with the constriction of time, though the narrowing of time will grow more acute as the years go by, until one day she will forget that summers used to be endless. Now, four days after her eighteenth birthday, she sits on a couch with a tablet in Angela's TV room, trying to judge the portfolios of different wedding photographers, flipping with one finger through years of smiling couples, dozens of white dresses, unsure of what makes one photo better than the next.
“I love how these are so expansive. Don't you love how the photographer includes the background without letting it dominate?” That's Angela, peering over Abby's shoulder.
The photo, of a couple holding hands while staring into the camera, is fifth of a series. The bride wears a mermaid gown and a wreath of orange flowers, with the groom in an olive vest in lieu of a suit. Spanish moss, artistically out of focus, outlines their straight, slim frames. But Abby doesn't notice any of this. Abby notices the way they gaze into the camera: broad smiles across open faces, without anxiety or hesitation. The woman in the mermaid dress must have a ring too, just like Abby. Upon discovery of said ring, did she perform a quick mental assessment of life options before saying yes? Did she weigh the possibility of meeting someone in college and figuring out what she wanted to do with her whole life against financial security and less pressure? Did she envision the diamond ring on her finger and think yes, I want to be the type of girl who wears a diamond ring and has it all figured out? Did she later admit to her sister, in the darkness of a shared bedroom, that it was impossible to turn down a big shiny piece of jewelry? “Yeah, definitely. The color of the vest is great.”
“That's not the photography, dear. Take a look at the composition.”
“Maybe you should just choose one.”
“But it's your day!” Since becoming engaged, so many people and articles have told Abby that her wedding day will be her day or her special day or the best day of her life, and she's beginning to suspect they mean she'll reach some kind of pinnacle on a random Saturday in June; perhaps her own personal pinnacle. Hence why Abby has told nobody that she has no penchant for wedding planning; to admit failure in this department feels tantamount to setting herself up for a life shy of its potential. “Maybe we can come up with a short list of options and you can choose one. Would that make it easier?” Abby nods, gratefully handing over the tablet and taking another sip of hot cider. Her own mother hadn't come this time; it's just Abby and Angela and a tablet full of choices. “You're going to look so beautiful!” Abby knows she'll look beautiful (obviously), yet the sense of dread spreads from the back of her skull and rushes down her throat until it crests against the peaks of her ribcage in a frothy deluge she can't put into words. “In order to make a short list, let's analyze all the choices. We need paper.”
Angela rises to find a pad and pencil and Abby checks her phone. The congratulations are still pouring in—more well wishes than she has ever received before, for anything. Of course she'll receive praise, though not as much, for her wedding photos (princess gown among yellow crinoline) and the birth of her first child (a girl), and then a diminishing number for each subsequent birth announcement, and birthday party, and beautifully decorated dinner table, and family vacation, and requisite evidence of marital happiness:
celebrating 7 years with the hottest guy i know – happy anniversary, ethan baby! 💕