THE JUNIOR BRIDESMAID Read online

  Then my body jumped at her outburst, which, by the way, was said with perfect fluency.

  “We need the lamb chops!” she exclaimed throwing one pointed finger in the air.

  “Lamb Chops?” I couldn’t control the quiver that accompanied my words.

  “Si,” she answered. “We balance, we balance,” she tried to explain. Her hand went up to my head and down to my toes.

  Balance.

  Needless to say, I was a little nervous about wearing lamb chops. The only lamb chops I had ever heard of, other than the delicacy my Aunt Isabeau tried to impress us with one Christmas without success, were side burns. Grandma Bertha loved Elvis, the King of Rock and Roll. She used to stare at the cover of his Greatest Hits Album saying how she would have loved the opportunity to run her fingers up and down his lamb chops. I wasn’t quite sure what the attraction was but to Grandma they were something else. And I had to admit, those hairy suckers would definitely distract from my Thumbelina dress but it wasn’t what I had in mind when I visualized bridal accessories. Pearls maybe. Lamb chops no.

  The older seamstress continued to stare clearly unconvinced that even facial hair could do the trick. She stuck her arm straight out in front of her as if she was about to make another suggestion but then dropped her arm and her suggestion. She shook her head again already concluding in her own mind that whatever she was thinking wasn’t going to work.

  Angela came back into the room still gaining more ground from side to side than she did in forward momentum.

  “Eh! Here we go.” Her fingers held a beige jelly form in each hand. They looked like chicken cutlets that had been cooked in the microwave. “Lamb chops,” she reiterated.

  Fearing the worst, I verbalized the question that burned in my throat. “Oh Dear Lord, you don’t expect me to wear those on my face, do you?” I asked faintly.

  The silver haired Angela shook her head. Then she manhandled her own well-endowed breasts lifting them up and down to illustrate where she thought the rubber form replicas of protein should go. Distracted by the size of her generous endowments, it occurred to me that if Angela could only share an eighth from each of her breasts I would be in good shape. That woman was well endowed.

  I came back to the moment as Angela snapped her fingers in my face. “Eh!” she scolded. “Ha capito?”

  My eyes focused once again and went straight to the hands that she outstretched in front of me. She cupped the lamb chops in her partially open palms gesturing for me to take them. I took a moment to stare at them curiously. Amidst my daydream of breast envy I had apparently missed her demonstration on the proper application of lamb chops. Then the light bulb went on above my head and then it all became crystal clear. The excitement that was erupting inside of me was formidable. I don’t think I have ever been that enthusiastic about anything in my entire life. I grabbed the two patties and shoved them down my dress. The only problem was I wasn’t wearing a bra. I had on a cami with a built in elastic shelf but it was basically just an extra piece of material. So the falsies were holding true to their name. They looked false. Angela’s nose crinkled at the sight and then she was on the move. She invaded my personal space sticking her fingers in the top of my dress and jerking it away from my body.

  “You-a no have a bra in there?” she peered in on her tippy toes.

  I looked down with her as if one may have miraculously appeared at some juncture in the day when I wasn’t looking. I confirmed what she and I both didn’t see by pressing my lips into a straight line and shaking my head.

  “No good,” she mumbled another ‘Madonna me’ clearly unhappy with my choice of undergarments. “I be back!” She waved her hand in the air as she teeter-tottered back and forth once again disappearing behind the curtain.

  Angela’s cohort came closer to the pedestal where I was standing and maneuvered the three-way mirror so she could go behind it. Apparently she had an idea. As the reflective image of the mirror shifted I heard her saying something about getting me some high heels. I guess she thought my already skinny ‘toothpick’ legs needed lengthening.

  Whatever.

  I stopped listening to her blabbering when my eyes focused on the image that the adjusted mirror had settled on. It was Darcy across the street standing outside of the Soup’s On Diner. She was squared off with a guy who looked really angry. She didn’t look too happy either. Her arms were crossed over her chest and one of her denim-clad hips was thrown to the side. I turned my head to look out the window to get a better look but I couldn’t see her from that vantage point. The only way I could see her was to look at the reflection in the mirror. I tipped forward and squinted my eyes hoping to recognize the guy she was with but I could only see his profile. He looked sort of familiar but I just wasn’t sure. It definitely wasn’t the love of my life, Hugh Rowen. Just as I was about to step off of the pedestal to walk to the window Angela came back. She was carrying a little box.

  “Eh, here we go,” she licked her lips awkwardly as she opened the box and pulled out a bra.

  “Um, Ms. Angela, I doubt that would fit me,” I informed her. I had tried on many a bra in the past year looking forward to the day that I was able to fill one out.

  “No, no, no. You try. It’s good.” She seemed confident. So I took it from her hand repeating the word ‘pliable’ in my head and let out an enormous sigh.

  “Okay,” I stepped off the pedestal deliberately peeking out the window where Darcy had just been standing but she was gone. I inhaled deeply and made my way to the dressing room to put the bra under my dress. All the time I couldn’t get the image of the guy that Darcy was with out of my mind. Why did I know him?

  I slid the bra straps up my arms hooking it in the back and pushed my arms back through the sleeves of the dress. It wasn’t too loose so I figured it might all work out. I made my way back to the pedestal just as Angela handed me the lamb chops.

  She demonstrated on herself how I should slide the chops into my bra. Fear gripped my chest that she was going to start feeling me up if I placed them in wrong. My eyes studied her hands as I mimicked her movements inserting the chops in the cups. Either I was doing it right or Angela had boundaries.

  “Meravigliosa!” she exclaimed. I wasn’t sure what that word meant but I could tell by the celebratory way she pumped her hands that she was happy. “Lovely,” she said gripping me with both hands by the biceps and turning me toward the mirror. “Balance,” she whispered as her eyes followed mine up and down my body.

  The air left my lungs in surprise. I had boobs. And the best part was they didn’t look like lamb chops.

  “Woohoo!” I celebrated turning to throw my arms around a surprised Angela. “Thank you,” I whispered in her ear.

  “Prego,” Angela answered. I was assuming that meant ‘you’re welcome.’

  I was in my bedroom when I heard the phone ring. Our home wasn’t enormous so we could pretty much hear everything that was going on from one room to the next. That included my bedroom. I heard my mother answer the phone and quickly dive into a desperate conversation. I heard her breathe a ‘what’ and a ‘how and an ‘oh my Lordy be.’ Those words were never a good sign in the Welling household. So I suddenly feigned thirst and made my way to the kitchen for a glass of water. As I entered the room I saw my mother lean forward with deepened concern pressing her elbows onto the kitchen table.

  “What are you going to do?” my mother asked with a hint of panic. Of course I couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation but I was hoping I could Sherlock Holmes my way through the jibber jabber to figure out what was going on.

  “How far along?” my mother inquired. “Oh,” she breathed with a hint of drama. I saw my mother start to count on her fingers. “That’s cutting it close, Dody. Maybe you should call the catering hall and move up the date.” Then I saw my mother reach for her datebook which sat on the opposite counter and start paging ahead.

  “Okay. Well let me know. Poor thing. She must be so upset, bless her heart.�
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  I sucked in breath at hearing those three words. ‘Bless her heart’ meant things were worse than I even surmised. That meant a rumor was spreading and it was spreading faster than wildfire. It also meant that the rumor was probably not a rumor at all. My mother was so engrossed in her conversation that she didn’t hear me inhale all of the available oxygen in the room.

  Darcy was pregnant.

  Pregnant.

  My mind went straight back to the events I witnessed earlier in the day. Something about that confrontation Darcy had with that definitely-not-Hugh guy just didn’t sit right with me. My mouth contorted at the thought, not like Angela’s but close. That’s how much I could feel it in my gut. Darcy was pregnant but the baby was not Hugh’s. I left the kitchen with a quick but quiet step. I hurried to my room and went straight for my computer. I Skyped my best friend, Julia.

  “Hey,” she answered. Julia was sitting at the computer in her bedroom. I knew this because I could see her bright tangerine comforter in the background.

  “O.M.G.” I spelled out. “I have to tell you something. But you have to swear on all that is sacred that you won’t tell another soul for the rest of our lives,” I started.

  “Dee, Dee, Dee,” she sighed heavily disgruntled that she needed to share her wisdom again, “we have gone over this a thousand times. Caffeine does not make you grow excessive pubic hair. Drink all the coffee you want it’s not that kind of stimulant.” Always the drama queen, she threw her body back and slouched in her bright pink chair. Apparently she found my theorizing exhausting.

  “No, no, no. That’s not what I am talking about. And just so you know. That could still be true. That has not been disproven. Anyway, this is much bigger news,” I confirmed.

  I saw Julia straighten her posture and lean forward toward the computer. I nodded affirming that the news was big enough that it warranted her full attention. “And?” she began.

  “Do you swear to…” Julia cut me off.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah…all that is sacred,” she raised her eyebrows prompting me to go on.

  I knew deep down I shouldn’t be sharing the news but Julia knew how deep my love for Hugh Rowen ran. And, for goodness sake, I had to tell someone. “Darcy Strong is pregnant and the baby isn’t Hugh’s,” I whispered.

  “Holy crap,” she barked.

  “Shhhhhh,” I scolded.

  “How do you know this?” Julia was looking for some sort of proof. It was understandable. I tended to come up with some pretty crazy scenarios from time to time.

  “Okay. So. I was at the bridal place today getting fitted for my Junior Bridesmaid dress,” Julia rolled her big blue eyes at the mention of my status, “and I saw Darcy having a verbal argument with a guy. He was waiving his hands at her. I even saw him pointing at her belly. She of course was sporting an attitude to end all attitudes – not that that says anything because she is always sporting an attitude,” Julia’s mouth twisted in agreement. “Then just a little while ago I heard my mother on the phone with her mother saying that maybe she should push up the wedding,” I nodded as if that said it all. Well didn’t it? I waited and waited for Julia’s response. Then I could tell that she caught up by the look on her face and gave me what I wanted.

  “EEEEEE!” She spun out of her chair and started jumping up and down on her bed. I told you Darcy was a bitch. Even Julia knew this rumor would put a kibosh on the Strong/Rowen wedding.

  I stared at the computer screen and made a face. I swallowed hard as I was beginning to get motion sickness. “Can you stop jumping? You’re making me sick,” I shared.

  “Holy crap, Dee, this is huge!” she squealed her response and dropped to her ass on the bed.

  “I know but, Jules, you can not tell a soul. You promised,” I reiterated even though I was happy that she shared my enthusiasm.

  “I know. I won’t tell a soul. Double cross my heart with my friendship-ring-finger.” Then she double-crossed her heart with her finger that sported her friendship ring.

  Whew!

  “Now what do we do?” I asked naively.

  “We watch her get served,” she educated.

  I nodded enthusiastically agreeing that Darcy deserved to be served. But served what, I wasn’t quite sure.

  As expected a few days later the news hit that the Strong/Rowen wedding was going to be moved up. Needless to say this was not the outcome I was hoping for. Lots of speculation circulated but I knew the true story. That specific morsel of information and a bus transfer would get me cross-town. But I kept my mouth shut because I figured the news would come out on its own. Another tidbit Mama selflessly shared was that ‘all the dirty laundry came out in the wash.’ I had no idea how this advice applied to social life lessons but I understood enough that she was trying to tell me that it was always best to keep quiet. So, naturally, I followed my wise mother’s sage advice.

  Since the wedding was approaching faster than we had initially anticipated, Mama informed me that I had to go back to Angela’s so she could do some final alterations on my dress. I just nodded at her when she shared my after school plans. Her eyebrows pinched together as she questioned why I didn’t give her any lip. I knew that look so I answered her with my own easily translated physical response of shrugging my shoulders, which communicated to her that I had accepted my fate.

  The ride to town was mostly silent. Like most of our car rides, I stared out the window and she asked me pertinent questions like ‘did you remember your shoes’ and ‘do you need any fresh make-up from the drug store.’ I answered accordingly but didn’t share much more. My mother pulled up in front of the boutique and I swung my door open.

  “Pick you up in an hour,” she alerted me.

  “Okay, Mama. See you in a bit,” I answered. I slammed the car door and took a single step back on the curb. I watched as she drove away and I gave a little wave. That’s when I felt the tap on my shoulder. Slightly startled, I spun my head to see who was standing there. Much to my horror, my quick head snap inadvertently whipped the love of my life in the eyes with the long strands of my brown hair, which was held high in a ponytail. Then, unable to believe the magnitude of my bad luck, I gasped in horror.

  For some strange reason, after my sudden sharp inhale, the air in my lungs refused to leave my body. My heart began to beat faster and thumped a bizarre rhythm.

  “You alright, Junior?” Hugh asked rubbing both of his eyes with the thumb and pointer finger of one hand.

  I nodded frantically hoping my paralyzed lungs would kick in and fast. He raised his eyebrows and blinked uncontrollably while one side of his mouth shared the most beautiful grin I had ever seen.

  “I’m okay,” I managed. My voice was a cross between a squeak and a whisper.

  “Good. Can’t lose my only Junior Bridesmaid,” he added.

  I shook my head agreeing. “That would be a shame,” I struggled.

  “For certain.” Then I think he winked at me but it could have been the residual effects of the corneal damage that I had just inflicted.

  Luckily, even deprived of the much-needed oxygen to exercise my brain, I was able to form a coherent question in return. “Are you alright?” I finally found the ability to ask.

  “I think I’ll live.” Then his smirk became a smile. And, damn, wouldn’t you know that it made him that much more gorgeous. Why did he have to get better and better looking each time I saw him? It just wasn’t fair.

  “I, um, have to, um, go,” I shared on a shiver.

  “Mmm,” he agreed. “Go on, Junior. Go get prettier,” he teased.

  I stared at him in shock. I would have sworn he said prettier, which would mean that he thought I was already pretty. Which of course was impossible. But at least I was smart enough not to argue. However, I wasn’t smart enough to keep my mouth shut entirely. “It’s, um, Delilah. You know. My name. It’s not Junior. It’s Delilah.” I don’t know what the heck I was saying. I was rambling. But I just couldn’t leave with him under the mistaken impressi
on that my name could possibly be Junior. I stared at him waiting to see if his reaction to learning my name was as bad as I thought it was going to be.

  “I know exactly who you are, Delilah,” Hugh said this in a way that somehow gave the statement greater significance. He wasn’t just saying he knew my name. I wasn’t sure if it was the inflection or the tone of his voice but somehow that one sentence struck a cord in a very nice way.

  I stared at him for a few seconds blinking. I was a little unsure of how to respond. His gaze was intense and I was staring back at him in awe. All signs of the comedic name-game banter were all but gone.

  Uncomfortable and unsure, I broke the spell and just nodded. “Oh, good. Cause I didn’t want you to think that my name could possibly be Junior. Not that Junior is a bad name. It’s a nice name. It’s, um, just not my name,” I added turning my hand over accentuating my point. At that point some sensibility kicked in and I realized I should make a hasty retreat. Things were digressing and fast. So I knew it was time for me to go see my good friend with an impressive scowl, Angela. It was either that or attempt to dig a hole in the sidewalk with my fingernails and bury myself in it. I turned awkwardly and robotically made my way to Angela’s front door.

  I approached the double glass doors. My arm extended and my fingers gripped the door handle when I heard, “Bye, Junior.” He was smiling again. I knew he was smiling because I could hear it in his tone. Luckily my back was to him because I rolled my eyes at my own stupidity before I made my way inside.

  Somewhere along the way, Angela lost her scowl. She was finally looking at me with kinder eyes, which communicated to me that she liked what she saw. I was glad because I liked what I saw, too. I stood on the pedestal in my blue dress with a little less tulle than it had started (thanks to Angela’s sheers) and perfectly balanced lamb chops. I looked amazing. Even to my own critical eyes.