Previously:  After the rehearsal I headed for one of the two tables to eat. My daughter gently took my arm and directed me to sit at the next table.  “This one is for the bridal party,” she explained. Frank and I weren’t happy to sit with all of Jeff’s relatives, but there was nothing I could do. We struggled to make conversation.

Nodding heads. Chewing food.  Faking smiles and laughs from worn-out jokes.  Nichole’s face was barely visible, and Jeff—Jeff—where was he? From the corner of my eye I saw him walking toward our table. His ape-length arms plopped into my vision, his meaty fingers splayed on the table. I looked up to see his buffalo head swivel to take in the ‘grown-ups’. “How is the boring table doing?”  We all stopped talking.

The groom chuckled, then grinned and walked back to his groupies.


Boring! How dare he insult all of us?  I glanced at his parents and uncles to see their reaction.  Were they processing the comment? Jeff’s mother managed a giggle as soon as her son left and then turned to her brother, “I want to hear the rest of your story, Pat.”  He took up where he left off as if nothing had happened.

Me?  To hell with the story.  I wanted to push away back from the table, get up and stomp out. Hubby would be all too happy to follow.

Swallowing the bile in my throat, I resisted making a scene. Guess who would come off as the villain?  Nichole had enough to handle without a vindictive mother to placate. As I write this now, I think of what I wish I had done -- thrown  a hot slice of pizza into Jeff’s face. “How’s that for boring?” I’d ask as cheese and sauce would travel down his shirt.

Before we left, I ignored Jeff and congratulated Nichole for putting it all together. “Chris and Joanne are coming tomorrow, right?” she asked. “If you want to bring them by for introductions, feel free.”

“Thanks, but they can meet the in-laws at the wedding.  Chris wants to do some sightseeing, his girlfriend too. She’s a sweetheart.” Okay, so it was a subtle knife in her back.

My children were four years apart and had never been close, but always got along.  While Chris did have an annoying habit of talking too long on any given subject, he had his Dad’s sense of humor and loved to hug and to be hugged. Joanne, though more reserved when showing affection, had the same values as our family. (The two agreed not to live together until legally married. Both had been there, done that, with bad experiences.)   You can bet their wedding would be traditional. 

Thank goodness, my son chose to stay in Florida, ninety miles from us. I can’t recall ever having cross words with him. I’m sure I did because I remember his dramatic tongue-in-cheek reply to a scolding. “So, why don’t you just kill me?”

Chris and Joanne took a room in the same motel. She had lived in San Diego for two years while completing a degree in physical therapy. “I hated California,” she told us. “Everyone’s so shallow. I would never want to bring up children here.”

Nichole must have felt the same way.  Years later, she told me, “When Jeff proposed, I made it clear I didn’t want babies.” (Was she afraid any offspring would look like him?) Jeff admitted he had to think a while about this but finally agreed.
 

The wedding combined dignity with humor. For the most part, I was pleased. Jeff had made a soundtrack to replace the traditional wedding march. In walked the bride’s maids, their escorts, the Maid of Honor and Best Man to the Clockwork Orange Music for the Funeral March of Queen Mary.  Everyone carried a stick hand-made Venetian half face mask with feathers of sequins.

Now Jeff’s big moment. He waited until the aisle was clear and then stepped over the threshold, Stepdad on his right, Mom on his left.  Jeff had  a stick-held mask too:  a gold smiling Buddha face.   His entrance  music? The theme song from The Godfather, his favorite movie.  Laughs and applause greeted his dignified march toward the bridal bower decorated with autumn leaves.

Could Nichole follow that act?   Once he was standing near the candles and priest, she emerged through the door, flanked by Frank and me. Instead of a bridal bouquet, she held a solemn white mask with lavendar  shaded cut-out  triangles for eyes  and bright red expressionless lips. A burst of eight-inch white feathers erupted from the open top. Thick black feathers spilled out underneath her chin.

She glided down the aisle, erect posture and beautiful walk thanks to Barbizon modeling classes at age sixteen.  Jeff had chosen the music for her entrance too, a piece from The Elephant Man.  Although it was doable, I wondered at the significance. Then I remembered.  Many of Jeff’s friends from high school attended. This was sure to bring back memories of the senior play and Jeff in the lead role as—you guessed it—Joseph Merrick, a deformed man born in 1862  known later as the Elephant Man because of  tumors that changed his body.

As soon as Nichole reached the groom’s side, the priest linked the ceremony to masks and how we all wear invisible ones.  “But when you find your soul mate,” he droned, “You no longer have to conceal your true identity. This is what happened with Nichole and Jeff.”

That was the cue for each of them to hand over their masks to Best Man and Maid of Honor.  Nichole smiled. Jeff sniffed and wiped away one of several tears. Emotion continued to overwhelm him throughout the ceremony. On the other hand,  Nichole, as regal as any queen, never lost her composure and  only exuded serenity.

The priest explained the symbolism of lighting two candles in front of them. The black symbolized their spiritual connection as separate individuals. The orange recognized their spiritual connection as one. Together their hands guided the long handled lighter to each candle. Stillness reigned. In spite of its pagan dressings, I felt holiness in that room and so much love. I suspect others did too. The priest allowed time for this hallowed space.

Back to reality a minute later. Bride and groom faced each other again.  Jeff’s uncle, aka the priest, set the tone of the nuptials. Clearing his throat he turned to Nichole and said with a straight face, "So Snow White, you’re going to marry Dopey.”

To be continued.