Chapters 11
The wedding planning began almost immediately,
but it looked nothing like the stressful,
miserable months we had endured years ago.
Sarah did not want a magazine spread,
nor did she want a grand venue with white columns and manicured lawns.
She wanted a simple,
honest celebration of love,
surrounded only by the people who truly mattered.
One afternoon,
Sarah called Margaret,
her voice practically vibrating with excitement over the telephone.
"Margaret,"
Sarah asked,
"would you come with me to look at wedding dresses today?"
Margaret was stunned,
the telephone receiver held tightly against her ear,
her eyes wide with disbelief.
During the first engagement,
Vanessa had deliberately excluded Margaret from every dress fitting,
claiming it was a mother-daughter tradition,
despite Margaret offering to pay for the gown.
"Are you sure,
sweetheart?"
Margaret asked,
her voice trembling slightly.
"Your mother is flying in tomorrow,
shouldn't you wait for her?"
"My mom knows you are coming,"
Sarah replied warmly.
"And she agrees with me,
I want both of my mothers there when I find the dress."
That afternoon,
I drove Margaret to a small,
independent bridal boutique downtown,
a far cry from the exclusive,
champagne-soaked salons Vanessa had frequented.
I waited in the coffee shop next door,
reading the paper,
while the women spent hours inside the shop.
When Margaret finally emerged,
walking out into the late afternoon sun,
she looked radiant,
lighter than she had looked in years.
She slid into the passenger seat of the car,
a soft,
peaceful smile resting on her lips.
"How did it go?"
I asked,
starting the engine,
and pulling out into the light traffic.
"It was perfect,
Thomas,"
she sighed,
leaning her head back against the headrest.
"She tried on five dresses,
and chose a simple,
lace gown that cost less than the flowers at the last wedding."
Margaret turned to look at me,
her eyes brimming with a quiet,
deep emotion.
"When she walked out of the dressing room,
she looked right at me,
and asked if I thought Daniel would like it."
A small detail,
a simple question,
but it carried the weight of a thousand apologies,
healing a wound Margaret had carried silently for a very long time.
"She cares about what we think,"
Margaret continued,
her voice dropping to a whisper.
"She cares about our family."
"She is a good woman,"
I agreed,
reaching over to squeeze her hand as we drove toward home.
"Yes,"
Margaret nodded,
May you like
looking out the window at the passing streets.
"And Daniel is finally a lucky man."
