The Wedding Decision

Kiki had seen it all—drunk brides, nervous brides, quiet and loud ones. Her business, Beauty by Kiki, specialized in those last finishing touches—makeup and hairstyles—transforming even the plainest Jane into a glowing bride. Engaged women from Charlotte to Asheville reserved Kiki’s services one year in advance of the big event. Bookings had recently decreased and money was tight.

Today, Kiki showed up early as usual, expecting the typical pre-wedding nervous questions from the bride: time estimates, payment details, color palette suggestions due to a tan or lack of tan or an untimely blemish. But Kiki, ever the pro, did not expect what happened.

The bride, Delaney, seemed sad, almost morose, with her down-turned lips, her tear-filled blue eyes squinting at the hotel suite wall clock. Three p.m., two hours away from the arboretum wedding. Setting down her tray of cosmetics and the second tray of hair gel, spray, flat iron, blow dryer, and other accoutrements, Kiki flashed a smile and extended her hand.

“Hello! So nice to finally meet you in person. Congratulations on your big day.”

In response, Delaney just gazed out the eighth-floor window, those teary eyes fixed on the North Carolina mountains as if searching for answers in the slopes and the greenery.

Kiki leaned into the raised chair, then softened her voice. “Are you okay?”

The bride, Delaney Thompson of the Thompson Department Stores, reached across to the dresser and grasped one red rose from the dozen her fiancé had sent to the room. Pulling out the petals one at a time, she said, “Do it. Don’t do it. Do it. Don’t do it.”

Her phone sang the “Here Comes the Bride” theme. Delaney ignored it. Texts and calls continued, but she paid them no mind.

Kiki wondered if her client was having doubts, or maybe she was just nuts. There’d been other silver-spoon brides before whose fathers couldn’t wait to marry off for various reasons. Last year there’d been a drug-using daughter of a wealthy tech company CEO; shoplifting and drunken rages were weekly events in the twenty-four-year-old bride’s life. But even after taking downers and five whiskey shots, the wedding had gone off without a hitch. That marriage ended six months later. Kiki had little patience for these wealthy young women who were strangers to the land of struggle. Struggle was Kiki’s middle name.

She busied herself with setting out makeup choices based on the bride’s preference list. Delaney wanted Kiki to emphasize the pale blue of her eyes. Fake eyelashes had also been written on the preference list. Red lips to add a pop to her pale complexion. Kiki watched as the bride tried not to step on the petals after her heel smooshed the red color into the light-hued carpet.

The dress, designer for sure, hung like a ghost from a high-up hook. Whenever the air conditioner kicked on, the dress swayed. Hotter than usual in Asheville in July, even the temperature set at sixty-five was not enough to cool down the room. The bride’s phone ringtone continued to sing until finally Delaney turned off her device.

Kiki recalled her own wedding dress, bought used for fifty-five dollars from a consignment shop. Back then she’d been a size twelve, her thinnest. She adjusted the band on her stretchy pants. Somehow, she’d gained stubborn weight with the birth of each son, moving four sizes in the wrong direction. After the birth of her second child, she’d given up completely on wearing pants with buttons and zippers. 

“Would you marry someone if you found out something about them right before the wedding?” Delaney looked at Kiki for the first time.

On these types of pre-wedding questions, Kiki always tried to stay on neutral ground by giving pat answers that expressed no opinion or judgment. Her mother, a high school English teacher, had taught her this lesson. When asked this first question by her sad bride, Kiki applied foundation with a sponge applicator, then said, “Like what?” Answering with a question was another good strategy. “Like he lied about his middle name? Didn’t want to tell you it was Elmo?” Humor was the third tactic.

“Bigger.” Delaney extended her two palms, spacing more air between them, as if showing the size of a fish.

“Like he kissed your best friend before you started dating?”

Delaney shook her head, then left the chair, wearing just porcelain foundation. Blank canvas awaiting color. Walking the room, pacing in fact, her lean body seemed fragile, as if it carried the weight and pain of a hundred women.

“Well, I might not be the best person to ask.” Kiki watched Delaney sit on the thick, white duvet, her petite frame sinking into the thickness of it. “My ex cheated on me three times before I left him. I’m very forgiving.”

The truth of the matter was Kiki’s self-esteem had sunk to such a low, she feared being alone. Would anyone date her? But after Paulo’s third time cheating, she’d kicked him out. And, unfortunately, she’d been correct about the singles’ world. Sure, once and a while a friend set her up on a date or there’d be a first meet-up set up through one of the online sites. But when the guy found out that Kiki had two young kids and that she rented in a not-so-great area, he didn’t call again. Just as well; she had little extra time.

Delaney stepped back to the chair and looked out the window again. This time she peered down at the crowds of shoppers below. “I think I am as well—forgiving—but there’s a trust issue. Can you trust that person again? What will they lie about next time?”

“Hold still, please,” Kiki said, then expertly attached the eyelashes. “It just depends what the lie is and what you are willing to tolerate. There’s always something to put up with in any relationship. Even friendships.” She held up two different shades of blush, one pale pink, the other rose. Kiki decided on the rose, then brushed it on the apples of Delaney’s prominent WASPy cheekbones. She would have killed for this bride’s profile. Instead, she’d been blessed with her mother’s round face. Kiki’s mother never said a word about what her father looked like. One of those off-limit topics. She’d spent years asking aunts and uncles, but no one seemed to know who her father was.

What could this gorgeous bride possibly have to worry about? Everyone in North Carolina knew her mother and father. Portraits of the grandfather could even be seen in the entries to the family department stores. Delaney never had to guess who her father was. The entire gene pool was on display for the consumer. In a year, Kiki figured, Delaney would be pregnant with a perfect first child who would attend private schools and then Duke or Princeton. There’d never be worries about paying rent or filling the refrigerator with enough food for her perfect family.

“Are you married?” Delaney checked for a ring on Kiki’s left hand.

Kiki didn’t wear jewelry. Her black pants and gray shirt was her intentional outfit selection. It was all about blending into the background and placing emphasis on the bride. She shook her head.

“I was. Not anymore. Some people might say I lie by making women look their best on the wedding day. They could say the bride doesn’t look like this on a daily basis.”

“That’s not a lie. I mean—you’re enhancing beauty. Can you really make an ugly bride appear pretty?” Delaney asked.

“Usually. It’s amazing what skilled contouring can do to hide certain imperfections. But a few women still become the best version. From the outside, that is.” Kiki believed marriage was much like the giant wedding cake, with layer upon layer building up over the years, lies and half-truths iced over until you no longer recalled what a person resembled in the beginning. By year twelve of her marriage to Paulo, she couldn’t remember why she’d ever loved him.

“Go ahead and make me look pretty. If I change my mind, at least I’ll look good when I call it off.”

“Delaney, you are so pretty already. You hardly need any help from me.”

After finishing the eyeshadow and liner, Kiki added some highlighter to the cheeks, then plugged in her curling iron. That’s when a knock on the door startled her client. Delaney moved forward and began wiggling her foot.

“Want me to answer that? Are the bridesmaids coming to toast with you?” Kiki asked.

“Not yet. Just ignore it.”

The knocking grew louder until it sounded like pounding. Delaney put a finger over her pouty lips. “Shh.”

“Laney! It’s me. Let me in!” Sedgewick called from the hallway.

Kiki applied lipstick and gloss, trying to block out the pounding.

“Come on! Open up. We need to talk. I was eighteen. Stupid. Didn’t you do stupid things at eighteen?”

Delaney turned her head away from Kiki, who was about to apply hairspray to the curled ends. Kiki asked, “Do you need a minute? I’m about done here.”

Nodding, Delaney scooted off the chair and quietly approached the door. She looked through the peep hole, then slid slowly down the door, her satin bathrobe bunching up around her. 

“I know you’re there, Laney. Please. Forgive me. Do you know how much I want to marry you?” Sedgewick pleaded in a cracking voice.

Holding her flat palm against the wooden door, as if searching for her fiancé, Delaney spoke softly. “You had a child with someone else. You had a child and didn’t tell me! How can you do this?”

“I was in high school. She didn’t tell me she was pregnant. I was just as surprised as you were when she crashed the rehearsal dinner with my child. Please, Laney, open the door.”

Kiki packed away the brushes and makeup. She unplugged the curling iron. This had never happened before. What would the bride do? Prep school boys with money didn’t have unplanned babies at eighteen. She’d assumed it happened, but abortions followed behind closed doors, never to be spoken of again. On Kiki’s wedding day, she’d been halfway through her first pregnancy.

Delaney shook her head. “No. It’s too much. I need to think. I mean, I wanted us to have our first child together. You’ve taken that away from us. My God, he looks just like you. Ten years and you didn’t know. I don’t believe you.”

Kiki wanted to vanish. This was too personal. With the exception of applying the hairspray, her work was done here. But she couldn’t leave, not until she got paid. Without this check, there’d be no food for the week. And she couldn’t leave until Delaney moved away from the door.

“But the wedding’s in an hour, Laney. What should I do?”

“I need more time. Just go away. Let me think.”

Loud footsteps faded down the hall.

Kiki bent down and applied the hairspray. Delaney picked herself up from the floor, touched the hanging dress, then stood by the window.

Another work of art. Kiki had done her job and done it well. She often took before-and-after photos to post on her company website, but not this time. This young woman really was gorgeous, especially with Kiki’s skill at accentuating her blue eyes and perfect lips. If only she could use her magic brushes to fix this couple’s pre-wedding issues. At night, when her sons were in bed sleeping, Kiki stayed awake juggling the checkbook. That’s when she wished she could paint away her money issues with brushes and highlighter.

Delaney was still at the window. “Do you know there’s a formation, Pilot Mountain? You might have seen it on the way up here. It’s supposed to look like a saddle or plane or something. I’ve always thought it looks like a bed or a person who was so tired, she just set her body down on a bed and never got back up again.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with it,” Kiki said. Every time she drove to Asheville, she noticed the formation. She’d always wanted to see it close up, but never had time for side trips.

“I’m suddenly so tired,” Delaney said. “So very tired. You can go. Gonna lie down and just shut my eyes a bit. Your check is on the dresser. Thanks, Kiki. You made me look the way I always wanted to look on my wedding day. Or whatever day this turns out to be.”

Kiki didn’t usually hug her clients, but this time she did. Money was a problem, but maybe everyone had issues—even well-to-do beautiful people. Had she been unkind to these brides? Thinking their lives were perfect?

“It will be fine, Delaney. Whatever you decide, it will work out. Good luck.”

Kiki grabbed the check and her bag of supplies and gently closed the door. She passed the groom, who was slouched down in the hallway. The white rose pinned to his lapel hung crooked. As Kiki pressed the elevator button, she looked back to see a petal dropping to the floor.