Chapter 2

Susan's turn:

My wedding day. Let me say that one more time, just to make sure: MY WEDDING DAY! Yes! Susan Carter, daughter of Kathy and Mike Carter, is getting married to Jason Ellerbee, son of Ginger and Wallace.

Little girls dream about weddings. I always knew that one day I would be married like Mom and Dad. That's an important point. I know that a lot of friends and acquaintances in school want to get married. I'm a little more picky. I don't want to GET married. I want to STAY married. Like Mom and Dad.

Learned a lot from watching them. Perfect marriage? No. And yes. If 'perfect' means never disagreeing and never arguing and fighting, then no. If 'perfect' means loving and caring and seeing each other as worth the battles, then yes.

Example. Mom hates hunting. Dad is a hunter. Mom refuses to eat venison. Dad (and I) love it. Compromise. Dad goes hunting without Mom, brings home venison, cooks it himself, and WE eat. Mom makes do with a chicken breast or a ribeye. There are other examples, but you get the picture. I can see the result in the way they look at each other when they get home in the evenings. I won't talk about some of the sounds that leak out of their bedroom at night.

And then I've got neat friends. ODD, neat friends. Tina and Alan. Cindy and Dan Richards. Nikki and Dan Granger. All married. I talk with those girls, my sisters, several times a week. We Skype and message and email and phone each other. We've met for weekends and graduations. Tina and I practically LIVE in each other's back pocket since she moved to Tennessee and I got past my first bone-headed event with her.

And in all those talks and visits and whatever, NONE of those girls has ever said anything negative about husbands and marriage and freedom and such. Cindy said "Freedom? To do what? Sleep around? Change mates every other week? I'll tell you what I think freedom is. Freedom is being free to love the ONE guy who means everything to you while he thinks YOU mean everything to him."

And that's my Jason. One of the girls at school, when word of my engagement got out, learned that Jason's been married (and divorced). Snotty little thing said he was 'tarnished goods'

"Tarnished goods?" I said. "I can't BELIEVE you, Lisa Jane! I'm marrying him. Just because his first wife didn't see what I see in him, that's HER problem, not his. Or mine."

Oh, I know all about the former Mrs. Ellerbee. Jason's a whole lot more perceptive, some of it from maturity, some of it from hindsight. "I walked off the stage at graduation and straight into a sixty thousand dollar a year job. Two things some women will settle for: A dong and a paycheck. And the dong part wasn't that important. And when it wasn't fun any more, she hauled ass. I'm just glad we didn't have kids."

"She didn't love you," I told him, petting his head. "I love you."

He looked at me with those grey eyes of his, and said, "I love you, Susan."

And I believe him. So okay, from the first time that I touched his fingertips, the first time I met him, that was with Tina and Alan, I admit to being a bit smitten. But then, Jason's different. He tells me that he was an outsider at school, and I pretty much believe that. He's just, well, DIFFERENT, but not the way that some guys go out and make a special effort to LOOK different. Jason just IS different.

Some of it's like reverting to a bygone age. He's gallant, cultured, considerate. Add to that his intelligence and sense of humor, and I just fell. Like a tree that had its roots cut.

And we, to use the words he used on Dad, 'courted'. Then announced our engagement. I used to visit him at his apartment, but early on, I told him that I was going to be a virgin until my wedding night.

"You're a virgin?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "I am a good girl. I know right from wrong. And when I am married, I will give myself to my husband. Wedding night. I promised my family and I promised God."

"Then that's what we will do," Jason said. "I am a man of honor."

I won't say that there weren't times that I didn't REALLY have to... "Jason." Breathe. "Jason, baby..." Breathe. "Too much..." Did I mention that he's the best kisser I ever met. I mean, I am NOT that experienced, but hey, lots of dates, lots of kisses, and Jason makes me weak ... It's like his lips just brush mine and my nipples burn and my face flushes and I start getting gooshy.

I ... WE. US. We got that way more than once. I deliberately tried not to stimulate that lump in his pants, because I think that if I pushed a little too hard, then he'd lose track of things and if HE pushed a little too hard, I would be a goner. But just so you know, sometimes I almost wish we did.

More than once I got home, to my own house, my own bedroom, my own shower and...

"Tina, tell me. I know this is VERY personal," I said. "But before you an' Alan made love the first time. I mean intercourse. Did you ever, you know ... yourself?"

"I thought I was going to Hell for doing it, too," Tina said. "Here was Alan, perfectly honorable. He almost died the first time he thought I caught 'im with an erection, because he was trying to protect ME. And then I'd go get on my sofa and cover up and ... me and my fingertip..."

Yes, I did. And imagined ... yeah, fantasized, that it was HIS finger. Or some other things. I know about that other stuff. Never done ANY of it, mind you. I was too young to remember President Clinton's 'eatin' ain't cheatin'' defense, that oral sex wasn't you know, real SEX, but that's not the way I was raised. Oh, sure, I did the normal 'let's play doctor' kid stuff up until I was maybe five or six, and I babysat and changed diapers, and I admit to catching a glimpse of a fully grown one a few times, including, <<gasp!>> Dad's.

But I'd never touched one. Not intentionally, anyway. When Jason and I cuddled up, kissing, I couldn't HELP but notice that thing. Only the strongest self-control kept me from just grabbing it and saying "Let me HAVE this thing!"

"Cindy," I asked, "before you and Dan slept together, did you ever ... you know ... about him?"

I got a giggle back. "Mmm-hmm." I could picture the green eyes and that quirky little smirk of hers, a sort of tight-lipped smile. "I ... about two or three weeks after I met him, I was already deciding that Dan was THE guy. And I imagined how HE would touch me. And so I touched myself. And you know what?"

"What?" I asked. I should've known. In some ways Cindy's the most forward of the four of us.

"If the ones I did myself were like a candle, the first one Dan did for me was like the sun exploding. So get ready for it."

Interesting. Like wanting to go to a movie and everybody that's been tells you how wonderful it is...

And I'm anticipating.

And I'm nervous, too. Mid-afternoon, things are taking shape. Aunt Mimi has come over to help. Aunt Mimi fancies herself as the family fashionista. Mom's not frumpy or anything like that. I think she's beautiful, even at forty, and Dad adores her. Aunt Mimi is more about flash and fire, and so here I am, sitting on this chair and Aunt Mimi's gonna 'do' my hair. She opens up her crashbag (I call it that. Aggravates her to no end) and sets a couple of things on the dresser that to ME are like a cross and holy water to Count Dracula: hair spray and a teasing comb.

"Nope. Just put that stuff back," I said.

"But baby, this is your WEDDING day. You need to have a LOOK!"

"If you use that crap on my hair, Aunt Mimi, I'm gonna look at my former fiance' disappearing out the door. I like my hair like it is. And so does he. We've HAD that conversation already."

Aunt Mimi straightened up to her full five foot six height and looked at Mom. "Kathy Sue, talk to your CHILD!"

"Now Mimi, listen to her. It's HER wedding. And I know how Jason is. Humor her.

Aunt Mimi huffed, frustrated. I knew she was a very competent administrator for a good sized business, but deep down, I think she wanted to be a hairdresser. "Well, then, Miss Frump, what WILL you submit to?"

I handed her a pair of silver combs, a gift from Jason. "These! Pull the hair back on the sides of my face and use these to secure it. And that spray of orange blossoms, or whatever they are, can you figure a way to secure 'em so they'll stay there and not get in the way when I get kissed?"

Then she laid out enough base and blush and make-up to patch up a car wreck. "Put that up, too," I said. "Blush? Seriously? I'm eighteen and just thinking about the honeymoon is gonna make me blush plenty. Believe me, I'll be the right colors."

Mom started giggling.

"You're NOT helping, Kathy!"

"Seriously, Mimi, did you expect anything less from this girl?"

"No, but I expected her mom to control her."

"Not since she turned eighteen, baby doll, " Mom said.

Aunt Mimi was getting wound up. "I can't believe you're not doing MORE for the wedding. That dress..."

My turn. My dress was white. That's for me and my promise. And it's knee-length. If it was black, it'd be the basic 'little black dress'. I'm not the 'slinky blonde' type. I guess that if I starved and exercised I could get down to the numbers on that weight table that worries everybody, but I'm not there. I carry a few pounds extra. Everybody says I carry them well. And when I tried on that little dress in front of Mom and the gang, they thought it was ME. So do I.

"Aunt Mimi, I am just a little girl from Tennessee. Why should I try to look like British royalty for ONE day?"

"Oh, baby, it's your WEDDING day..."

"That's right, and after its over, all that gaudy crap goes back to the rental place (Dad's, but you get the idea, right?) or into the trash, and Dad gets the bills. I know people who're still paying off the wedding when the divorce is final. This is about me and Jason, and everybody else is along for the ride."

"But..."

"I love you, Aunt Mimi. We can do all that for your next wedding..."

"Kathy, I do believe my lovely niece is being a smart-ass."

Final touch-up in the little room off the church entry. I could hear the church pianist playing and I knew that my time was fast approaching and NOW I was getting nervous. Thank God that ONE thing Aunt Mimi had in her crashbag was some deodorant that has an EPA file number, otherwise I'd be sweating inordinately more that a young lady should sweat, even in early June.

The pastor's wife knocked on the door. "Susan, baby, it's your time." Opened the door and presented my arm to Dad.

"Your time, punkin," he said. "And before you take another step, let me tell you that you've never looked more perfect. And I'm proud of you."

A girl doesn't need to be crying when she walks down the aisle on her father's arm.

I took a deep breath. Tried to SEE. Oh, look! Jason. In the same suit he wears when we go to church together. Magically, we're on the platform.

"Who gives this woman in marriage."

I looked at my Dad's eyes and saw eighteen years of having a loving father as THE man in my life. It ended with "Her mother and I do." He released me to stand as Susan Carter, woman on my own, for the next whole minute I stood there next to ... Gosh, it's JASON!"

And there by him is a seven (ALMOST EIGHT) year old angel with orange blossoms in HER hair, with a velvet pillow holding two rings.

"Do you take this man..."

Quick, Susan, get control of your KNEES! Breathe! "I do."

"Do you take this woman..."

"I do. Forever," Jason ad-libbed."

And there was a ring on my finger. And his. And a kiss.

And a recessional, the subject of animated discussion on one of the sisterhood Skype sessions. "Not the usual thing," I said.

"Ode to Joy," Cindy said.

Squeals from my sisters. "Oh, absolutely!" Nikki said. "The greatest piece of music ever written."

"I would argue with that, but I agree that 'Joy' has to be at YOUR wedding," Tina said.

So a few people's sense of tradition got violated, and a few people probably got introduced to a piece of music they'd never heard, but I was out in the sunlight with that music behind me and Jason on my arm and Cindy's Dan and a real (Dad paid for him) photographer were snapping pictures and I turned to Jason and there in the sunlight of a June day, we kissed.

"Come on, Mizz Ellerbee," he said. "We have a reception to blow off."

Chapter 3 »