Chapter 3
The bandana had not been a choice about style. It had been about not having to explain.
I sat in that gold chair with the polished floor cold under my shoes and the waitstaff frozen mid-step, and my hands were on my knees because I needed something to hold me upright. My breathing had gone shallow again. The light from the chandeliers hit the pale blue of my dress and made it look brighter than it felt. Someone near the head table whispered and then stopped themselves. The standing bridesmaid — Lauren — still had her hand on the back of my chair.
Three weeks before, I had stood in front of my bathroom mirror and watched the last of it come out in my palm. The chemo had taken it in patches at first, then all at once. I'd kept the light off for a long minute and then turned it back on. My scalp showed through. It was white and tender and unfamiliar. I bought the bandana that afternoon at a shop on Main Street, light blue because I'd already said yes to the dress. The woman at the counter folded it into a bag without asking why. I tied it at home twice until it sat right and didn't slip.
That was the part no one at the reception knew how to look at without looking away.
The fitting had been in February. The bridal boutique had those tall mirrors and the carpet that swallowed sound. The bride — Anna — had booked the whole back room. There were four of us in light blue and her in white, even then. The strapless dress they gave me zipped up the back and sat loose at the chest. I'd lost weight I didn't have to lose. The seamstress pinned it and said she'd take it in.
I remembered standing on the little platform while Anna circled me. Her hair was already pinned the way she wanted it for the wedding, low and neat, and she had the pearl earrings in. She touched the top of my dress where it gaped and said, you need to eat more before the day. She laughed when she said it. Lauren laughed too, quick, and then didn't.
I said I might not be able to stand long that day. I didn't say chemo. I hadn't said it to anyone except Lauren and my mom. I said it had been a rough winter and the doctors wanted me resting.
Anna looked at me in the mirror, not at my face but at the dress in the mirror. She said, you're still coming though, right? You promised when we were sophomores. She said it like a vow she'd memorized. We'd been nineteen in her dorm room, drinking cheap wine, saying we'd be each other's bridesmaids no matter what. I had promised. She held that promise like a receipt.
The seamstress asked if I wanted a shawl or a different neckline. Something easier. Anna answered before I could. She said no, they all match. That's the point. She said it would look wrong in photos if one was different. Lauren looked at me then, and I saw her mouth make a small line, like she wanted to say something and decided not to.
I told my oncologist the next week that I had a wedding at the end of March. He didn't tell me not to go. He said, keep it short, sit when you need to sit, and have someone drive you home. He wrote rest as needed on a little notecard and handed it to me like that would help me explain it to someone else. I folded it and put it in my purse and never took it out.
I went because I thought if I backed out she'd remember it forever, and I didn't want to be the one who made her day have an empty spot in the photos. I thought I could sit at the reception and no one would mind. I thought a bandana that matched the dress would make it look intentional, like a choice.
In the boutique I had let them take the dress in. I had stood still while they pinned. I had told Lauren in the car after, I don't know if I can do the whole day, and she had said, I'll stay by you, we'll make it work. And I believed her.
Now the music had stopped and the manager stood near the cake table with his hands folded, unsure whether to keep the kitchen moving. The broken stemware was still on the floor where it had fallen, two pieces catching the light. My shoes were an inch from the spill. Lauren's grip on my chair tightened.
May you like
I realized the promise had cost exactly what the doctor said it would. My chest hurt from trying to stand when she told me I couldn't sit. My scalp itched under the bandana where I'd started to sweat. The dress that had been pinned to fit didn't fit the way my body was now. It fit the body I'd had before.
I wasn't angry yet. I was just finally understanding what I'd agreed to. I had come to keep a promise made by a healthier version of me, and she was holding that version to it.
