The Mother-in-Law(13)

“No chance of that,” I say.

“Are you sure? I could have a mare waiting in case you want to make a quick getaway. From your mother-in-law, perhaps?”

I check my teeth for lipstick. Fire engine red is a risqué color for one’s wedding day, but I think I can get away with it. “Maybe keep the car running just in case.”

My friends and I have unpacked my relationship with Diana at length, from her calling me fine, to insisting she wasn’t my mother while bridal dress shopping, to intimating that the wedding dress I selected was frivolous and over the top. Admittedly, she had a point about the dress. I knew I’d gotten carried away with the bridal dress shopping, but it was a rare bride that couldn’t say the same. And at least I was big enough to admit it! After Diana’s outburst at the bridal store, I’d convinced Dad—much to the sales lady’s horror—that I needed time to think about the dress. It had taken a few days, but I’d realized Diana was right, it was ludicrously overpriced—daylight robbery even, just as she’d said. And a few days later, while looking at my parents’ wedding album, I’d noticed how beautiful Mum’s dress was. I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t thought of it. I’d always loved wearing Mum’s clothes. Barely was there a day when I wasn’t wearing a coat or a scarf or a piece of jewelry from her collection. There was just something about having something of hers wrapped around me that made me feel close to her. On days that I really missed her, I wore multiple items of Mum’s.

I take a few steps back from the mirror and look at my reflection. Mum’s dress is my something old. A 1970s ivory silk dress with a high neckline, long sleeves and an empire waistline and covered buttons traveling from the left shoulder to just under the chin. When I asked Dad about it, he had produced it from the attic, lovingly wrapped in acid-free tissue thirty years earlier. There were a few yellow stains, but they were on the waistline and were able to be hidden by the wide, mint green sash I’d added. My pillbox bridal hat with birdcage veil, which I did purchase from the bridal store is my something new. My sapphire earrings that Ollie gave me for my birthday are my something blue.

“Right then,” Claire says. “Something borrowed.” She points to the diamond studs in her ears. “How about my earrings?”

“But the sapphires in my earrings are my something blue.”

“My shoes?”

Claire’s feet are a size and a half larger than mine. Also, her shoes are pink, the same color as her dress.

“My lipstick? My hair brooch?” Claire tries, but she’s just stabbing in the dark now. I’ve already had my makeup done by a makeup artist. My hair is out with a loose wave, soon to be topped with my hat and veil. Millie, who is jumping on Dad’s bed now, will wear a flower crown, as will Claire.

There is a gentle tap at the door. “Come in, Dad,” I call.

Despite telling Dad repeatedly that it is not bad luck for him to see me before the wedding, he has covered his eyes every time we’ve crossed paths this morning. I wait for his bearded face to appear around the corner, eyes closed, but the door remains closed.

“Dad? You can come in.”

“Lucy? It’s Diana Goodwin.”

Claire and I lock eyes. Silent horror travels between us. Diana is at the door. What on earth is she doing here?

“Hello, Diana,” I say tremulously. I wonder why there isn’t a rule forbidding the mother-in-law from seeing the bride on the day of the wedding. “Would you . . . would you like to come in?”

There is a short pause, and then the door handle twists. Diana’s face appears in the opening. “I’m sorry to show up like this. I just have something to give you.”

“Oh?”

I open the door further and Diana casts a brisk smile at Claire and a slightly less brisk smile at Millie, who pauses mid-bounce on Dad’s bed. She stares at Diana. I get the feeling she is as terrified as I am.

“I’ll give you a minute,” Claire says, gathering up Millie and scurrying out the door. Diana waits for them to leave and then enters the room fully.

“You look lovely,” she says.

It isn’t lip service, I’ve actually never seen Diana look so lovely. She’s wearing a navy linen shell top with a soft blue A-line floor-length skirt. She is wearing makeup—pink lips and smoky eyes—and she smells like a bouquet of fresh-cut flowers. I suddenly get a glimpse of Diana as a young woman, a beautiful young woman, and I understand why Tom always looks so pleased with himself around her.

“Thank you,” Diana says. “So do you. I called your father this morning to see if there was anything I could do and he told me you didn’t have something borrowed.” Diana reaches into her clutch, pulling out a navy leather jewelry box, trimmed with gold. “I wore this on my wedding day.” She opens the box and produces a silver necklace with a small flat, twisted pendant. “It’s a Celtic knot. It represents strength. If it doesn’t go with your dress you could perhaps hide it underneath the bodice.”

“I love it,” I say immediately. “And I’m not hiding it anywhere. I’ll wear it around my neck where everyone can see it.”

Diana looks as pleased as Diana can look. She comes around behind me and I lift my hair for her to fasten it. When she’s done, she gestures to my hat and veil. “Do you need help with this?”