The soda tastes odd, because her mouth is so clean, but the cold and the sugar penetrate some part of her brain, rouse her just enough. “Thank you,” she says.
Lauren shrugs. “I just knew.” She gives her a knowing look, follows Lulu into the bathroom. After a few minutes, the two emerge, transformed. It’s amazing, the extent to which a garment can change every aspect of your being. When she disappeared into the bathroom, she was Lauren; emerging, she’s—something else. Yes, she’s made up, that’s part of it, but it’s the dress. The way it reveals parts of her body, highlighting the parts of the body that remain hidden; the way Lauren seems to understand, somehow, that she has to move her body differently, and then does, expertly, almost automatically. She looks like she wears dresses like this all the time. She looks—it’s not pretty, it’s more than that. It’s that old Lauren: the person Sarah loves so much that sometimes she wants to be her.
Lulu steps out of the bathroom. Her dress is navy, cut close, showing her body, its softness, its curves. She’s fiddling with an earring, looks like herself: a star. She smiles at Sarah, smiles at all of them, the practiced smile of a woman greeting her public.
“Your turn, my love,” she says.
Sarah looks at the dress, the white billow of it, like a cloud, almost sacred.
“My turn,” she says, to no one in particular.
She listens to the sounds of celebration: clicks and clacks on the parquet, the tinkle of glasses, hellos and kisses, the occasional shout of excitement. Danielle smooths her hair. Ines examines her makeup. Sarah can’t sit, because of the dress.
Her father comes upstairs, full of chuckles, but is distracted by the arrivals. Her mother comes back upstairs, still glowing from all the compliments. Lauren comes back upstairs, brings a glass of iced water. Willa comes upstairs, tells her it’s almost time. The photographer comes upstairs, snaps pictures of her with Lulu, her with Lauren, her alone, the three of them lined up at the top of the staircase, waiting for the signal from the string quintet that will be playing them in.
It feels like a surprise party that they are in on. This silly enactment of a ritual makes Sarah want to laugh, and she does, and Lauren laughs, too, and Lulu hushes them, and they stop laughing, and the music begins. Willa has to signal them; they can barely hear it.
Dan looks handsome. Dan is smiling. Sarah feels ridiculous. Everyone stands. She walks slowly, just like Willa urged her to. Slow, slow, counting down in her head. Huck relinquishes her arm, takes his seat. She looks out at the crowd. Sees aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, her parents’ friends, her friends’ parents. Everyone looks back at her.
She looks at Dan, looks up at him, because he’s taller than her. His face is broad, a little chubby at the chin. His skin gleams. He shaved that morning. His cheek looks soft. He smells like soap. His hair looks different, a layer of product holding it in place. She remembers not the first time she saw him—that memory is lost to her, a remarkable moment only in retrospect—but another time, years later, years ago now, at the wedding of Ben, Meredith’s brother, Dan, in a black suit, leaning against the window of the Princeton Club, candlelit, so himself, so handsome, that she’d known right then that she’d marry him, and in fact, here they are.
Rob kisses Lauren hello. It begins as a kiss on the cheek, turns into a kiss on the lips, becomes another kiss, when no one is watching, his tongue grazing hers.
“You’ve been drinking,” he says, not accusatorily.
Then she goes back upstairs, takes her place in line, parades in and stands by the couple as they wed, an ally. She scans the crowd as they’re saying their vows, finds Rob, tall, standing with hands folded behind his back like someone examining a painting in a museum. She wants to signal to him, somehow, a raised eyebrow, a grin, a mouthed word, but she can’t, because everyone is looking, everyone will see. That he is hers feels like a wonderful secret.
They say a few words, then more words, then there’s a cry of delight, and applause, and the guests who are seated stand, and Dan kisses Sarah.
Everyone practically chases the couple as they attempt to retreat down the aisle. They stop, abandon the plan, giving hugs and kisses, accepting compliments, wiping tears. Every cell phone comes out, photographs are taken.
Rob worms through the crowd toward her. Lulu has vanished. The recessional will not continue. Lauren puts her bouquet of green roses on a seat, takes Rob by the hand. “Let’s get a drink,” she says, loudly, to be heard over the chatter.