Eleven bridesmaids, two moms, one future sister-in-law, a flower girl, two hair stylists, and two make-up artists. The last bit of behind-the-scenes chaos before the main event. Hours of trial and error. Stray eyelashes littered the table, like little caterpillars. Curls were tightened, brows reshaped, blotches corrected, search parties assembled for a missing lip gloss. There was a revolving stream of hotel staff and food deliveries and photographers and friends running emergency errands in the rain.
My goal: to leave the stray hairs and the smudges behind. My daughter's wedding would be as perfect as the chignon at the nape of my neck, still invisible, by early afternoon, to my naked eye without a hand mirror.
I have braced myself for this morning after, creeping up on me only hours after I finally fell into bed, only minutes, it seems, after toasting my daughter's engagement more than a year ago. The relief is welcome, after so much worrying about every little thing that could go wrong. Now, there is no expectation that might not be met, no unseen disaster lurking between the lines of countless check lists. What is left, today, is a renewed even keel, and days where bad hair is not a tragedy of epic proportions.
What is left is departures. By one-fifteen in the morning, the ballroom that had only hours earlier been drenched in sparkling light and infectious music and dancing fools and a massive pillow of "flutter-fetti" (best thing ever, by the way) had reverted to an unrecognizable cavernous space filled with tables as stark and bare as winter trees. Remnants of decor lay strewn across the floor, now nothing more than "mess." The most steadfast revelers straggled out, spent but not quite ready to stop. Room numbers were whispered; the celebration would continue, damn it.
The bride and groom, even more resplendent, last night, than they are when they are together on ordinary days, will head off tomorrow for a "mini-moon" to tide them over before the real deal. My youngest daughter, whose magnificent toast to her sister and her new brother-in-law made me at once smiley and weepy, will head back to school for finals. My son, the one I couldn't help but cling to the most this weekend, will head back to Japan in a few days for what will, no matter what, seem like an eternity to me until we can visit again. Everything seemed so right, having all my children with me, together, for a while. A snapshot, like the wedding itself; just a party, an event. Preceded by anticipation and worry, as perfect as a chignon while it lasts, as fleeting as the magic of a souped up hotel ballroom.
As with everything, there were some bumps, and even some minor catastrophes. There was cause for concern, yet everything seemed, at least to my naked eye, perfect. The lights are out, the guests have gone home, but this most magical night will stay with me for quite a while.
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