Why Two Electric Hair Clippers Appeared on the Dance Floor at Our Reception
The morning of October twelfth arrived with a pale, low sun that barely reached the tall windows of the bridal suite. My wedding veil sat on the small oak vanity table, its white tulle spilling over the edge like water. On the table next to it sat a small glass of water and a bar of lavender soap, its clean, sharp scent filling the small room.
“Well, you are the most beautiful bride this town has seen,” my mother said, pinning a small white flower into my hair.
I did not answer her, instead rolling my gold engagement ring around my finger. My eyes were fixed on the doorway, waiting for the one person who had almost decided to stay home.
“I still think we should have used the white satin ribbons for the pews,” my mother said, adjusting the lace at my collar. “The blue ones look a bit too bright for an autumn wedding, Clara.”
“Maribel likes blue,” I said, my voice soft.
