Marryingfor Love

Sera

In the upstairs dressing room I had constructed as part of the wedding planning process, I sat in front of a professional makeup artist like I had for the last hour. My neck ached, the cute, poofy chair had grown uncomfortable, and I really wished I’d eaten another croissant before I let her put on my lipstick.

I’d never been happier in my whole life. All the women from my bachelorette party fluttered around the room, fixing small stains or finding bobby pins or, in Joyce’s case, reattaching the heel to a shoe. Helping each other. Emma had made a girl-pop playlist that she’d presented to me shyly last night, and I’d thrown my arms around her and demanded we play it all morning, so bubbly synthetic guitar poured through the space.

“Done.” The makeup artist stepped back.

I blinked, rubbed my neck, and started to look at myself in the mirror.

“Not yet!” My mother pushed herself between me and the mirror before I could see everything. “Oh, Sera, you’re so beautiful.” She hugged me ca