Julia Watts - Wedding Bell Blues

Doris, the lady in the half-glasses, presented Lily with a bouquet of red plastic carnations — the kind that would decorate graves in a cemetery near a trailer park. “A bride needs a bouquet,” the old lady said, beaming.

And a blushing bride Lily was, with a baby in one arm and a tacky plastic bouquet in the other, wearing her Good Vibrations T-shirt, cutoff Levi’s, and Doc Martens. If there were a magazine called Postmodern Bride, she would be its cover girl.

“Ben McGilly, do you take this woman, Lily Fox, to be your lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?” Frank droned. Clearly this ceremony was no more magical for him than it was for the bride and groom.

“Sure, okay,” Ben said. “I do.”

“Lily Fox, do you take this man, Ben McGilly. ...” While Frank finished his litany, Lily’s eyes wandered to a nearby display shelf where she saw a box marked MEDICATED DOUCHE. When Frank finished the as-long-as-you-both-shall-live bit, Lily replied, “I...I douche,” and collapsed in a fit of nervous giggles.

“Then you may kiss the bride.” Frank apparently hadn’t even heard her joke. Heterosexuals were a humorless lot, Lily decided.

Ben leaned over to kiss Lily’s cheek, but she turned so he caught her on the lips. He was the one who had said they had to make this look real, after all. The kiss was completely bland, like pecking an old aunt’s powder-scented jowl.

“Smile!” Doris said after their perfunctory kiss. She snapped a Polaroid of the three of them. Mimi was chewing on the plastic bridal bouquet. Doris handed the Polaroid to Ben. “Something to show your grandchildren.”

“Thanks.” Lily threw the god-awful snapshot in the trash as soon as they were out of the store.

“That was certainly romantic,” Lily muttered, strapping a complaining Mimi into her car seat. “It’s okay, honey,” she cooed to the little girl, “you won’t be in your nasty old car seat much longer, I promise.”

Ben started the car. “So ... ready to go meet the in-laws?”

“Why not? Might as well make this day as surrealistic as possible.” Today had been like a dream for Lily, though not in the sense that bubbly straight girls might say their wedding day was like a dream.

Just like in her dreams, today Lily had been performing one bizarre action after another, and as in the dream world, no matter how bizarre her actions were, she had no choice but to perform them.

Ben drove them into the rolling hill country outside of Versailles, where the only businesses were the beautiful working farms and the ugly corrugated aluminum buildings that housed textile companies.

Ben slowed down when they passed one of these buildings. “Well,” he said, “there’s the source of the fortune you just married into.”

The slate-blue aluminum building hardly looked like the source of a family fortune. On the building’s side was a block-lettered sign reading THE CONFEDERATE SOCK MILL. Next to the lettering was a line drawing of a cartoon Confederate soldier, who resembled a Civil War-era Beetle Bailey, leaning against a cannon, asleep in his sock feet. “Well...” Lily searched desperately for something to say.

“I know it doesn’t look like much,” Ben said. “But we do an incredible international business. You see, back when he was playing sports in high school, Daddy got frustrated because he couldn’t find any socks that didn’t start sagging after several washings. So after he graduated from technical school, he developed a special kind of elastic and patented it. Confederate Socks never lose their elasticity, and we’ve made millions off ’em. Daddy always gives free socks to the Faulkner County High football and basketball teams, since that was where his idea began.”

“It’s quite an American success story,” Lily said. “Growing up with a self-made man like that for a dad, no wonder you vote Republican.”

“Hey, it’s in my best interest to make sure business is protected.”

“Well, it may be in your best interest financially, but I still think that gay Republicans are like gazelles who try to make friends with lions.” She and Ben had had this argument umpty-dozen times.

“But I guess there’s no need for us to argue politics on our wedding day, is there, honey?”

“I guess not... pumpkin.”

Lily laughed. “So, how are your parents gonna take this— you showing up with new wife and baby in tow?”

“Oh, they’ll be thrilled, once they get over the initial shock. I mean, you’re certainly not who they would’ve picked out for me if they had had the choice, but as far as their gay-boy son goes, any woman is better than no woman.”

Lily looked up from gnawing her nails. “You sure know how to flatter a girl.”

Right past a run-down store advertising live bait and sandwiches, Ben pulled into a long driveway.

The driveway ended at a huge monstrosity of a house — a red brick mansion with antebellum columns and a cupola on the roof. “When Daddy had this house built, Mom couldn’t decide if she wanted Tara or Monticello,” Ben said, “so they kinda built both.”

Lily wondered what she would do if she had the money to build a house like this. The only thing she knew for sure was that if she did, she definitely would not use the money to build a house like this.

“So,” Ben said, “you ready to meet the folks?”

“Sure thing, Benny Jack.”

“Never call me that. Half the reason I moved away from this damn place was so nobody would call me that.”

Lily, with Mimi in her arms, followed Ben up the front porch steps. Ben opened the front door and hollered, “Mom!” There was no answer, so they went inside.

The living room was decorated in slate blue and mauve, with lots of geese, sheep, and other ersatz

“country” doodads. A TV with a theater-sized screen dominated the room. “Mom!” Ben yelled again, then said, “She must be out back.”

Lily followed Ben through the enormous kitchen, through the formal dining room with the fully stocked china cabinet and floral centerpiece on the table, through the sunroom with its white wicker furniture. They went out the back door and down a stone path that led to a high wooden fence. Ben opened the gate.

Mrs. McGilly was lying on a floating air mattress in the Olympic-size swimming pool, reading a glossy-covered romance novel and eating grapes. She was an attractive woman, with curly light brown hair that was highlighted with the occasional streak of silver. For the mother of three grown children, her body was positively streamlined in her purple swimsuit.

Ben stood silently, waiting for her to notice him. Finally, she looked up and exclaimed, “Benny Jack! You ’bout scared me to death. You didn’t tell me you was coming!”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Mrs. McGilly pulled down her sunglasses and regarded Lily and Mimi. “Well, hon, ain’t you gonna introduce me?”

“Uh...sure, Mom. This is Lily, my wife, and Mimi, my daughter.”