Page 77 of Just Say Christmas
A half hour later,he wasn’t sure what to expect, how to feel. Zora pinned the orange rose with its sprays of lavender to his lapel after doing Koti’s, tweaked both of them a bit, and said, “There you are. Ready to go. Orange roses for passion and enthusiasm, lavender for calm and devotion.” She smiled up at him with all the kindness in her nature and said, “It’s a good mix. It’s a good day.”
He gave a final tug to his tie in the mirror, straightening the knot in the collar of his white shirt, and it was all still a bit unreal, as if his head were floating above his body. The tie was silver, patterned with tiny dots. He’d bought it because the salesman had said it looked good with navy. What were the odds?
“Looks good, mate,” Koti said.
“Looks OK,” Marko said. He thought about Nyree instead, because it was a better spot for his thoughts, and then he went to find her.
She was sitting in front of the mirror at Ella’s dressing table, wearing a dressing gown—a new, full-length one made of something touchable and cream-colored that was big enough to cover the bump—and he could see, in the vee of the neck, the lace of a very pretty white bra. She smiled at him in the mirror, looking not quite like herself, with her hair up in a soft twisted arrangement with red and orange roses tucked into one side and her makeup perfect. He considered saying something like,Not used to seeing you like this,and instead said, “You look beautiful.”
“You’re not supposed to be here, I’m pretty sure,” Victoria said. “But then, I don’t know these rules.”
Nyree’s mum Miriama said, “No, he isn’t, but it’s Nyree’s day.”
Nyree reached a hand up to grasp her mum’s and said, “Thanks.”
“We’ll give you a minute,” her mother said. “Come on, Victoria.”
Marko sat down on the bed, and Nyree turned on the stool to face him. “Doing OK?” she asked. “Nervous?”
“A bit,” he said, then grinned. “Like being in the sheds before you walk out onto the field. You can’t wait to get stuck in, but you’ve got butterflies anyway.”
“Me too,” she said. “Good thing we get to hold each other’s hand.”
He wished he could kiss her without smudging her makeup. Instead, he set the square, flat box in front of her and said, “The groom’s gift to the bride.”
She’d given him his the night before. A painting of red flowers in a copper bucket. The flowers, which were like roses, but not, pulsed with crimson out of the dark background, while a flash of light reflected off the copper. It was darker than anything she’d done before, and more raw, the colors rich and warm as blood. The painting sat now like a promise on the dresser of the room where he’d grown up, where he’d lie with her tonight as her husband.
Knowing she saw him like that made him humble. He hoped his gift to her would mean as much. He said, “I didn’t make it, but I found it.”
She opened the box and looked at it for a long moment. It wasn’t in the shape of a flower, but it looked like a flower, he thought. Or like a wave, maybe. Like a shape you’d find in nature. A tiny bit barbaric, too, something about the boldness of the color. Like Nyree. A chain of yellow gold, and two ribbons of tiny diamonds suspended above it like those waves, framing a lozenge of orange citrine at the bottom, flanked by a smaller ruby-red garnet on either side. “It was something a woman would wear,” he said, “with her head wrapped in silk, riding at the front of a gypsy wagon. That’s what I thought.”
“It’s me,” she said, and looked up at him. Shining her light. “Isn’t it?”
The knot of uncertainty eased. “Yeh. It’s you. Beautiful. Unusual. Colorful. Powerful.”
* * *
NYREE
Nyree was standing in the kitchen again, and the doors were still open to the sunshine, but this time, she wasn’t cooking. She was wearing her wedding gown, and wishing she hadn’t had Victoria play the cello. Not that it wasn’t beautiful, because it was. Vic was playing a classical thing. Sounded good.The Swan,as Nyree recalled. Written just for cello.
Her mind was rambling because she was nervous. She was wishing Victoria was here, because then somebody else would have gone first.
Her Nan asked, “Ready?”
“Not . . . sure.” Nyree took a breath in, then let it out again. “I’m nervous. What if I’m not . . . what if I don’t do it right? Being married?”
“Oh, my darling,” Nan said, “you won’t.” Nyree whipped her head around and stared at her. Nan was smiling, her eyes twinkling as she said, “Nobody does it right. They just do the best they can. You’ve got a good man there. He’ll be giving you his best. As long as you give him yours, too, you’re golden.”
“I’ll give him mine,” Nyree said. Good thing the mascara was waterproof. Ella had done her makeup for her, had studied up beforehand and practiced on Caro, which felt, right now, like the most touching thing in the world.
Nan nodded out the doors. “Have a look.”
Oh. Hayden stood in front of the marquee now, dressed in a dark-gray suit, his deep-brown hair shining in the sunlight. Hayden, it turned out, was a wedding celebrant. “Because,” Zora had said on the phone on Friday, “when they passed gay marriage a few years back, heaps of his friends wanted to get married, but not everybody would perform them. Anyway, who wants to be married by somebody who doesn’t share their joy? Hayden’s a lawyer anyway, and he’s got a good heart, so . . . he did it. He’ll marry you too. He’d be thrilled to do it, and he’s coming anyway with Luke. Problem solved, maybe.”
So, yes, it was Hayden. As she watched, Victoria finished the piece and took a moment, the bow hovering above the strings. Vic was looking gorgeous in a purple-and-green sleeveless floral dress with black lacing up the front and a bit of ruffle at the wide hem. A dress that saidpretty girlall the way, and that went perfectly with lavender shoes, and summer, and joy.
“Dolce and Gabbana,” Vic had said when they’d been getting dressed together. “In a shop I’d never have gone into in a million years. Zora’s mum is brilliant. If spendy. Don’t ask how much it cost. Somebody else had better get married soon, that’s all I have to say.” And Nyree had had to hug her and laugh.
