The Dowry Tree

Runt

Summer is wedding season. Unfortunately.

But it wasn't summer. In fact, it was hardly April. It was that point in springtime where the coldest part of day seems to be that drowsy twilight that brings in the sunrise. Instead of saturated orange, the sky remains pastel. Like the inside of the sweetheart roses we grew in the garden. A pink pastel. This morning was different. My middle sister, Fiona, was getting married. And I'm one of what seems like 200 bridesmaids. This wedding will be the tenth time I've been a bridesmaid in my entire 19 years.

Jesus, I hated weddings. In our family, a wedding is sacred. Well, I guess not sacred but it's definitely something we don't take lightly. Marriages in my household, are far more than two people bringing their friends and aunties together to celebrate a beautiful life long commitment. Marriages here are about chemistry, business and most importantly, money. I am one of several families in Canada still offers a dowry to  when they agree to be wed to me. My family lineage goes back centuries. This is the way or at least that's what I've been told.

People have cried at O'Claren weddings and also several people have died at O'Claren weddings. Truly, no joke. In 1896, my 4th time great grandmother was marrying a man who suspected her of not being "pure" or , as I was told, a virgin and the fathers from either side of the families dueled down the aisle. My 5th great grandfather died. Pretty metal, right? Perhaps the first time but when that becomes the only good story your family has to tell at Christmas dinner, it becomes right excruciating.

"Cella?" I suddenly heard from behind me. I should have known the bride would be bright eyed at this hour.

"You scared me, Fi." I told her as I turned around. I wrapped my robe tighter around me and scooted over on the garden bench. We both enjoyed the view from the veranda into the back lawn and rose garden. And I actually didn't mind talking to Fiona.

"What are you doing awake, Runt?"

That damn name. People called me Runt , firstly,  because I was the youngest. Secondly, I was the only O'Claren female to not have a marriage proposal. So, it's like I'm the Runt of some sycophantic litter of pure bred mutts.

"The damn rollers in my hair kept me up all night." I told her while I shook my head of loose, damp locks. She brushed a strand behind my ear and chuckled, "Mom's gonna kill you."

"Wouldn't be first time, am I right?"

She reached in her silk pajama pocket for a pack of Marlboros. Her hair was still up in curlers and I could see her waist trainer that poked out from her camisole. That's why I was always jealous of Fiona. She could be on the side of the road, left for dead in a bin bag but she's still going to be so gorgeous. I peered at her as she smoked, and fidgeted with her cheap lighter. I couldn't find a flaw if I were looking for flaws and I hated it.

But it's not even Fiona's beauty that I entirely loathed today. Peter Lancomb, her fiance is every man that usually gets married in those terrible holiday Hallmark movies. He was witty, funny, with a nice job and great smile. Maybe he owned a rescue shelter for lost puppies that are given to orphans. I wouldn't have been surprised.

But none of that mattered, the Lancomb family was greener than envy and Peter made a prosperous union with my sister.

"It's impolite to stare, Cell." Fiona said blowing smoke at me. She handed me what's left of her cigarette and I took a long drag before explaining how I felt.

"I'm nervous that I'm never going to be married."

Fi curled her mouth into a smile and she asked me why. I shrugged before saying,
"Because. Boys see you, and Oda. They don't see me."

"Oda?" She laughed. She put her hand on my leg and she sounded nearly insulted to tell me,
"Boys see Odessa because she throws herself at anything that walks. She got her first marriage proposal at 15 and first divorce at 17. Is that something you want?"

It was confusing. I felt trapped between wanting to be accepted and wanting to be free. Sometimes, I felt like I didn't know which one of those options included me finding a boyfriend. Or one finding me. Fiona knew I'd been no stranger to hooking up.  I'm not starved for male attention, just becoming more entitled to a choice.

I dubbed out my cigarette on the bottom of the bench, leaving ash streaks making a heart into the stone. I put my slippers back on, wiggled them back onto my feet and stood up. It was getting too bright outside and I needed to start waking up Gina.

"I'm just getting a little restless of the big countdown to when my relationship can become everyone's advantage."

I started back towards the back doors, and onto the upper level of the veranda.

"Celeste." Fiona called behind me.

She was smirking and she said quickly as I pulled open the door,
"You are different. But in a good way. A way, I think, is actually gonna make a difference around here."

This was why Fiona was my favorite sister. She always half-ass knew what to say to make me feel better. She didn't remind me of mom. She was nothing like my dad. Fiona was different like me.

Her face became satirically serious and she said,
"Don't fuck up my wedding, please."

I began to chuckle and nodded in agreement. I held up an ok knowing that was probably the bare minimum I could promise.

Because, after all. I really did hate weddings.

Only because, weddings seemed to hate me first.