A wedding story

One of my closest friends is getting married next Saturday afternoon. My bridesmaid dress, shoes and jewelry are all ready to go, and if the sunshine cooperates this weekend, as it’s scheduled to do, I should have something resembling a suntan to go with the ensemble. So, on the outside, I will look the part. But on the inside, I know I will be standing at the alter, watching this girl, this woman I’ve known since I was 8, embark on a whole new life, a life away from me.

No, she’s not moving. She will be living in the same house she and her fiancé bought nearly two years ago now. And, being the friend she is, I know there will always be a well-worn spot on her couch for me (although I now have to share this space with a little Boston Terrier, but I think we’re getting used to each other). We will still have movie nights, we will still sit out on her deck until all hours of the night drinking cheap rosé wine and munching on low-fat wheat thins smothered in garlicky humus. The only thing that will be different is the pervasive and sinking realization that she has reached the next stage in her life, while I continue to feel like I’m still trying to grasp the basics.

Oh, I know. Being married should not stand as a hallmark of achievement for a woman. I realize and on some primary, instinctual level, even believe this to a certain degree. I’m content with the things I’ve done in my life. I’ve been fortunate enough to do some interesting travel, I have a university degree, a good job that I love. I have fantastic friends, a supportive family. I know that many of the things I’ve done, I likely would not have were I already married. And yet, it’s the uncertainty. The not knowing whether or not I will end up with a husband, house and kids, or a condo, cat and houseplants. And it’s scary. I would be telling a tall tale if I said this didn’t frighten me, and on particularly bad nights, keep me awake.

We single women tout the same lines, sing the same song, recycle the same assurances to one another as though these bits of hand-me-down wisdom were anchors in a severe rain storm. “You’ll meet someone when you least expect it, you’re better off by yourself anyway, you need to be alone, you’re too good for him, he wasn’t right for you…neither was he.” Yet, as we marry off our friends, one by one, our faith in these beliefs, if they can be called that, wanes. We watch our friends build happy and fulfilling lives with their partners and magically, their creativity isn’t suddenly and shockingly stifled, they don’t lose sight of themselves or their goals, they don’t even really change all that much, except they don’t always feel a need to be out in some bar on a Saturday night. And to watch this, time and time again, chips away at the single woman’s confidence that she’s better off alone. Maybe she’s not.

Perhaps it’s the experience of having a very-long term relationship crumble around my knees. Maybe it’s hearing, ‘Heather, you’re such a swell gal, oh, oh, excuse me but… there’s something on the bottom of my shoe, could you pass me a Kleenex or something…man, it’s on there like GLUE….it seems to be…oh, it’s…it’s stuck…what IS that? Oh, oh wait a minute now….oh, Heather that’s your HEART, oh, I’m sorry…please forgive me.’ one too many times. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m going to my friend’s wedding alone. What I do know, however, is that it can be difficult for a woman in her twenties to feel good about being single, especially when there are so many positive examples of wonderful relationships right under your nose.

And so, next Saturday, at 3 p.m. I will walk down the aisle, in my yellow satin dress and stand beside my friend as she enters married life. And I will be happy, really and truly happy for her. But when the wine starts flowing and my feet start to swell from my high-heeled shoes, when I’ve eaten so much wedding cake that my dress feels tighter than it should and the couples with kids are long gone, I might take a minute and feel a little sad for myself when I realize that when I go home, it won’t be to pack for my honeymoon. It will be to go home alone.

I’m getting a cat.