Weddingbee

Previously in this series:
A Jasmine Wedding Story: The Mehndi
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When I opened my eyes on the morning of my wedding, my attention drifted to the Grant Hill poster on my bedroom wall. When I was fifteen, I was sure I’d marry Grant Hill. We’d live in a fancy Detroit suburb and have beautiful (his genes), athletic (his genes also) children together. Seeing the slightly faded poster of my girlhood crush brought a bemused smile to my face. Things had changed a lot since I lived in that room. I was now a lawyer, living halfway across the country in a big city. I was going to marry a man better than anyone I could have dreamed for myself. In those brief moments, I felt truly blessed.

The morning was a whirlwind of congratulations and hugs, a light breakfast for my still-queasy stomach, and a flurry of packing. We were running almost an hour late, which was unusual for my punctual-to-a-point family. I knew that everyone followed the lead of the bride, so I did my best to be cheery and light-hearted, even while my insides churned with nervousness.

We arrived at the InterContinental Hotel, the site of our wedding ceremony and reception. My mom and I went straight to the bridal suite to meet Jeannie Jeffries and Madeeha Kibriya of Couture Bridal Services. Jeannie and Madeeha are both effortlessly beautiful and stylish; I couldn’t help hoping that some of their easy beauty would rub off on me.

Jeannie ran her hands through my waves and decided on an elaborate updo for the ceremony. She placed each curl in the updo very carefully. It was important that she be able to quickly take it down during the cocktail hour and create a seductive old Hollywood style for the reception. Madeeha drew upon my claret and gold lengha for makeup inspiration; she created stained merlot lips, kohl-rimmed eyes, flushed cheeks, and long, flirty lashes.

My mom laid out my ensemble and dizzying array of jewelry on a dining table in the suite.

Madeeha was my dresser and she was invaluable in putting the entire look together. First she assisted me with my jewelry. She carefully affixed the tikka to my forehead, the jhumka over my ears, the necklace over my head, and the bangles over my wrists. Then she helped me into my lehgna, the thousands of red and white crystals glinting brightly against the heavy fabric.

The finishing touch was the dupatta, a heavy veil to be placed over my hair and artistically pinned over my shoulders and across my waist. When I finally stole a peek in the mirror, my breathing became short. It was undeniable: I was now a bride. I couldn’t quite believe what I saw when I looked in the mirror.

Angel peeked through the door as we put the finishing touches on my outfit and jewelry. As we warmly embraced, I felt a rush of emotion. I’d played through this moment many times since I’d hired Angel, and here we were: together on my wedding day. She produced a Tiffany bag from behind her back. “A gift from the groom!”, she exclaimed. I pulled out the note, written in Mr. J’s familiar chicken scratch, on thick InterContinental stationery.

It was funny, warm, and comforting — all my favorite traits of his. In the note, he urged me to wait until after the wedding to open the gift. Even though I decided it was a bit cruel to leave a girl with an unopened Tiffany box, I obliged him.

As I stood up to smooth the folds of my heavy skirt, it dawned me. My transformation into a bride was complete. With hugs all around to Madeeha and Jeannie for their amazing work, I decided to wait for the ceremony to begin in a quiet unused bedroom. Anna, Angel’s sister and assistant, offered to keep me company. Anna and I walked down the quiet hallway, my hands nervously clutching at my white bouquet. Mr. Jasmine was somewhere in the same hotel, preparing for his baraat. But for now, I just had to wait…

Up next: Mr. Jasmine’s procession– from his perspective!

photos courtesy of the incomparable marisa holmes

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