Chapter Four: Miranda
"There you are, Lorelai," my mother is waiting for me at the front door. "I expected you home a long time ago."
"I needed some time alone," I mutter.
"Well you're here now and I've got a treat! Follow me!" Emily sounds cheerful and happy. She's actually smiling. What?
"Uh, no." I'm not going anywhere with Stepford Mommy.
"Lorelai, I don't have time for your games," she snaps. Ah, there's the Emily I know and fear. "Come into the dining room."
I find a bored looking woman sitting at the table flipping through a catalogue. "This is Amanda, your wedding planner," Emily announces. She elbows me. "Go say hello."
"Well, Mom, I'm not even engaged. So why do I have a wedding planner?" I ask.
"We've already been through this, Lorelai," she says through clenched teeth. "You and Christopher will be married."
"And your wedding will be spectacular, dear. Don't worry," Amanda interjects.
She then starts off on a long description of the wedding, which apparently I will have no part in planning. The colors will be lavender and cream. They've already reserved the Peony Ball Room at the Arboretum. The place settings they've chosen are ivory colored Lenox china, with Tiffany silverware.
"We even have your dress all picked out!" she exclaims.
This is unbelievable, even for Emily.
"Are you going to give me the date, or are you two just planning to spring it on me that morning?" I ask.
"Of course we'll tell you the date!" Amanda chuckles. "You're right Emily; the girl really is a card!"
"I can't believe you did this without me, Mom!" I say. "Did you ever think that I might have an opinion?"
"I simply thought that you would appreciate my help, Lorelai. I'm sorry that I was so wrong." Great, now she's going to play the martyr.
"If anything here isn't good enough for you or up to your high standards," she continues, "we'd be happy to change it. I'm sure Miss Celine would gladly procure you a hot pink spandex wedding dress, if that's what you desire."
"Cute."
Miss Celine then bustles into the room, trailing an armload of cream colored silk behind her.
"There you are, Natalie Wood!" she exclaims, peering up at me through her thick glasses. "I hear you've been naughty! It reminds me of the time Vivien Leigh thought she was pregnant with Clark Gable's child. Oh, those two hated each other, but the passion! It was like watching two cats have at it… "
"Miss Celine, please!" I silently thank my mother for shrilly interrupting Miss Celine's description of their passion.
"What was I saying, dears?" she asks.
"The dress, Celine, the dress," my mother is clearly exasperated.
"Ah, yes. An exceptional creation if I do say so myself." Miss Celine then holds out the frothy concoction that is my apparent wedding dress and I attempt to suppress a horrified gasp. It comes out as more of a strangled cry, which Miss Celine seems to take as an expression of my excitement.
"Yes, yes, do try it on, dear." She shoves the ton of tulle into my hands and Emily nods at the powder room.
"Go ahead," Emily orders.
As I struggle to pull it over my head, I realize the dress is even worse than I had originally thought. The skirt is composed of layer upon layer of off white tulle, while the beaded bodice clings tightly to my torso and chest. My hips look about three times as wide as my shoulders. The sleeves are long and sheer and flecked with champagne colored sequins. Each ends with a point that dangles oddly near my knuckles when I let my hands fall to my slides. The piece de resistance is the sheer netting that starts at the sweetheart neckline and rises to a turtleneck. My wedding dress has a turtleneck. That's disturbing on so many levels.
"Oh, isn't she lovely?" Miss Celine enthuses as I pick my way into the room, trying not to get tangled up in the hoop skirt. Amanda and my mother are in similar raptures. They're both staring at me as if I'm a prized pumpkin that just won at the county fair.
"No." That's all I say. Absolutely not. Not only am I not ever putting this hideous concoction on ever again, I will not be having Skipper's dream wedding, or any wedding for that matter.
"Lorelai…" Emily begins in that warning tone of hers.
I whirl around from the exit I was trying to make and place my hands on my hips. "Come on, Mom. This isn't just a little bit ridiculous to you? A shotgun wedding in a dress made for Ivana Trump? Your position at the DAR can't be so important to you that you'd force me into doing this, can it?"
Emily stares aghast. "The DAR has nothing to do with it. This is your life we're talking about, it's not a game."
"That's right, it's not," I reply. "So why do I feel like a pawn in some society chess match?"
"We're not discussing this any further. Go change and then go to your room. Helena will come to notify you when dinner is ready." Just like that she dismisses me. She guides Amanda and Miss Celine away from me as I stand with my mouth gaping open at their backs.
Naturally at this moment Dad comes home. He stops, looking slightly bemused, and we stare at each other for a few seconds. "I know, I look hideous," I say.
"When you were a child, you had a little china doll you used to carry around. Miranda, I think you named her. We couldn't get you to put her down, even though she was very expensive and delicate," he blinks and his eyes go soft and unfocused. "You look just like Miranda."
He leaves and I stand hypnotized for a few moments. Hot tears on my cheeks snap me out of it, and I hurry to the powder room and struggle out of the dress.