Wedding Seasons

Lace, a flower-strewn car, two red lines. Svetlana Rykychynska ponders the myriad forces that join two lives.

In a few months, my wedding is happening. I sit in bed, looking at the sparkling wedding rings. They’re beautiful — I don’t know which one to choose. Picking the dress will be even harder. Lately, I’ve gained weight. I dream of losing it by summer, but I still devour chocolates. I don’t want to give them up, and I won’t. I am not planning to give up anything.

This winter, I turned fifty — no, wait, fifty-one. Lately, I have had to double-check. How old are you? Forty-nine? Or maybe sixty-four? Don’t listen to liars who tell you your age doesn’t matter. It does — oh, it does. It is just that happiness doesn’t seem to care about it. It comes whenever it pleases. Are you not happy? So what? Who’s to say it won’t fall into your lap by lunchtime? Then you’ll have nothing to do but to smile and be joyful. As long as we are alive, we are not prone to surprises. What if you end up celebrating more than you did in your youth?

Yesterday, my daughter came to visit. She just graduated from university. We sipped tea and nibbled on pastries. She complained that she’d never been a bridesmaid and asked how I prepared for my first wedding. Yes, I am getting married for the second time. Oh, how many years have passed. I was the same age as my daughter is now.

I reminisced about every little detail, telling her stories of times long gone. A quarter of a century slipped away unnoticed. She laughed, asked questions — that is good. Let her learn from my foolishness. The more I spoke, the more I realized just how happy I am now. Maybe that is why I don’t bother looking in the mirror to count my wrinkles.

Would you like to hear the story too?

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I fell into the wedding wonderland gradually. My classmate was the first to get married. She asked me to be her maid of honor and burdened me with a mountain of duties.

The banquet was supposed to be grand and long. Guests were flying in from all over the world, some even from America. I arrived early in the morning and got to work: entertaining seven-year-old twins, shooing away the cat, calming the bride, and, most importantly, believing that the wedding dress would arrive on time. In the last few days, our bride had lost weight and dropped a size — probably from excessive joy. We had to take the dress to a tailor, and now, for some reason, she was running late.

The tension was growing. The notoriously unpunctual groom arrived an hour and a half early. He burst into the room, where the bride sat sobbing in her robe and perfectly styled hair. The cat, familiar with the area, slipped in behind him. Kicking out the groom was easy; dealing with the cat took much longer.

Finally, the dress arrived. It was stunning. We barely squeezed through the doorway, gathering up layers of crinoline and ruffles. A sigh of relief — until we realized there was only one of the two padded inserts. The bride, with her perfect figure, could have managed without them, but the dress didn't sit right. We tried to improvise with makeshift solutions, but nothing looked nice. Not being able to bear yet another trial, the poor girl burst into tears. Then, one of the twins opened the door, and the cat dashed into the room playfully tossing a white ball. Miraculously, it was exactly what we needed. With everything in place, we finally emerged to meet the pale, sweaty groom.

Everyone knows how to spot the wedding car. All those flowers, ribbons, and signs are unnecessary when you’re struggling to fit a beautifully dressed woman into a vehicle. Fighting with the enormous dress was a challenge in itself.

The ceremony hall quickly swallowed up the dolled-up crowd. A woman with an elaborate updo recited the formal words. We carefully placed the gifts — separating the envelopes stuffed with money — and then headed to a prestigious countryside venue.

I was seated next to the groom’s mother. She adorned herself with diamonds and an expression of serene indifference. Later, I realized how much effort it took her to maintain that neutrality. The guests chattered. You wouldn’t believe it —t here were hundreds of them. Endless toasts turned into absurd and bizarre performances. I had to do a lot of talking — I was practically on the front lines.

The bride ate nothing. I worried that by the end of the night, we’d have to take in the dress again. Toasts gave way to dancing, dancing to games, and games back to toasts.

After a few glasses of wine, the groom’s mother loosened up and announced that she liked me far more than her son’s new wife. I am not a diplomat. I had no idea how to respond. The groom’s mother was an influential woman, and any wrong move could result in serious consequences. I didn’t dare speak to the bride, but action was required — the mother-in-law was about to make a toast. Thankfully, the music started. I grabbed her husband and poured all my charm into a dance. Hopefully, she was disappointed enough.

The host cracked jokes non-stop, then suddenly fell silent. The air tingled with anticipation. The most mysterious moment of any wedding ceremony: The tossing of the bouquet. Hopeful single women hustled to line up, each wanting to be at the center, forming a colorful, chaotic crowd.

Of course, I dreamed of a marriage, but I was so exhausted that I wasn’t even thinking about the bouquet. I lingered at the back.

The bride couldn’t contain her excitement any longer. With a joyful squeal, she flung the bouquet into the air. A dozen feet pushed off the floor, a dozen hands reached up, but the flowers struck me square on the head with a dull thud. I had just enough time to rub my temple before an explosion of applause announced that I was next in line.

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Twenty-four, plus one year! I couldn't believe it! It felt like just yesterday I was celebrating my eighteenth birthday. As if someone pressed fast-forward. Now I’m twenty-five. The final stage of my studies is over — the perfect time for a wedding. Suitors abound. They vary in quality and expiration dates, but none seems to be the right one.

My last day as a student fell on Christmas Eve. That was it — goodbye, carefree life. I stepped outside, where an old acquaintance was waiting.

Snow fell in fluffy clumps, blanketing the streets in festive cheer. A cozy café in the city center was buzzing with people. I was eating ice cream while my companion watched me in silence, his unwavering devotion in its second year. Why not spend New Year’s Eve together?

Life slowed down for a while. Those sweet pauses sometimes happen. Valentine’s Day began with white tulips, and in spring, I received the long-awaited proposal. The bridal bouquet hit my head six months ago, but the real complications were just beginning. Serious ones — so I said yes.

Yes, we modern women disregard outdated conventions. But tell me, why do girls still go crazy over wedding dresses? Simple: it’s pure magic! My mother and I visited a bridal salon. The irony of fate — it was right next to my future husband’s house. For some reason, I kind of liked that.

A smiling woman greeted us inside. She was just doing her job, but I felt like the center of the universe. Something shifted within me, filling me with a strange, head-to-toe exhilaration. Wandering through halls of white, pink, and gold gowns, I searched for the one, the most beautiful. No more crinolines — I had my fill last year!

The fitting lasted for two hours. Drowning in a sea of lace and satin, I couldn’t decide. The patient consultant suggested catalogues. I chose a style, the finest fabric. They took my measurements, noting every tiny preference. Some materials would be ordered from Italy, others from France, and the embellishments handcrafted. If that doesn’t make me a queen, what does?

Euphoria wouldn’t let go of me. My dreams were filled with the softness of silk, the lightness of tulle, feathers, and veils. Every night, beaded cuffs and delicate capes fluttered into my bedroom.

The groom seemed happy too — just a little nervous. A few days later, he came to me and, without any preamble, blurted out:

“I’m sorry, but my mother is absolutely against our wedding… Let’s just register the marriage, skip all the festivities.”

His words caught me off guard. How? I had already told my friends! And the dress!!! My stunning, long-train gown! It would have been a perfect excuse to call everything off, but fate plays by its own rules — two little red lines explained that I was pregnant. Well, there’s a twist.

The wedding registration was scheduled for late August. Life went on, but the celebrations were gone. I gave up the dress — what I lost wasn’t money, but joy and the feeling of being special.

A month passed. My future mother-in-law grew curious: She wanted to meet my family.

The entire soon-to-be family gathered in a small restaurant by the park. Seeing my potential mother-in-law, I felt unexpectedly calm. Such a petite, friendly woman. Oh, how little I knew back then… Never underestimate your opponent.

We ate, chatted, and then, suddenly, it turned out that she wanted a wedding! That upset me almost as much as its cancellation.

The dress! The very next day, I went from salon to salon, but none of the dresses felt right. The cut, the fit, the wear — something was always off.

By evening, almost losing hope, I dialed a seamstress’s number. The woman was available and agreed to take on the urgent order. For some reason, I lied, saying I was preparing for a formal evening. Maybe I just didn’t want to share the details?

The next morning, we got to work.

“You are pregnant. Looks like I am dressing a bride.”

“How did you know?”

She looked at me and smiled.

“Pregnant women breathe differently.” Her nimble hands kept stitching the hem of my dress. “And you know what? Let’s make a veil. I have the perfect fabric.”

“No, I don’t want a veil.”

But she wasn’t listening. The white, transparent train trailing behind me brought back lost feelings. The seamstress was right — I felt special again!

“Take the dress yourself. You shouldn’t let your husband see it before the wedding.”

“It is in a garment bag, and I don’t believe in superstitions. I still have to go get my shoes.”

Even now, I don’t believe in all that nonsense, though… Well, no, I don’t.

That evening, my almost-husband brought me my dress. Tomorrow, I would be stunning!

We arrived early at the ceremony. Excited friends and relatives were already waiting in the courtyard. How wonderful it is when all eyes are on you!

The clerk asked for our passports. All morning, I remembered dozens of important things: crystal glasses, champagne, ribbons… but documents? The registration was postponed.

No, I still don’t believe in omens.

For two hours, our guests waited for the passport. Luckily, it didn’t rain. They wouldn’t let us inside — several couples were getting married that day, and the hall was occupied. Finally, the document arrived. A woman in a long red dress recited her memorized lines for us. Husband and wife. Officially.

The girls were waiting for the bouquet. It was so beautiful — I hated to part with it, but there was no way around it. Calculating the trajectory perfectly, I sent it flying straight into my best friend’s hands.

Then we drove around the city — that was our wedding tradition. The only problem was, we forgot the camera, and back then, phones couldn’t take pictures.

Passers-by watched us with warm smiles. No surprise — I was dazzling today.

And so, the day ended. A year later, we divorced. The dress hung in my closet, impractical and far too long.

I was learning to be a mother, and my life was filled with entirely different joys.

One day, returning from vacation, I found my apartment in chaos. The white dress lay crumpled on the floor among scattered clothes and books. The thieves had been searching for valuables.

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“Is this the same dress you gave to the school theater?” my daughter asked, biting into a cookie

“Yes. You were a stunning princess.”

She took a sip of tea and looked me straight in the eyes.

“You didn’t want to get married, did you? You just did it to be like everyone else.”

Smart girl, my daughter.

“Maybe I didn’t. But now I do.”

“Uh-huh.” She pulled a jewelry ad closer. “This time, I am coming with you for the dress. By the way, what about your classmate?”

“She was less lucky — she paid off the loan longer than she stayed married.”

I took a candy and smiled.

“But who knows...?”

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All her life, Svetlana Rykychynska lived in Kyiv working as a doctor, raising her daughter, and walking her dog. The war changed everything. In 2022, she moved to England, where her loved one was waiting. She can no longer work in her profession, but found time to start writing.

Images:

Wedding dress by Jamie Coupaud

Wedding bouquet by Kai Nachtigal

Wedding veil by Patrick Langwallner