The Wedding's Off

except me.

Two weeks before the Big Day, everything was ready
Here's why I said, "I don't."

t was 14 days before our
wedding. My parents had
paid nonrefundable
deposits to the caterer and
florist. One hundred and twenty
guests were confirmed; gifts were
piling up in my mother's house;
the dress of my dreams — low in
front, low in back — hung in her
closet. And here I was telling my
fiance, "I've changed my mind. I
4, don't want to marry you."
"Well," said Michael, "I don't
want to marry you if you don't
want to marry me." He didn't
even ask why, which was typical
of our relationship — we could
never talk about anything deep.
Michael and I had met a year
and a half earlier. I was 22 and in
college; he was 30 and had a
* "real" job. I loved his grown-up
world, and when he proposed —
offering me an antique diamond-
and-sapphire ring — it was the
moment I had been hoping for. I
adored the idea of being his wife.
Being engaged was fun at first.
As friends toasted us, I imagined
all the details of the Big Day: the
Sam Cooke song we would dance
to; the five-tier, five-flavor cake
I'd dreamed of since the fifth
grade.
Planning the wedding, howev-
er, was no fun. Michael came
from a large Catholic family; my
parents were divorced and athe-
ists. I wanted a judge (my stepfa-
ther) to marry us; Michael want-
ed to check with his parents. I
wanted salmon en croute and rare
tenderloin; he wanted spaghetti
and well-done beef. I wanted to
bum around Thailand for our hon-
eymoon; he wanted a more tradi-
tional vacation.
Even as I clung to my fantasy of
our life together — me hosting
brunches with our new juicer and

china — I began to realize that
Michael and I had different expecta-
tions for our lives. I used to feel safe
when he said he wanted to take care
of me. Suddenly, I felt trapped.
With the wedding only four
weeks away, I panicked. I couldn't
eat or sleep — and I couldn't tell if

these were signs of doubt or normal
prenuptial jitters. I stopped return-
ing the caterer's calls and started
having nightmares of being physi-
cally unable to walk down the aisle.
I polled everyone about whether
I should back out. My otter sister
thought my disagreements with

Photo by Krista Husa

*70,4, 40A,

CAROLYNN CARRENO
Special to The Jewish News

•••

Michael sounded "pretty typical."
My best friend said, "Only you
know the answer." But my stepfa-
ther, instead of giving me
answers, asked questions: What
did Michael and I talk about?
How did I imagine we'd spend
our weekends when we were 65?
Why did I want to live with him
for the rest of my life? As I strug-
gled-to answer, I knew that "We
love each other" wasn't an ade-
quate reason. Our relationship
wasn't strong enough to survive
the years.
The next day, I confronted
Michael and we agreed to post-
pone the wedding. Our family
and friends were shocked but sup-
portive. We told them — and
ourselves — that we'd get married
later, when we were absolutely
sure.
We went to Thailand anyway,
since the tickets were paid for. Big
mistake. All we did was argue. By
then it was clear that the wedding
would never happen, and even
though it was my own decision,
my life felt ripped apart. For a
couple of months, I slept, watched
TV and imagined what I would
have been doing if Michael and I
were married. Then — sad and
scared, but with no regrets — I
moved to New York City by
myself. I tealized that I'd been
looking to Michael to give me a
life and he couldn't. I had to go
out and get my own.
Now, seven years later, Michael
is married and he and I are
friends. I still wear his ring (he
asked me to keep it) on my right
hand; my wedding gown is still
in the closet. But if I- do get mar-
ried, I'm going to buy a new dress. I
like to think my tastes have
matured. ❑

— Courtesy Mademoiselle. Copyright
c. 1997by The Conde Nast
Publications, Inc.

0

12/12
1997

73