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When last we left them, Maid of Honor Viv was on the phone, dealing with a furious teenaged bridesmaid (FTB) and the furious teenaged bridesmaid’s mother FTBM), who were both blaming her for something Viv’s sister the Self-Centered Bride (SCB) did—mostly because there’s no point in yelling at SCBs.
Meanwhile, Jack, the Best Man (who doesn’t deserve being called a BM, though he has his moments) wanted to apologize-without-apologizing for Viv’s unpleasant encounter with his girlfriend, not-Renee, so he texted her a photo of Dennis, the Other Groomsman (HOTTIE), for the Mother of the Bride, who is several hundred miles away in Florida so Viv will be the one dealing with her younger daughter the SCB, but doesn’t want to miss anything.
Viv has just asked Ellie the FTBM to put Harper the FTB on the phone:
“It won’t work—she says doesn’t want to speak to anyone in the family ever again.”
Viv could relate. “Does she have her cell phone with her?”
“Always,” Ellie said, “but she’s not going to pick up.”
“I’m texting her a photo,” Viv said, doing it. “Go tell your delightful child through her locked door that she has thirty seconds to look at it and decide whether she wants to walk down the aisle with the guy in the picture, or if I should ask Chloe to step in.”
“Chloe is twelve —she won’t fit the dress.”
“Chloe won’t throw a tantrum about being called a junior bridesmaid and I’ll be happy to shorten the dress myself—feel free to tell Harper that, too.”
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When I was fleshing out this scene, I asked my eleven-year old daughter if it would bother her to be called a junior bridesmaid instead of a “real bridesmaid”.
“Is someone getting married, or is this for a book?”
“Book.”
“Oh. What do junior bridesmaids do?”
“Not much,” I said. “Walk down the aisle and maybe help the flower girl a little. Your dress might be a little different than the older bridesmaids.”
“I wouldn’t mind. That sounds pretty cool.”
“But what if you were fifteen?”
“I don’t know . . . I might not want to be called a junior anything. But I’d still want to be in a wedding.”
“What if you were a spoiled fifteen-year old?
“Mom, if I were a spoiled fifteen-year old, I’d want to be the bride.”
And thus, the jailbait cousin Harper was born.
Earful of Cider 