Bridesmaid’s embarrassing toast is talk of the wedding
Everyone told me to expect one thing to go wrong on my wedding day. The flowers won’t be right, or someone will be running late. The forecast called for rain, so I steeled myself for all the complications that might deliver. But when the perfectly sunny day arrived, I wasn’t prepared for what actually went off the rails: a bridesmaid who delivered a truly horrifying toast.
If you think I’m being dramatic, I have 186 witnesses who can assure you I’m not. A few months after the wedding, I ran into one of my mom’s best friends on the streets of Chicago. “Are you still friends with that bridesmaid?” was the first thing she asked me.
Let me back up. My maid of honor is one of my two best friends from high school. Early in the wedding planning process, they told me they wanted to deliver a toast together, and I said that was all right with me. A few days before the wedding, my maid of honor told me they needed to give separate speeches because they couldn’t agree on what they wanted to do. That should have triggered an alarm in my brain. Why were the toasts so different? But I told them that was fine. It was not fine. My bridesmaid — a dear friend of 10 years — went first. She joked that we were all a package deal. Everyone smiled. She said she wanted to read something by one of her favorite authors, maybe you’ve heard of her. Surprise, it’s the bride!
In the split second that she paused, my mind reeled. I’ve been writing for as long as I’ve known her, and I send her nearly everything I write. Which piece of my work had she chosen?
Then she began. “Sean kisses me like a man,” she read, her voice booming throughout the ballroom. I then blocked out nearly everything that followed.
You see, she had picked a piece of writing from the first few weeks Sean and I dated, my musings about the earliest stage of my new relationship. I wrote about how he seemed different from the other boys I had dated. He was intentional and thoughtful. He took things slowly. I liked that. But read aloud to a room filled with everyone I know — parents, grandparents, co-workers, very young cousins — it read like a dissection of our sex life.
I remember squeezing my new husband’s hand so tightly it hurt him. I remember thinking I should stop her, but wouldn’t that only make it worse? I remember saying, “We aren’t friends anymore,” when she was done and feeling I was only half joking.
The two toasts that followed hers went off without a hitch. Afterward, we welcomed all the guests to the dance floor, where everyone remained for the rest of the night. It truly was a memorable party. But not as memorable as that toast.
Two years later, it’s what people remember from that night. My uncle still shouts, “Like a man!” whenever he sees my husband. A friend suggested getting T-shirts made. Coworkers admitted to feeling grateful that my husband brought it up, so they could all talk about it.
When our wedding video arrived a few months later, my husband rewatched the toast and told me it was even worse than he remembered it. I haven’t rewatched because it seems a disservice to a brain that clearly decided to block it out. But it lingers in my conscious, probably because people still want to talk about it. And every time they do, I get this sick feeling in my stomach, like I’m being humiliated all over again.
I called my bridesmaid when I got back from my honeymoon and told her that when I send her things I write, those are not for her to share with anyone, let alone everyone I know. She burst into tears. “Do you think I ruined your wedding?”
No. Of course not. My wedding was a beautiful day. It was a celebration of the love I share with my husband, who has endured more teasing for the toast than I have and has never once complained. He has a steadiness and an ability to let things go that will perhaps elude me forever, and he makes me better because of it.
And yet. And yet. And yet. I still think about that toast. I still want to go back and erase it. I want to explain that it was taken out of context. I want to protest that I was 20 years old — and I’m a better writer now!
“Are you still friends with that bridesmaid?”
I didn’t see my bridesmaid for nearly a year after the wedding, and then she came to see me twice in short succession. Once for my baby shower and once for a week after my daughter was born. In that week, she cared for us as a new family, as is her nature. She rocked my baby, she cooked for us, she cleaned my bathrooms. She was, as she has been since we were children, something like a sister to me.
I suppose we all hold grudges against our siblings. I haven’t totally let this one go. But am I still friends with her?
Eternally. As she said in her toast, we’re a package deal.
Two years later, it’s what people remember from that night.