Emeralds

Twenty-seven.

Twenty-seven

[Leen]

Today.

Like a newborn baby, like the first snow, like the sunrays penetrating the clouds on a very cold day, like all of the happy things, and the feeling they give, I'm full of these and that. I almost want to beam at everyone I see saying, 'I'm happy, you know?' I want to call Adam zillion times an hour and talk to him about anything and everything. I'm burning up with excitement that I'll get to do this for real, soon. Very soon.

My wedding is today.

Jenin has come and stayed with us for a couple of days. She'd break into my room every five minutes and asks if I need anything, and then just squeals out of the blue at how thrilling it is that her younger (and only) sister is finally getting married. She's pregnant in her fifth month now, and the baby is getting bigger and bigger, and I talk to him all day long, boring him with my endless stories about my Adam, in a girly, teenage-y tone that I thought I was too old for.

Dad is very quiet these days, and my heart ache to see him like this. He's happy, he really is happy that I am happy, but he doesn't seem to get over the fact that he has to watch his second daughter leaving them as well. I can understand him, although I might not really feel it exactly as I don't have kids. Whenever he sees me he'd shoot me a warm smile and my eyes would swell up with tears every time. I'm only a one-more-smile away from cancelling everything and staying with him forever.

Mom is actually hysterical, she's dissolving her anxiousness in work; she's overworking herself. She packed up the rest of my stuff (when I should be doing that), and she cooked lunch twice yesterday for God's sake, when the wedding was the day after, and I wouldn't want to go to my wedding with a pudgy stomach.

Today we're in North Coast, where the wedding is supposed to be. We travelled yesterday at night, and the few guests we've invited as well. We've made reservation for rooms we'd be staying in until the wedding. I'm staying with Mom and Jenin, and I've never seen a place messier than our room, and surprisingly, mom is okay with it. The beds and floor are covered with piles of clothes, probably the only clothing piece in the closet is wedding dress, just put there, all safe and sound and tidy, glowing like a moon in a starless sky. I think it's ironic, this messed up bride (aka me) will be wearing it in a few of hours.

Four hours before the wedding, the hairdresser arrives, she makes me sit in front of the mirror, and undoes my long brown hair, she touches strands of it and runs her fingers through them.

"What style would you like?" she asks in a monotone.

"I don't really know," I say. "Maybe something. . . simple?"

"Well," she studies my face in the mirror for a few moments then nods, "okay I know what would go well with your features."

"Okay," I say. "Excuse me," I remember after a couple of seconds, "I want something that would fit under my hijab." I smile sheepishly.

She studies me again in the mirror, "Mmm, okay." she says a little impatiently. Okay, I dislike this woman.

We settle on a side fishtail braid, she said she's hold it up in a bun underneath the hijab, and it shouldn't be ruined when I undo the bun on my own.

She draws two simple lines of liquid eyeliner on my eyelids, and touches my lips with a nude lipstick. Faintest blush that doesn't fail in making me look more alive, nude eye shadow, and I'm done.

It took us an hour just to get the exhaustingly simple make-up and hair done.

Mom looks at me after we finish, and her eyes get wet, "Mashallah," she tries to sound normal, but I can hear her voice shake. "I've never thought you'd look that gorgeous."