[Diary of an Expat Bride] White-Out

As any expat knows, taking care of visiting relatives leaves little time for anything else. I was supposed to go with Can's parents to their florist earlier in the week to select my bouquet. We were so busy, I asked if they could just choose it for me. I trusted their judgment. I used to work in a florist's shop in the US when I was in college so I would have liked to select my own, but I thought it was something they could handle. Sinem-teyze liked to be in charge of most things anyways, so I thought she would be happy to choose it herself. Little did I know how this little detail would become the bouquet to break the camel's back.

After Can, my dad, my brother-in-law and Can's friend picked my mom, sisters and me up from the hairdresser, we followed the photographer to a nearby park and Ottoman mansion to have our album photos taken. Can's family met us there. I wanted pictures of our families included in our albums, something that is not usually done in Turkey. We were also working with two different photographers, one for the album and one for the wedding, and I didn't entirely trust the wedding photographer. Besides, having family photos done in front of a stately kiosk beat cheesy photos at our hotel reception.

As we carefully got out of the cars, my two sisters helping me get out without getting my dress too dirty, we watched another bride and groom leaving the park after their photos. In horror, we watched as about five street children attacked them and started ripping at the bride's dress and hair. The groom and the photographer started beating the kids, but the damage was done. As I told my family, the greatest dangers in İstanbul can be from the street children, many of whom can be high on drugs and fearless. Afraid both my dress and I could face the same tattered fate, our families huddled around us and rushed me safely through the guarded entrance.

Sinem-teyze handed me my bouquet, and it was beautiful. White roses, with small white lilies at the base. We started the family photos and posed in various scenic places throughout the park. Ihlamur Kasrı is a beautiful oasis near Şişli, and I was so happy to have our photos taken there. After a photo of the two families, the photographer came over to me and looked at the front of my dress curiously. In horror I looked down to see it covered with bright yellow spots. I looked up at the trees, thinking the pollen had dropped from there. “No, it's from your bouquet!” the photographer surmised. Indeed, the florist had forgotten to remove the pollen from the lilies in my bouquet, and now the pollen was spread all over the front of my dress. Pollen, we had recently learned, was sometimes used to dye carpets. There was no way we were going to be able to get it out of my satin dress ever, much less before the wedding.

I couldn't help it. Tears filled my eyes, and I tried to breathe while I thought of a solution. Sinem-teyze was immediately in my face, with the snide comment: “Well, if you had chosen your bouquet yourself, this wouldn't have happened. It's your fault, so don't cry.”

I was shocked. I had just spent the past five hours getting ready. I wanted to be so beautiful on my wedding day, and now my dress was ruined because of pollen. I didn't blame her, but I was angry at the florist. Didn't I have the right to be frustrated? Any decent florist should know to take the pollen out of flowers before selling them. How many hours had I spent meticulously picking out pollen during my university days? I also couldn't believe my mother-in-law could say something so nasty on my wedding day. We were all stressed, and this was not necessary. Why, instead of helping, did she feel the need to deflect blame? Now the reason I was crying was not because of the bouquet, but because of her. Can pulled my arm and said in a panic, “Don't do this, you're upsetting my parents!” I pulled away from him, needing air. I have asthma, and when stressed, it doesn't take much for me to have an attack. My family and the photographer surrounded me. The photographer tried to calm me down, saying: “I have been in this business for 15 years, and all mothers-in-law are the same. Do not let her ruin your day. Try and pull yourself together.” My friend Pam started to fix my running makeup, while I begged my dad to go to the nearby store and get White-Out. White-Out is the way we say Tippex in Michigan. My sisters recommended it to hide the pollen stains because cleaning my dress with a wet towel would only further stain my dress and make the stains darker.

Can came next to me and apologized. He was rattled, too, but I couldn't believe he let his mother get in my face like that. She refused to look at me the rest of the shoot and immediately left when the family photos were finished. Now, instead of worrying about wedding stuff, I had to focus on her ignoring me. It was almost more than I could bear, and it was very difficult for me to finish the photos. After each picture, I would take a deep breath and try to stop crying. Can would squeeze my hand, but it wasn't enough. I felt so alone. I wished all of my family could be at the wedding. I needed their support. Once again my mother-in-law had reminded me that this wedding wasn't about me and Can, but rather was her event. She was the diva. Those small flecks of pollen had exposed our big rift.