publishersA Wedding Gift翻译

Unit 2

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A Wedding Gift

Elizabeth Economies

I had always dreamed of being proposed to in a Parisian cafe, under dazzling

stars, like the one in a Van Gogh knockoff that hangs in my studio apartment.

Instead, my boyfriend asked me to marry him while I was wandering the bathroom

mirror

.

At 40 years old, it was my turn. 1 had gracefully stepped aside and watched

both my twin sister and our baby sister take the matrimonial plunge before me? 1

had been a bridesmaid seven times and a maid of honor three times. 1 had more

pastel-colored, taffeta dresses than a consignment shop.

My fiancé

, George, and I are Greek-American, but we wanted a simple, elegant

affair

. No entourage of bridesmaids and groomsmen. No silly slideshow revealing

details of our courtship. This would be an intimate gathering, neither big nor fat,

with 100 or so guests. In our families that is intimate.

My job as a publicist to a monomaniacal orchestra conductor had just vanished,

so 1 had lots of time to devote to my new project. George, who worked 60 hours a

week

as

a

pharmacist,

now

had

a

second

job:

listening

to

me

whine

about

the

wedding. After all, this was my show, and 1 was the director

.

But the more time and effort 1 put in, the more the universe tried to thwart me.

The Greek band from Los Angeles that 1 wanted wasn't available. The stitching 1

had requested for my cathedral veil was all wrong. My ivory silk gown was being

quarantined somewhere in Singapore. And with our wedding just a few weeks away,

1 was annoyed that most of my guests were responding after the deadline.

Then 1 received the call from my mother

, petite and brimming with energy at 68,

who a few days before had been so thrilled about the wedding. She’d been to the

doctor for her annual checkup. Although she felt fine, the diagnosis was stomach

cancer

.

Over the next few days, the question became not

mother would be no day at all. Not having my dad, who passed away three years

before, to walk me down the aisle was painful, but the thought of not having Mom

there was unbearable.

Within

a

few

days,

1

moved

back

home

to

Seattle

from

New

York

City

and

postponed the ceremony. 1 switched from navigating wedding plans to navigating

the health-care system. I had picked out the song to be played for our first dance as

a husband and wife, but now 1 was hard- pressed to remember what it was. My

wedding, like a dream, was vanishing against the harsh reality of illness.

Meanwhile, my two sisters and I, who lived in three different cities, were united

1

once again in a hospital waiting room. My twin sister flew in from Chicago despite

being eight months pregnant. Our baby sister

, who'd been looking after Mom since

Dad's

death,

was

gripped

by

fear

as

the

familiar

sights

and

smells

were

eerily

reminiscent of his final days. After consulting with doctors, we learned that stomach

surgery was Mom's only option. We took the first opening.

On a drab autumn morning, as sheets of rain relentlessly poured over Seattle,

Mom was admitted to the Swedish Cancer Institute. During a five-hour operation,

surgeons removed two thirds of her stomach. Pacing in the waiting room, terrified,

I wondered what the future held for all of us.

George flew out to be with me.

three nights he slept on the dank floor in the hospital waiting area wrapped in a

tattered sheet with a soiled sofa cushion under his head. A week after the operation,

the surgeon gave us his prognosis:

were some of the loveliest words in the English language. George squeezed my hand

as tears trickled down my face.

The weeks that followed were exhausting. My mother had to rethink her diet,

and I had to figure out what to prepare. Decadent Greek meals were replaced by

tiny portions and lots of protein, which would help mend the six-inch incision that

ran

from

her

breastbone

past

her

navel.

Protein

would

also

bolster

her

immune

system for the chemo and radiation that might follow.

Until then, my idea of cooking had been microwaving the doggie bag from the

chi-chi restaurant I'd eaten at the night before. But after two months, I mastered

poached eggs and T-bone steaks. What's more, caring for my Mom made me realize

how consummately she had cared for all of us. I'll never forget when I went to see

her in the intensive-care unit, just a few hours after her surgery. She was strung out

with a myriad of plastic tubes protruding from her arms, nose, and mouth.

make sure you eat something,

Forget Paris. Mom's full recovery was my dream now.

Recently, she went for a follow-up C-T scan. As she removed her gold wedding

band for the exam, her fragile 98-pound frame trembled. There would be this scan,

and many more. But the doctor said,

be walking me down the aisle. I've forgotten what kind of stitching is in my veil. But

when I remove it from my face , I’ll be staring at the two peo

ple I love beyond all

reason:

my

soon-to-be

husband

and

the

woman

who

showed

me

what'

s

really

important.

结婚礼物

伊利莎白?埃科诺莫

我一直有这样的 梦想：

星光灿烂的网上，

在一家巴黎咖啡馆能有人向我求婚。< /p>

那个咖啡

馆就像梵高所画的“夜晚的咖啡馆”

，我的工作室墙上就挂着一幅此画的翻印本。然而，我

男朋友却在我用“稳得新”擦 洗卫生间镜子的时候叫我嫁给他。

2

我已经上

40

岁，是该轮到我了，我已经体面地让开，眼看着孪生妹妹还有小妹在我之

前出嫁，我 做过女傧相

7

次，伴娘

3

次，我的淡颜色塔夫绸衣服比寄物店都多。

我的未 婚夫乔治和我都是希腊裔美国人，

但是我们想办一个简朴、

大方 的婚礼。

不需要

很多伴娘伴郎。也不放映幻灯片，展示求婚的细 节，那太傻了，这会是一次很温馨的聚会，

请的人不多也不铺张，

100

个左右的宾客吧。在我们的家族，那算是小圈子内的聚会。

我为一位偏执狂的管弦乐队指挥做公关刚刚结束，

因而我 有很多时间投入到我这个新的

项目上。乔治是药剂师，每周工作

60

小时，现在又有一份工作：听我抱怨婚礼一事。这毕

竟是我 表现的时候，得有我说着算。

但是，

我投入的时间和精力越多，

万事就越和我过不去。

没有请到我想 要的洛杉矶希腊

乐队。

我到教堂时所戴面纱的针线活也很糟，< /p>

不是我原来所要求的。

我订的象牙色的丝绸礼

服被隔离在新加坡的某个地方。

眼看着婚礼也就没有几个礼拜了，

< br>我邀请的客人大部分在最

后期限之后才回信，让我很是烦恼。

之后，我接到妈妈的电话。她个头娇小，

68