“Do what you must do,” he said, standing as I did. He grabbed my hand. “Tell me if you don’t want to do this, and I won’t show up.”
“No, I want to.” I hesitated for a half second, then added. “I think it will be more fun with you.”
seven
NOW
I JUMP AS JOHN TAKESmy hand, lacing our fingers together while we sit in the pew. He notices my discomfort, squeezes twice, and then lets my hand go.
I should want him to hold my hand if only to make everything seem perfectly fine. And deep down, I want to remember when it was. When he held my face and kissed my lips. When it was all new and exciting and unknown. He didn’t know me, and I didn’t know him. Every moment was an unveiling until we had finally stripped down every layer of each other, reaching the other’s core and discovering we no longer liked what we saw.
We still played the part fine for family pictures. Even though we won’t be married much longer, I’m content to have him a part of this day. He met Serene when she was so young. She loved him—she still does. Sometimes marriages sever, but family is still family.
I shoot a side glance at John, wondering what events like this will look like in the future and if I’m being overly optimistic in thinking he’ll stick around for anything related to my side of the family.
I exhale tomorrow’s worries and focus on the wedding before me.
Beau stares down at Serene with tears in his eyes while the pastor speaks. She turns to her maid of honor, Kiley, for extra tissue, and as she spins back around, the train of her gown twists, and Kiley steps forward to straighten it out for the photographer. The shutter of the camera reminds me how picturesque this moment is. How, just ten years ago, I was the bride in the picture. I had the long train, and my hair curled in long waves down my back. John had tears in his eyes and a perfectly tailored suit, just like Beau.
We had the guests. The music. The rings. The pastor. And the promises.
But we couldn’t keep it—neither of us.
“We don’t get to choose who we fall in love with,” the pastor says, “but I promise you, the act of love is a choice. Every day. For better or for worse.” He pauses for effect, then adds, “Just ask my wife.”
The guests chuckle, and John lets out a breath of a laugh that really sounds like, hmmph. I don’t laugh. I wince because I hate this brand of pastoral humor.
I glance up at John and accidentally make eye contact. We stay there a moment, both our gazes asking, remember when?
Remember when it was you and I promising forever? When we thought for better or for worse, it meant beach vacations and forgetting to put the toilet seat down. We didn’t know the uphill battles we would face in the years to come. A part of my brain wishes we could return to when it was new and I didn’t know what he could do. When I didn’t know we could destroy each other slowly. We didn’t mean to hurt each other, of course not. But we pricked at wounds we didn’t know existed, and then gradually, year after year, we bled out until there was nothing left.
I blink my gaze away from his first. It’s always me first. When he goes in for a kiss. When he asks for a hug. When he wants toknow how my day is, I pull away. I shrug. I give short answers and sigh too loudly. It’s always me first.
I remember telling him I didn’t want this life. I didn’t like the routine. The boring dinners at six o’clock sharp. The perfectly manicured lawn. The reasonably sized SUV and the sedan. The turning over without a kiss goodnight. I didn’t sign up for any of it. He cried and said, “Yes, you did! We may not have known what it would look like when we made the vow, but you promised a life with me, Anna; you did!”
He was right. I promised him a life.
But he promised to love me.
We both failed.
The ceremony saunters on with the cadence of most weddings. The pastor ends with something thoughtful. Beau and Serene exchange vows that make us laugh and cry. They say I do. Beau kisses her with just the right amount of passion, even though we know they’re probably yearning for more. As Serene takes her bouquet from her maid of honor and stands next to Beau, the photographer’s camera shutters a few more times, flash freezing their smiles in time to hang on their walls for years to come.
As she passes by with her new husband, I toss the rose petals in the aisle. She makes eye contact with me, and her smile widens. I can hear her voice squealing, “Auntie A, I’m married!” in my mind.
I smile back, wide and as hopeful as I can, but tears are in my eyes because I can’t help but wonder what hardship they will face. What trial they must endure. I wonder what will try to break them.
Because every marriage breaks at some point, and they can’t always get put back together.
eight
THEN
“OH! AND I HAVE SOMEONEI want you to meet tonight!” Jenn shimmied in her corseted gown while Marie finished fastening the silk buttons.
“Oh please, you know Anna doesn’t care about meeting anybody after what happened with Seth,” Marie said, fluffing the back of Jenn’s dress.
I blotted my lips and shot her a sharp glare. “Let’s not talk about that.”
