Ash
Today was perfect.
It was also imperfect in a thousand paper-cut ways but it was mostly perfect and I knew that when Zelda caught my eye and I attempted to cover the heart hammering in my chest for her with my hand but succeeded only in stabbing my finger all the way through on the corsage pin. There was blood, too much to address while my sister said her vows, so I sacrificed the silk hankie artfully arranged in my breast pocket and shoved the whole mess into my trouser pocket.
When I glanced back at Zelda, I found her eyes twinkling as she pressed her fingers to her lips to hold back the laughter I'd earned with my brief interruption of the ceremony. I still didn't believe in signs, not the ones outside of mathematics, but I believed in Zelda. More than that, I believed in meandZelda. Us, together. Always.
And that was why I had to ruin it all.
* * *
I heldout my hand to Zelda when the dessert plates had been cleared and the crowd on the dance floor had thinned. "Will you walk with me?"
She laced her fingers with mine. "Where would you like to go?"
I tipped my chin toward the far side of the grand reception tent, toward the waters of the Narragansett Bay. "This way? Or back toward the mansion? Your choice."
"Let's wander. We'll find out where we want to go when we get there."
We strolled for several minutes, wending our way through the grounds as bursts of music and exuberant shouts echoed from the tent.
"I'm happy you're here with me," I said.
"Not Millie?"
I barked out a laugh and tugged Zelda close, holding her tight to my chest. "Not Millie. Not for a minute."
"I'm happy I'm here too. I don't know if you've noticed but I like hanging out with you."
That was my opening, plain as day and waiting for me to seize it. "Have I mentioned you look incredible tonight?"
She raised our joined hands over her head and twirled, sending her floral skirt billowing between us. "An average of once an hour for the past seven hours. So, yes, you have."
"Once an hour? Couldn't be. I was with the bridal party for an hour before the ceremony, the only thing I said during the ceremony was a 'fuck' heard around the world, and I didn't see you for the first half of the cocktail hour. Not until my mother decided she needed you in the family photos since she's knitting baby blankets and keeping you forever. That's at least two and a half hours where I didn't get to tell you how much I want to crawl under this skirt or that I need all of your dresses to be backless from this point forward."
The number of times tonight I'd contemplated licking my way up from the dragonfly at her waist to the graceful juts of her shoulder blades was in the triple digits.
"Ah but I didn't sayeveryhour. I said anaverageof once an hour. Back those two and a half hours out of the overall seven and distribute your generous if not fully obscene words over the remaining time. That averages out to one compliment every thirty eight-ish minutes."
"I love you."
She took that overripened truth from me and turned another pirouette, a laugh rippling out as the air caught her skirt. I wished the wedding photographer was lurking nearby because I wanted to remember this up close and also far away. I wanted to see the moonlight glowing on her skin and the flutter of her skirt and the unbound joy on her face. I wanted every side of this memory.
"There you two are! Di, they're over here."
We turned to find my father bounding toward us, half jogging, half strolling as if he couldn't pin down his level of urgency. His tie was loose, his suit coat was gone, and he clutched two flutes of champagne in his hands. And he looked happier than I could ever remember.
"We've been looking for you all night," he said.
I caught Zelda's eye and stifled a laugh. "We sat across the table from you through dinner and dessert. Did you not notice?"
My father dismissed these points with a wave of his hands which sent champagne sloshing over the sides. This didn't seem to bother him.
"I hope you know you have a hot one on your hands," he said with a nod toward Zelda.
Knowing my father meant recognizing this as a comment on Zelda's skill rather than her appearance. He also referred to kids and young people aschicksbecause—in his mind—they were new and youthful like spring chickens. He held tight to the expressionbitchin'and generally struggled to understand how any of these words made for questionable choices.
My father was as complex and imperfect as the rest of us and it only took me thirty-five years to figure it out.
