He nods but can’t bring himself to speak.
“You wanna talk about it?”
He shakes his head. Leans in to study my hand. I’m wearing six dainty rose gold rings. He slips one off my thumb and pockets it.
A few other relatives flock, asking him if he’s all right. Heeither nods or shakes his head, depending on the question, clearly wanting to be left alone. I hear somebody whisper that he’s probably thinking about his dad today, and I could smack myself, I am so dumb for not realizing that myself.
I can’t imagine how hard this must be for him. Even though he seems to like Daniel and is happy to see his mom happy, he grew up in a house plastered with his parents’ wedding photos. His mom is changing her last name. His dad’s absence is tangible today, reminders everywhere he looks that Alex Senior is gone, that the shape his family has held nearly all of his life will change today. In less than an hour he’ll gain a stepfather he barely knows and a stepbrother who hasn’t been his favorite person thus far.
I monitor Trevor as he mills about, accidentally knocking a few chairs askew with his long legs. He lost his mom when he was little, too. He isn’t teary, but he’s more solemn than I’m used to seeing him.
The barn wasn’t Daniel and Kristin’s first choice, but it’s gorgeous. Edison bulbs swing from the rafters, along with four elegant chandeliers. The aisle is trimmed with coral peonies, the tables and archway with bird-of-paradise, Magical Moonlight buttonbush, pale green spray I spent hours fixing together this morning. Blown-up photos of Kristin and Daniel in black and white adorn the walls; toward the back, a naked red velvet cake studded with white candy pearls is the crowning jewel in a sea of cupcakes. Bushra from Wafting Crescent is arranging them into hearts.
I find my seat in the second row on the groom’s side, right next to the aisle, one of the first guests to sit down. All of the bride’s and groom’s relatives are still scattered, voices echoing.This is where the reception was going to be held, and the wedding planner’s flapping around, working out the logistics of setting up reception tables behind the folding chairs. A few folks in pink aprons are adding finishing touches to a candied popcorn bar. The deejay’s testing the equipment. “We can’t wait until after the vows to set up the reception, it follows immediately afterward,” the planner’s saying to a caterer. “Three long tables along the back for the buffet. We’ll have to get rid of the photo booth or find a different spot for it. Food is the priority! Has anyone seen the flower girl’s basket?”
Soon, all of the seats have filled with people and Pachelbel’sCanon in D Majorstarts playing. Daniel in his black tux and salmon vest walks with casual ease, waving to family and friends. Trevor walks slowly, distractedly, messing with his boutonniere. The bridesmaids are decked out in stiff curls and pale green floor-length dresses, the flower girl in white with a salmon sash. Miles has changed his mind about walking with Alex at the last minute after watching everyone oooh and ahhh over the flower girl, deciding to forge bravely ahead by himself.
I feel a mixture of strange sorrow to know the life Kristin led in my warmest memories is gone and joy to know that she’s found love again, and somehow I am a part of it, too, serendipitously. Before I can get carried away, the music swells and there she is, not a tear to be found for the first time today, vibrant in an organza mermaid gown with a cropped, long-sleeved red jacket, on the arm of the most incredible man I’ve ever known.
He’s fine until he sees me. Then he presses his lips together and looks away, chest swelling. His eyes are red. Shining.
It’s so distressing to see him upset that I want to stand up—he quickly wipes his eyes with his free arm as they pass me, Kristin sweeping the tips of her bouquet along my shoulder in hello. Ismile back, then switch my attention to Alex. I can’t see his face again until they reach the front, when he lifts Kristin’s short veil and smooths it back. He tries to let her go, but she grabs his face, forcing him to bend down so that she can kiss his forehead. It leaves a big raspberry mark that everyone laughs at, which helps ease some of the tension in his body. He makes his way next to Trevor, and once I see Daniel with hearts in his eyes for Kristin I remember that I’d meant to keep my eye on him the whole time. That’s what the wedding planner advised me to do:Look at the groom while he watches the bride waltz down the aisle!
I keep forgetting to look at the happy couple, I keep forgetting to listen when they deliver their vows. I try, especially when gentle laughs pepper the audience, but Alex is an irresistible beacon, head bowed, one hand settled atop Miles’s thatch of curls while the other flexes into a fist at his side.
As soon as the couple saysI do, there’s a curious silence as the rain abruptly stops beating down. Kristin’s head tilts back as her eyes run across the roof, and I know her well enough to hear exactly what she’s thinking:
That this is Alex Senior and Trevor’s mom saying hello, their way of blessing the day.
Chapter Twenty-Six
VISCARIA:
Will you dance with me?
Happy anniversary! I hope you’ve made each other smile at least once every day.
I’m poring over a station with note cards and a large vintage milk can to deposit them in. We’re supposed to jot down wise marital advice (as if I’d have any) or congratulatory sentiments for Kristin and Daniel to read together next year. Most of the guests who’ve contributed so far have tossed in white envelopes containing money, as well. I feel a presence at my back. The tiny hairs on my neck stand on end.
“Have I mentioned that I like you in a suit?” I say without turning.
Hands smooth up my arms to my shoulders, where they rest. The clasp of another necklace is unhooked, a slight weight lifted as the cool chain snakes across my chest and disappears. I twirl.
Alex’s face is innocent as he drops the chain into his pocket.
“Care to explain why you’re stealing my jewelry?”
“I’m undressing you very slowly. Watch out, your dress is next.”
I glance at Kristin and Daniel, who are pouring tea at the head table and serving it to their siblings. Pouring tea and serving it to the bride’s and groom’s parents, Kristin told me, is traditional at Korean weddings. Since their parents have passed away, the bride and groom are serving their siblings. Another tradition they’re sort of incorporating is the practice of having relatives toss dates and chestnuts at them. When you’re a younger Korean couple getting married, you’re supposed to catch the dates and chestnuts with the fabric of your clothes. If you catch dates, you’ll have sons; if you catch chestnuts, you’ll have daughters. Kristin and Daniel won’t be having children together, so Kristin asked me to add chestnuts and dates to her bouquet for the flower toss, to let somebody else catch the fertility.
“Are you okay?” I ask Alex. “You sure you don’t want to talk? Or need a hug?”
“I’m fine, but I’ll never say no to a hug.”
I try to embrace him with minimal squeeze action, like how you’d greet an old family friend you haven’t seen in a long time and don’t remember too well, but my body loves the way he feels and I find myself sniffling into his suit, thinking about his father and Alex’s feelings, which must be very mixed. He bites back a smile.
“Are you crying on my behalf?”
