Smoke billows from the buffet line as the pig hisses and pops, flames licking all around like it’s auditioning for afirefighter calendar. Bridesmaids shriek, groomsmen flail, and Bertha barks orders loud enough to part the Pacific.
The catering setup becomes a culinary disaster zone with food getting burned, rain diluting sauces, and outdoor cooking equipment staging its own rebellion against tropical weather conditions.
Lani emerges from the kitchen looking like a warrior chef who’s been battling both flames and precipitation before sighing at the sky and heading back inside.
And yet, somehow, the sky begins to clear, and it all looks almost under control again. Almost.
Soon enough, the music is playing once again, the guests are standing in the sand, and Melanie has littered a path to the ocean with pink rose petals.
I had her do it in lieu of me. Halea handed me the basket of all things floral while running around chasing cats away and bribing Mother Nature to behave, but I had no intention of playing the part of flower girl at my ex’s next mistake.
Erwin makes his way down to the sand, barefoot in a sky-blue suit, and a white silk shirt that has one too many buttons undone in the front. What’s left of his hair is slicked back and even though he’s relatively put together, he still looks offput by the nuptials in general. Come to think of it, he wasn’t exactly in the best mood on our wedding day, either.
He strides by and grunts my way.
“Break a leg out there,” I tell him with false brightness usually saved for encouraging people about colonoscopies.
“Don’t tempt me,” he replies with his signature passive-aggressive charm. “Though knowing you, you’d probably enjoy watching me actually break something important.”
“Only if it involved medical bills that affected your honeymoon budget,” I reply sweetly, because I can’t seem to resist verbal sparring even during natural disasters.
A few cats poke their heads out from under a draped table, seeking shelter from both weather and wedding chaos. And how I wish I could join them.
Just as everyone starts questioning the wisdom of outdoor tropical weddings, the weather clears with the dramatic timing of nature providing its own special effects. Sunset breaks through clouds like a divine stage light, creating a golden hour illumination that makes the wedding photographers shake their fist in victory.
Soon enough, the wedding march begins. Groomsmen wearing what looks like blue silk pajamas walk bridesmaids clad in white down the aisle.
Honestly, it’s a little off-putting seeing this many women in white at a wedding ceremony. I’d have thought Candy would want the pristine shade all to herself. And as if that wasn’t eye-popping enough, the bridesmaids carry tropical cocktails instead of bouquets, because liquid courage is more essential than flowers for surviving family wedding ceremonies. Honestly, though, Mai tais seem like practical accessories for an event that’s already survived weather disasters and poultry insurrection.
Suddenly, the music takes a turn for the bridal, and allguests turn toward the resort only to see our blushing bride—and it all makes sense now. Candy has decided to eschew the traditional white hue for a rosy shade of pink. And just like that, she has all the attention right back on her, the way the Good Lord and her entire social media following would have it.
Candy doesn’t walk down the aisle—she practically skips, because getting married requires the same energy level as hosting a successful livestream with maximum engagement potential. Her dress catches the magical lighting while her ring light operator follows behind like electronic wedding entourage providing backup illumination.
Traditional Hawaiian elements transform the ceremony into something breathtaking, with a lei exchange with both plumeria and maile leis that look like heaven, ukulele music tugs at heartstrings, a sand ceremony that blends multiple Hawaiian beaches takes place, and the tropical flower arrangements somehow survived this evening’s near-hurricane conditions. I have to admit, it’s all very beautiful despite who the groom is.
Halea performs the ceremony with professional wedding coordinator efficiency, managing to look stunning while handling both officiating duties and crowd control. She’s wearing a red dress that violates several unspoken laws about looking too good at other people’s weddings. But at the end of the day, she’s a smoke show, and there’s no stopping it for nothing or no one.
The vows begin, and I brace myself for Erwin’s romanticdeclarations. I’m about to hear my ex-husband wax poetic about true love. Someone pass the wine.
“Erwin,” Candy begins with the enthusiasm of announcing a major brand collaboration, “you are like, the most predictable person I know.”
I snort a little too loudly and garner a stink eye from Bertha.
What? The bride said he was predictable. If that’s not comedy gold, I don’t know what is.
“You make me want to be a better content creator and a more genuine influencer.” Candy goes on. “I promise to love you in sickness and in health, in good lighting and in bad, for richer engagement rates and for poorer analytics.”
A gecko appears on a nearby palm tree, drawn by the spectacle of humans making public promises about social media metrics and questionably authentic partnerships.
“You are my ultimate brand partnership,” Candy continues, “and I can’t wait to create lifetime content with you. Our love story is totally going viral, and I am here for it!”
The crowd coos. Ruby and Lani appear by my side and stick their fingers down their throats and pretend to gag in solidarity with me. Only, I’m gagging for real.
“Candy, you bring color to my spreadsheets and joy to my quarterly reports.” Erwin’s vows follow with the romantic sensibility of a groom translating emotions into business terminology. “I promise to support your creative vision, manage our joint finances responsibly, and always ensure you have optimal lighting for important moments.”
“That’ll keep him busy,” I mutter.
The chicken that’s been conducting the ceremony alongside Halea clucks approvingly, apparently impressed by fiscal responsibility in romantic declarations.
