The officiant, a brisk woman from the mairie who has clearly done four of these this week, clears her throat.
Cat goes first.
She's shaking. I can feel it through her hands.
"Right," she says. "I'm not going to stand here and tell you that you saved me. I told you what I think about that in a field three weeks ago, and I meant it, and I'm not doing it again in front of Monique."
Low, warm laughter from the chairs.
"So instead I'll tell you what you actually get."
She takes a breath.
"You get fed," she says. "Every day. Whether you want it or not. Whether you've earned it or not. If you've had a bad day, I'll feed you. If we've had a row, I will feed you badly, out of spite — but I will feed you."
I make a noise that is not dignified.
"You get me in the kitchen at three in the morning when you can't sleep and you won't say why. You get me not asking. You get an omelette." Her mouth wobbles. "And you get me on the wet Tuesdays, Iris. February. The pump's broken. Nobody's clapping. Nothing about it is romantic in the slightest.That'sthe one I'm actually promising. Anybody can do today."
She looks at me, streaming, and her voice comes out perfectly steady.
"I'm going to want to run," she says. "One day. Probably more than once. And I'm going to tell you when I do — and then I'm going to stay anyway. That's it. That's the vow. That's everything I've got."
I have written mine down. I have copies with Nadia, in the kitchen drawer, and in two other places.
I don't look at any of them.
"You didn't fix me," I say.
Cat's breath catches.
"I want that said out loud, in front of everybody, because I know you, and you'll try to take the credit, and you don't get to." I hold her hands hard. "I fixed myself. With your help — but I did it. I stood on that terrace and told my mother the truth, and I did it on my own two feet, and I want it on the record."
Somewhere behind me Sophie says "yes" a great deal too loudly.
"But you were the first person who ever made me want to." My voice goes. "Thirty-two years, Cat. Nobody had ever looked at me like there was something underneath worth digging for. You did. On day two. While being extraordinarily rude about my shoes."
"They were terrible shoes," Cat says.
"They wereexcellentshoes." I laugh, wetly. "So. I promise to see you — not the version who cooks beautifully and never flinches. The one who burns the toast and talks to the plants and gets frightened and goes quiet." I lift our joined hands. "You have been leaving rooms your whole life, Cat Aldridge. I promise to still be in this one."
Michel produces the cushion.
He has, I think, been waiting for this moment since roughly 2009.
The rings are plain gold, matching, engraved on the inside where nobody will ever see them.
choose love
"With this ring, I marry you," Cat says — and her hand is shaking so badly I have to help her.
"With this ring, I marry you."
"By the powers vested in me," says the woman from the mairie, "I declare you married."
She pauses.
"You may—" she begins.
