Page 85 of Every Time We Touch

“Ready?” she asks.

I look at my wife. The word still does something ridiculous to my insides, even though I’ve been saying it in my head all day. Even though I said it out loud when I practiced my vows. Even though Dad said it to me earlier, after he walked me down the aisle and gave me away to the woman who, a few years ago, nearly blew up this family by loving me.

“Not even a little,” I say.

“Just follow my lead,” Clancy says.

We take the first step. And maybe the rumba is not the most appropriate first dance for a wedding, especially when performed in front of your entire family, but maybe that’s what also makes it the right dance for Clancy and me.

There are no more secrets here, just our love on display, in my mother’s garden, under strings of lights. I dance with Clancy while everyone watches. There was a time when that would have seemed impossible. There was a time when everything about us felt impossible.

Clancy’s hand is warm at my waist, her eyes are on mine. When I execute the delayed hip movement perfectly, the grin she sends me is most certainly not allowed in the rumba.

At the edge of the dance floor, Mom dabs at her eyes with a napkin. She has worn the same loopy smile since the moment Dad and I appeared at the end of the garden aisle. Nora puts an arm around her.

I glance over Clancy’s shoulder and find Dad standing beside Heather, his face doing that thing where he tries to look dignified while obviously fighting tears.

He catches me looking and gives me a small nod.

Earlier, before the ceremony, I stood with him in my mother’s hallway, both of us staring at the open garden doors, waiting for the big moment.

“You don’t have to do this,” I said.

“I’m aware I’m not legally compelled.” He looked at me, his eyes bright. “I want to.”

I couldn’t speak for a moment.

“With the benefit of time,” he said, “you can laugh at almost anything.” He looked toward the garden, where Clancy was waiting for me in a suit so dazzlingly white and so perfectly fitted—a sleeveless blazer drawing all focus to her arms—it should have come with a code red fire warning.

“And sometimes,” Dad said, “if you’re lucky, you can be grateful for things you didn’t understand at first.”

Then, he offered me his arm. “You’re my daughter. I will always walk you where you need to go.”

And then he walked me toward Clancy.

Now, as Clancy guides me into a slow turn, I look at him again and know that no single moment fixed us. It took time. Awkward coffees. Short phone calls. Longer phone calls. A few dinners where nobody mentioned Clancy until someone did. Brunches where Dad arrived early and Clancy arrived late, as if the universe itself was giving everyone a few extra minutes to prepare.

When he gave my hand to Clancy, he said, “Look after each other.”

The song reaches the part that completely undid me when Clancy danced to it alone. Now we move to it together. I used to think dancing with Clancy was about wanting her. It still is, obviously. But it’s also about trust. About knowing she’ll guide me without taking over. About knowing I can step wrong and she’ll adapt. A bit like marriage, I suspect.

When the song ends, people clap and whistle. Juan is the loudest.

“Fancy Clancy!” he calls, already striding toward us. “Time for dancy with Juan.”

Clancy happily obliges and watching them dance is a joy. Juan is ridiculous, dramatic, and graceful in his own way.

Lauren comes to stand beside me as Juan dips Clancy low.

“For the record,” Lauren says, “I still think your origin story is gross.”

“Yeah.” Clancy and I can never change how we met.

“But.” She looks at Clancy. “The sequel’s pretty good.”

She reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

My eyes sting instantly, because, apparently, that’s what happens to your eyes all the time on your wedding day.