Page 76 of Doctorshipped
I don’t have the wherewithal to filter my answer. “She does.”
Fiona beams.
“All the bridesmaids look beautiful today.”
That should cover it.
“But especially Miss Jayme, right, Daddy?”
“She looks nice.”
Fiona giggles as though she sees through me. She probably does.
The music shifts and the bridesmaids line up at the back of the seating area. They walk down the aisle one by one. I’d be lying if I said I watched each of them with equal attention. Only one woman holds my interest, whether I like it or not. It’s nearly impossible to believe she’s the same woman who frantically fell apart at the departures counter a little over a month ago.
Duke stands with his groomsmen at the front of the amphitheater under a rudimentary wooden arch draped in wisteria.
The music changes again—toThe Bridal March—and all the guests in attendance stand. A momentary flash of Margot walking down the aisle toward me invades my thoughts. I shake it off. Our marriage feels like a hundred lifetimes ago. Focusing on the loss of her will only amplify my cynicism, and cloud this day.
Shannon appears at the end of the aisle and I can’t help but turn my eyes toward Duke to capture his reaction. Yeah, yeah. Even a skeptic like me can be swept up into the romance of a wedding under the right circumstances. I can only hope Duke and Shannon’s future ends up being more like a fairy-tale than mine turned out to be. Though, I do have Fiona. And anything that brought me a gift like my daughter can’t be completely condemned.
As I turn to observe Duke, my eyes latch onto Jayme’s. She’s beaming with pride, watching Shannon come down the aisle. Jayme’s eyes shift and she sees me watching her. I don’t look away, though I probably should. Her lips purse into a nymphlike smirk and she gives me a private smile—one just for me. That smile contains everything. It’s all the teasing, the patience, the understanding, the way she’s soft to my hard edges. I grin back and her eyebrows raise in a taunt. I can almost hear her saying, “A smile, for me?” So I nod.
The ceremony progresses with the pastor oversharing about his own marriage and family life, Duke picking up a guitar and serenading Shannon with an original song, Duke and Shannon saying their vows, an uneventful exchange of rings, followed by a kiss so full of passion it almost makes me want to cover Fiona’s eyes. Duke dips Shannon down low, their kiss continuing the whole while. When he pulls her back up, he turns to all of us and shouts, “My wife, ladies and gentlemen!”
I have to pause here to reflect on the vows Shannon and Duke exchanged. They chose to write their own, as is apparently trendy these days. Why the traditional vows are found lacking, I’ll never understand. The original words seem to cover the basics and actually contain intentions no human should attempt to promise to another if they know themselves at all.
I listened along with the rest of the crowd. But, even now, a few moments after Duke and Shannon have finished looking into one another’s eyes, saying all those meaningful things, and the pastor has pronounced them man and wife, one thing sticks with me.
Duke looked at Shannon with such raw sincerity. The moment felt almost uncomfortably intimate, as if we should all turn our heads and give them some privacy. With a visible tear running down his cheek, Duke said, “Shannon, I always knew I could make you laugh. What I wasn’t sure of was whether I could be the man you needed—the one you could count on to hold your secrets, to stand with you through thick and thin, and the man who would never let you forget how precious you are.”
The vows went on, but that one line still rings in my ears. It feels like a mirror. Unlike Duke, I’m certain I’m a man who can provide, and even protect a woman. But am I the man who can help her feel precious? Cherished? Always safe? Can I make her laugh and bring her joy? So far that has not been my track record. And that’s one reason I’ve sworn myself to singleness. It’s for the good of any woman who might attempt to give herself to me.
The crowd of guests cheers around me now, oblivious to the self-deprecating road my mind has careened down. I look up to see Duke lift Shannon into his arms and carry her as if they’re going over the threshold all the way down the aisle while she loops her arms around his neck and stares at him with stars in her eyes, giggling at his antics.
When they reach the end of the aisle, Duke sets Shannon down, cups her cheeks and kisses her again. He kisses her like she’s a treasure, like she’s the only one who matters in his world. And, in some ways, I’m guessing she is.
Fiona leans over to me and says, “I want a husband like that, Daddy.”
“That’s the only kind I’ll let you have,” I assure her.
The wedding party files out after the bride and groom, each bridesmaid accompanied by their own husband. When it comes time for Jayme to walk down the aisle, Brooks takes one elbow and Chris takes the other. I resist the foolhardy urge to stand up and escort her myself.
I’m not sure what I expected from a Midwest wedding, but no one prepared me for cornhole, a potluck table filled with casseroles and homemade side dishes, and bowls of hot Cheetos and Funyons on each table. We also have Igloo coolers scattered throughout the property containing mostly soft drinks, and much to Jayme’s delight, there’s Dr Pepper, which she lifts in a toast toward me from across the lawn.
The reception gets underway and Duke and Shannon share their first dance, followed by the dance where all the wedding party is expected to take to the floor. Fiona and I were sitting together at one of the tables off to the side of the dance floor until she saw Aiden’s niece and nephew run by. She ran off with barely a word to me.
I watch Brooks smile and approach Jayme, obviously leaning in to ask her for a dance. I feel my jaw go rigid and my teeth clench. Why should it bother me if they dance together? Well, it does. Enough so, that it’s only a matter of moments before I’m up and out of my chair, stalking toward the two of them and tapping Brooks on the shoulder.
Brooks steps back to see me, and chuckles a soft laugh. Then Jayme’s wide eyes meet mine. I have no pithy comment to defend my actions. But, as usual, Jayme saves me from myself.
“Did you want to dance, Grant?”
“I would.”
“Be my guest,” Brooks says with a wink.
I step in front of Jayme and she reaches up to loop her arms around my neck. I remove one of her hands and clasp it in mine, allowing her other palm to rest on my shoulder.
