Page 31 of Untangled
“Find it in that mess somehow?” Daniel asks as he places two hands on my shoulders, kneading gently while peeking at the drawer.
“Easy-peasy,” I reply with a quiet hum as his fingers work my muscles. “If you get your computer, I’ll get the HDMI cord.”
He returns with his laptop in hand and two minutes later we’re splayed out on the couch, me in one corner and him in the middle, with my legs draped over his lap. He’s taken up my feet with his massage hands when I press play.
Pachelbel’s Canon in D lilts softly as the title rolls, our names and the date printed in script. After so long, seeing my first name next to my maiden name feels foreign. Daniel digs his thumb along one of my soles.
“I liked having the string quartet,” he says, and when I look in his direction, his head is tilted pensively.
“You were adamant that a jazz trio would’ve been better, if I recall correctly.”
“Is this the part where I admit that you were right? Maybe for the reception, but for the ceremony it would’ve been obnoxious. I should’ve learned then to listen to you the first time,” he replies.
“Your words, not mine,” I chuckle in response.
The camera pans to the door at the back of the church, which opens to reveal my mom and grandpa beginning their walk toward the front pew. Mom waves like everyone’s there to see her and the first time we watched this video back, I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cringe. I hadn’t considered that part of being the bride—everyone gets to see the processional but you.
Next, my grandma and Daniel’s grandmothers round into the frame, each carrying a basket of flower petals. When we asked them to be our honorary flower girls, they were absolutely tickled. While two of the three toss the flowers delicately from side to side, one—I’ll allow her to remain nameless—uses them to chuck at her family members in the audience. That definitely made me cringe. The bridesmaidsare next, each in flowing light blue organza, linked in arms with Daniel’s brothers and best friends.
“I really did like those dresses,” I say, though not a single one of my friends ever wore hers again, though I swore they would.
“They match your eyes,” he says in response, and I’m about to roll mine when I meet his stare and he’s earnest. He’s not being a smart ass. He means it.
“Alright, Romeo, simmer down,” I reply.
Then, with a change of song and increased volume, the doors close and I can feel myself there. I’m taking deep breaths of old must with light from the stained glass warming the back of my neck and my dad’s hand resting on mine. “Ready to do this?” he says, and had I said no he would’ve brought a car around himself to take me home. “Absolutely,” I replied instead.
The doors open and everyone stands. The camera pans from me, in a mermaid-cut satin gown with lace on the bust and straps, to Daniel. In his navy suit, he’s as handsome as he’s ever been. His brother hands him a napkin and he dabs his eyes, but even that can’t conceal a megawatt smile.
That’s another thing that stings about being the bride—everyone else sees your beloved’s reaction to you, but you.
“I was barely keeping it together,” he laughs, then switches his attention to rub my other foot.
“If you weren’t crying, I would’ve been concerned.”
“Because I cry at movies so often?”
“Because you cry over the horses in the Anheuser-Busch commercials. If I wasn’t worth the same treatment as a Superbowl ad, I would’ve revolted,” I reply.
“It was overwhelming, seeing you like that. God, you looked so beautiful.”
My dad is kissing my cheek and shaking Daniel’s hand now, having given me away (what a bizarre thing, looking back). Then, Daniel and I are face to face, gripping each other’s hands for anchor.
“We should’ve written our own vows,” I say, as the officiant walks us through the standard set of promises.
“I don’t know—there’s something cool about reciting the same words people have been pledging for centuries.”
“Do you think we’ve done right by them?” I ask.
“The more important question is, do you think we’ve done right by each other? I think we have.”
Nodding for a moment to think, I answer, “I think we have, too.”
We’ve been blessed with health, not sickness, and have landed solidly between richer and poorer. We’ve definitely loved, and we’re getting better at cherishing. And these last few weeks, we’ve donea lotof having and holding.
A cry, sharp and incessant, tears through the living room when Daniel and I exchange rings. When we don’t rush to get her in three seconds flat, Violet responds with another.
“Hard to believe that day led to all this,” he says as I stand. “It was a perfect beginning.”
