Page 117 of What Hurts Us

“Nerves?” Caroline asked as she skipped over and snagged a handful ofnoghl.

I took another sip. “Yeah.”Not really.Before Caroline could say anything else, Brandie Jean yanked her away, insisting that she add a little more eyeshadow to her look.

There was a knock at the door, andkhale joonpopped her head in. A smile spread across her face. “It’s time.”

My stomach twisted as butterflies caused a shockwave to rumble inside of me.

Confident that the hallways were clear of guests, groomsmen, and my husband-to-be, we paraded through the house. The back gardens were in full bloom, lush with petals and vines in every color. Sheer curtains had been hung between two birch trees, shielding us from the ceremony site.

String music floated softly through the air as my bridesmaids took turns walking down the aisle. First Brandie Jean, then Lauren, then AB, then Caroline, and finally Beth.

After months of preparation, the moment I had been waiting for was finally here. It had taken a few late nights of discussion to nail down what elements we wanted to include in our wedding. Eventually, we landed on a ceremony that honored both of our cultures. And now, it was time. Callum Fletcher was officially mine.

The violins swelled, and the curtains were drawn back. Callum, in a fitted black suit, stared open-mouthed from the end of the aisle. My father patted my arm as he blinked back heavy tears. The twenty feet down the aisle was the longest walk I had ever taken. I wanted to hike my dress up and run to him. To my future.

We stopped at the edge of the white aisle runner. The flowers clutched in my hand trembled like an earthquake. Callum had rivers of tears streaming down his cheeks as the officiant rambled on. It was all in one ear and out the other as my father gave his blessing and kissed me on the cheek.

I handed my bouquet to Beth and took Callum’s hands as Karim stepped up to the microphone and began reciting “The Marriage” by the ancient Persian poet Rumi. I didn’t have to listen to know what he was saying. The same poem had been spoken over my parents’ marriage and the marriage of my grandparents. It hung on the wall of the house I had grown up in. As Karim spoke in Farsi, I quietly repeated in English to Callum.

May these vows and this marriage be blessed.

May it be sweet milk, this marriage, like wine and halvah.

May this marriage offer fruit and shade like the date palm.

May this marriage be full of laughter, our everyday a day in paradise.

May this marriage be a sign of compassion,

a seal of happiness here and hereafter.

May this marriage have a fair face and a good name,

An omen as welcome as the moon in a clear blue sky.

I am out of words to describe

How our spirits mingle in this marriage.

“I love you,” he mouthed as his thumbs caressed the backs of my hands. “You’re so beautiful, honey.”

Those damn butterflies flurried in my stomach again. I had been dreaming of this day for months. Now, all I wanted was for it to be over so I could get Callum alone.He and I had something rather important we needed to talk about.

Cal couldn’t stop grinning as we said our vows. His hands kept up their ministrations, calming the nervous energy that pulsed through my veins.

The officiant directed the two of us to sit behind the long farm table as our guests looked on. It was thesofreh aghd—the wedding table. While the officiant explained the tradition to the guests, I nudged Cal and lifted the hem of my wedding gown.

Black motorcycle boots peeked out, and Cal laughed. The officiant cut him a harsh look before resuming his speech.

The silk cloth running down the center of the table was embroidered with the dates of every wedding it had been used in. I saw my parents’ wedding. My aunt and late uncle’s. My grandparents and people related to me who I had never met. Our wedding date was stitched onto cloth using new thread. Above it read,The Fletchers.

Pastries that would be enjoyed during the reception were arranged on a decorative plate. They represented the sweetness of our life together. The needle and thread on top of the silk symbolized the two of us becoming one. A plate ofnaanwas for prosperity. A bowl of local scuppernong grapes pointed to a joyful future. On the edge, there was an open Bible for Gran and a Qur’an for my family. Incense burned in a dish—the aroma meant to protect us from evil. A small mirror was tilted toward Callum and me, a way for us to see our future. Closest to me was a bowl of almonds and hazelnuts, symbolizing fertility.No problems there.

At the behest of the officiant, my bridesmaids, the women of my family, and Gran walked to the front. They each took a side or a corner, spreading a cloth over our heads as my grandmother sprinkled sugar onto the fabric. The gesture was paired with their wishes for sweetness in our marriage.

Finally, the officiant directed our attention to the small dish of honey. Callum dipped his pinky finger into the dish and brought it to my lips. I did the same, serving him.

I reached into the pocket of my wedding dress—because all dresses should have pockets, dammit—and pulled out an alcohol swab.

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