Calls would happen.
Families would choose sides.
Nathan might hear something.
It was my wedding.
I wasn’t handing her the story of the night I screamed at her table.
So I smiled.
Actually smiled.
And said, “The salmon was very good.”
Daniel nearly choked.
Margaret looked confused.
The dinner ended 15 minutes later.
I didn’t speak in the car until we’d turned onto the highway.
Then, I said, “Pull over.”
Daniel glanced at me.
“Why?”
“Because I need to yell and I don’t want you crashing.”
He pulled into a gas station.
I unbuckled my seat belt.
“What the hell was that?”
“I know.”
“No, what did you mean, we’ll figure something out?”
“I meant I needed five minutes before you set my mother’s dining room on fire.”
“She said she didn’t want my brother’s face in our wedding pictures.”
“I heard her.”
“And you said we’d figure something out?”
Daniel turned toward me.
“Sarah, Nathan is walking you down that aisle.”
I came to a halt.
“There was never another option,” Daniel said firmly.
“Then why didn’t you tell her?” I demanded.
“Because if I’d said what I wanted to say, we’d both be banned from Thanksgiving,” he replied.
Despite myself, I laughed.
Then I cried.
Daniel reached for me.
I let him.
“I don’t want Nathan knowing,” I said.
“He won’t.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
That mattered more than anything.
Nathan had spent almost a year grieving Dad.
He didn’t need to know somebody thought his face was a problem.
I didn’t sleep much.
By around 3 a.m., I knew exactly what I was going to do.
And it had nothing to do with saying anything to Margaret.
The next morning I called the photographer.
Her name was Lena.
“I need to change something about the wedding day,” I said. “And I need you not to mention it to anyone in his family. Not to his mother. Especially not to her.”
She was quiet for a second.
“Okay. Tell me.”
“I want another photographer.”
“We already have a second shooter.”
“I want one more angle.”
“For the ceremony?”
“For Nathan.”
One more pause.
“What exactly do you want covered?”
“Everything.”
I told her.
Nathan waiting near the rear of the chapel.
Nathan holding out his arm.
Nathan counting if he counted.
Nathan’s hands.
His face.
Every step.
I wanted one photographer at the front covering us normally, and another positioned slightly back or to the side focusing nearly totally on him.
Not simply the stroll.
The preparation beforehand.
the once we arrived at Daniel.
the instant Nathan took a seat.
Everything.
“And I want a separate album,” I replied.
Lena remained silent.
She said, “So you want the walk to be the wedding.”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I want.”
I had to take money out of the floral budget because the additional coverage was so expensive.
Two huge reception arrangements were scrapped, and smaller ones took their place.
No one took notice.
Not Margaret, of course.
Nathan practiced for the next three weeks.
I received updates from him.
“Twenty-two steps today.”
Following that, “I forgot to slow down at the turn. Doing it again.”
He once gave Daniel a call.
“What hand do I use?”
“For what?”
“Handshake.”
“Right hand.”
“But Sarah is on my right.”
It seems that Daniel explained the logistics for five minutes.
Nathan figured it out on his own.
“I let go of Sarah first.”
“Perfect.”
“I practiced.”
I was more at ease than I had anticipated on the morning of the wedding.
That is, until I noticed Dad’s cufflinks.
For Nathan, Mom had brought them.
My makeup artist had to leave the room because I started crying so much.
Daniel and the guys helped Nathan get ready.
Daniel texted me a picture at some time.
Nathan in his suit was there.
flat-combed hair.
You can see Dad’s cufflinks.
I had never seen a more serious expression on his face.
Daniel commented underneath, “He has asked what time it is 11 times.”
I said, “Tell him I haven’t escaped.”
After a minute, Daniel said, “He says good.”
I stood in the small side room at the rear of the church when it was time.
Nathan entered.
When he noticed me, he stopped.
Neither of us spoke for a moment.
Nathan then remarked, “You look like Mom’s wedding picture.”
I was more thoroughly destroyed by that than by any accolade.
“You look like Dad,” I remarked.
He made contact with one cufflink.
“I know.”
Outside, the music began.
Nathan stood up straight.
Then he extended his arm.
“Ready?”
“No.”
He scowled.
“That’s not right.”
I chuckled while crying.
“I’m ready.”
He gave a nod.
“Good.”
The doors parted.
There were 140 persons present.
Daniel was in front of me.
Mom was already crying when I saw her in the first pew.
Margaret was seated two seats down.
After then, Nathan was the only person I saw.
He began to count silently.
“One.”
Take a step.
“Two.”
Take a step.
“Three.”
I gave his arm a squeeze.
See more on the next page
