Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 140874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
As anyone who knew her would have expected, Emma’s vows were much more practical. There was a framework of “in sickness and health” behind them, but with touches that were pure Emma.
“I can’t swear to you that I’ll never roll my eyes when you wear socks to bed, or that I’ll tolerate your morning cheerfulness in good humor every day of our life together,” she promised through tears. “But I will always love you, and I will always put our happiness as a family first.”
She broke down then, and my heart ached for her, because I knew, as Neil did, and as Michael did, that Emma feared they would never have the family they wanted. To anyone else, they were happy tears from an overjoyed bride, and there was no reason anyone should have thought otherwise.
Michael reached up to brush a tear from her cheek with his thumb, and the gesture was so natural and loving that my heart skipped a beat. If ever there were a truly great romance, Emma and Michael had to be it.
Instead of exchanging rings, they had chosen to light a unity candle together, to symbolize the joining of their lives into one. I’d never been to a wedding where the bride and groom lit the candle on their own, and it was a meaningful twist.
When the officiant declared, “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” I looked up at Neil. A tear track gleamed on his cheek, and more glittered unshed in his eyes. There was pride there, and sorrow. Because it was final. It was as though in those words, he finally saw Emma as a grown woman who didn’t need him in the same way she had when she’d been a little girl. I thought of the pictures in our house, of Emma as a baby in her father’s arms, moments after she was born, and as a five-year-old with impossibly white blonde pigtails on the first day of school. And as I watched him watching his daughter kiss her new husband at the start of their life together, I saw him reluctantly laying those versions of Emma to rest. So, it was a touch patriarchal of him to recognize her as a grown-up only when she’d become a wife, but the twenty-five years between us was a long time, and I had to be somewhat forgiving of our views not lining exactly up.
As Emma and Michael half-ran their giddy way up the aisle to the strains of the Beach Boys’ “God Only Knows,” a rain of pale paper butterflies drifted from the ceiling.
I nudged Neil with my arm. “You okay?”
His smile was a little too quick in response to be entirely genuine. “Oh, yes. It was a lovely ceremony.”
That was the staunch Englishman side of him, one that I didn’t see very often anymore. “It’s okay to show emotion, you know,” I teased. “Your daughter just got married.”
“If I start showing emotion, it will all come flooding out and you’ll have to carry me to the reception.”
I’d assumed that during the photos, I’d be hanging out in the Roosevelt Rotunda with the other guests. I wouldn’t be needed, after all. Everyone who would be involved lingered behind the other guests, and when everyone else had gone, Emma and Michael emerged from their secret hiding room. Being waylaid by well-wishers would have eaten up precious time for photos and left reception guests waiting, she’d explained at the rehearsal, and I’d made a mental note for my own wedding.
As soon as they saw Emma, Neil and Valerie rushed over to her for hugs and a chorus of parental pride. I gave them space, only approaching Emma for a hug when she noticed me. Careful not to step on her dress, I gave her a gentle squeeze, so as not to crinkle her chiffon. “You look amazing!”
“Thank you.” She smoothed her hair, cautious of the pearls, and self-consciously straightened her neckline. “That means a lot, coming from someone who knows so much about fashion.”
Awww. Emma rarely praised people, which meant that when she did, it was genuine. Also, that she was able to lower her guard around them.
“Okay, can I get the bride and her parents?” the photographer called, and the three of them moved so quickly it was comical.
Emma called, “Oh, my bouquet, Amanda, my bouquet!” to her maid of honor, as though she were a surgeon calling for a crucial instrument in a tense operation. Amanda, in the floaty white a-line shift dress uniform of the bridal attendants—the glittery Swarovski crystal and gold thread embroidered collars were to die for—scooted across the floor on the balls of her feet in her stiletto heels, like a person carrying a bomb. Both Neil and Valerie reached for the bundle of baby pink roses at the same time, and the whole thing was frantic and amusing.