Cross My Heart (49 page)

“A
re you
working
with Daniel today?” Mom
asks
.

“Nope,” he replies
. “I’ve got something to do in Hamilton, but I’ll be back in time to shower and change and pick up Becky at her parent
s’
house.”

“You a
re just like your father
,” Mom says
. “Is anyone going to stay and help Daniel today? I mean, what is so important that you have to be in Hamilton on his wedding day?”

Daniel walks
into the kitchen.
“I
’m a big boy, Mom.
Are those pancakes?”

“Yes, the
se are pancakes.
And I’m just saying that it would be nice if someone would give you
some
company today.”

“I’ll be fine.
Men
don’t need
constant companionship,” he says
. “Going to the bathroom
does not take
a group effort and I don’t need my cuticles done.”

“You
r cuticles look
pathetic,” I tell
him
, poking at my pancakes with a
fork
.

“That’s what
Sarah says,” he replies
, grinning
. “God
,
Melissa, what did you pack in that
thing?” He prods
t
he suitcase with his toe. It does
n’t budge.

Melissa rolls
her eyes. “Everything I could possibly need to make sure your
bride
makes it to the park on time.”

“You have l
ike, eight
hours,” Phillip points
out
, mouth full
. “If you can’t get her to the park on time with
eight
hours, then something is wrong.”

“The wedding doesn’t start without the bride
,
anyway,”
Sarah answers
, Joshua
planted on her hip.

“Good. E
verybody’s up,” Mom says
. “Dani
el? Sarah? How many pancakes?”

*
  
*
  
*

“Another
big smile.” The shutter clicks
.
Flash pops
. “Last shot
,
”
the photographer says
.
This i
s the millionth one
, or so it seems, and my cheek muscles ache
.

We’
re dressed and ready to
go
. Mom i
s pretty in pale blue—wearing a glittery
,
sl
eeveless dress that compliments my lavender. Sarah has
slipped into her gown,
veil clipped in place
,
soft, brown curls framing her face. E
ven Joshua i
s decked out in his little baby tuxedo.

“Do w
e have everything?” Mom asks as the photographer checks
the screen on the back of the camera.

“Technically, as long as we have the bri
de we’re good to go,” I remind
her.

“Is everyone dressed?” she asks
. “Shoes?”

I check
my feet.

“Pocket books?”

“I’m
leaving mine here,” I announce
.

“Me too,” says
Sarah.

“Me three,” adds
Candace, the other bridesmaid and S
arah’s friend from school, who
arrived just before the photographer.

“I’m leaving my purse, but I’m bringing my carry-on. You know, in th
e event we need duct tape,” says
Melissa.

Mom smiles
. “Good. Does everyone have flowers?”

Four la
vender and white
rose
bouquets lift to the sky. Mom touches
her lapel, ver
ifying that, yes, her corsage i
s pinned in place.

“Are we ready, then?” I ask
.

“Yes.”

“What about the boutonnieres for the guys?”

“In my car,” Melissa replies
. “Who’s driving who?”

“Sarah’s ride is waiting outside, and I can
take Joshua in the truck,” says
Mom.

“I’m with Sarah,” says
Candace.

“I’ll ride with you, Melissa
, if that’s okay,” I say
.

“So everyone has a ride,
” Mom confirms
.

“Yes,” we reply
in unison.

“And we have everything we need?”

Again: “Yes.”

She checks
her watch. “We have twenty minutes before the ceremony.”

Across from me Sarah touches
the edge of her fi
nger-tip length veil. She sucks in a huge breath, then releases
it a
ll at once. “
Okay.
Let’s do this
.”

*
  
*
  
*

Th
e park where Daniel and Sarah are getting married i
s more like a town square than a park, really, with huge oak trees, a fountain in the center, a bronze statue of the town founder, and benches scattered throughout.
Today it’
s
transformed
:
a large, white tent set up to one side; tables and chairs arranged beneath
; o
ne hundred and f
ifty chairs
set up in front of the white ga
zebo adorned in
sheer, gauzy fabric;
roses and freesias.

Cars line
the streets, circling the entire block.
T
he first empty space we find i
s at the far end of a tree-lined Main Street.

“Well this is something we didn’t
plan for,” I mutter as Melissa and I climb
out of her c
ar
. Across the street, Sarah eases
herself out, too.
S
he
steps
onto the pavement, smoothing
the folds of her
satin gown
. It’
s like something out of a dream: a br
ide
standing in the middle of the road, clutch
ing her bouquet. People linger
at the various storefronts,
typical Saturday afternoon bustle slowing as people
drop
everything
to watch us.

We kno
w
or recogni
ze
almost everyone, and
a few “Good luck, Sarah’s”
a
re thrown out as we ma
k
e our way down the street
. Already, sweat prickles at my skin. My nerves a
r
e shaky, at
best, and though clouds still hid
e
the
afternoon sun, the humidity suck
s
the life straight out of my pores.

“
It’s hot out here,” Melissa says
under her breath.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

The photographer snaps photos as we walk
.

“
What if she passes out?” I ask
.

“I have a spray bottle o
f water in my bag,” she informs
me, tapping the black strap on her shoulder.

“
That’s great
, but where will the bag be?”

“I’m going to make Daniel or Phillip sneak it into the gazebo when no one is paying attention.”

“God, y
ou thought of everything. I may
make you
my
maid of honor,” I muse
.

“I take the
job seriously.”

We continue
walking, the soft strains of classical music filling the air,
growing louder as we approach the ceremony site. Guests a
re still being seated. 

Sarah’s aunt greets
us w
hen we arrive
, ushering us
to one
side of the tent,
closed off, hiding us from view. She and my mothe
r go
to work dividing up the corsag
es and boutonnieres, then head
into the c
rowd to disperse them. We wait
, fe
eling the seconds as they tick
by.

“How are you doing?” I ask
Sarah.

“Fine,” she replies
.

“Nervous?”

“Very.” She takes
another deep breath. “
Joshy
, don’t pull on the tablecloth.”

I glance
over at my little nephew.

“I
have some gum,” Candace offers
.

“That’s okay.
I’ll probably forget to spit it out and start smacking when I’m up there. And that wouldn’t be very bride-like.”

“Do you need a bottled
water?” Melissa asks
.

“Is that in
your miracle bag, too?” I tease
.

She thro
w
s
me a dirty look. “Th
e bag is secured,” she whispers
.

“What? Already?”

“It was a covert op. Blink and you missed me.”

“What are you talking about?” Sarah a
sks
, confused.

Melissa smiles. “Nothing,” we reply
in tandem.

“Anyway,” Melissa continues
, “I was actually thinking that maybe we should check with
him
.”

We follow
her finger
unti
l our gazes rest
on a guy—a very
cute guy—m
anning the punch table. He ca
n’t
be
older than any of us, and
i
s wearing black pants, a white shirt, and a black tuxedo vest.

“Wow,” Candace murmurs
under her breath.

I
smile
.

“I know,” Melissa replies
. “Whoever he is, he doesn’t live in
this
town.”

“All right, ladies!” Sarah’s aunt approaches, motioning for us to line up.

I lift
the mass of curls at the nape of my neck, fanning
it with my hand. The clouds ar
e breaking, and eve
ry other moment i
s filled with brigh
t sunlight. A warm breeze passes
through the tent, rustlin
g the tablecloths
, playing with our hair
. When I look at Sarah, I can
see tears welling in her eyes.

“Are you okay?” I ask
.

“
They came.
”
She shakes her head
, hesitating
.
“
I can
’
t believe it. They actually
came
.
”

And she laughs. H
appy.

W
hen the music i
s cued
Candace
move
s
into the aisle,
like we
practice
d
days before. Only then
there were no people, no chairs, no white runner covered in flower petals. Then, we w
ere pretending. This time, it’s real. I step
forward, following Cand
ace the moment Sarah’s aunt
nudge
s me.

Daniel
,
handsome in his tuxedo
,
smiles
at me
as I approach the gazebo and fi
nd m
y place
. A
s I
watch
Sarah
,
re
ady to
make her entrance,
my thoughts flitter back to the night before: graduation and the speeches given,
which,
even at this
moment, seems
like
lifetime
s
ago
. Specifically, I remember
crossroads
, and roa
ds less traveled,
and stayi
ng the course, follow the dream. A
n endless progression of cliché after cliché.
But despite this, I
marvel at how
even
the
wrong
choices can keep us on the right path.
How the worst mistake can wind up being the best thing that
ever happened to us
.
Because even
th
ough Daniel and Sarah chose
a fairly rocky journey, everything seemed
to
come full circle to bring them back to this one, perfe
ct moment: exactly where they’
re meant to be.