Neanderthal Marries Human: A Smarter Romance (Knitting in the City) (49 page)

I’d been wrong.

It didn
’t matter if he was my biological father. Blood mattered less than love, constancy, support, and sacrifice. I took a deep breath and silently said goodbye to my hope for us. I said goodbye to what I’d always wished he would be.

Going through the motions held no value.
I was going to walk myself down the aisle. No one would give me away.

This decision wasn
’t some feminist statement or rejection of societal conventions. This decision was based on the knowledge that there was no one to give me away. But that didn’t matter, because I wasn’t walking backward into my past. I was going forward to my future.

I said to the top of his head,
“Quinn will come find you after the ceremony to reimburse you for your trouble. You’ve flown all the way out here for nothing, I’m afraid.”

He
finally looked at me again, frowned. “What are you talking about?”

I shook my head.
“Nothing. It doesn’t matter. Just…goodbye.”

I leaned down and kissed him on the cheek,
and then I walked back to the double doors alone, feeling remarkable sense of relief and peace about my sudden decision. I didn’t look back.

A
gain, the music changed. The sound of Edward Elgar’s “Salut d’Amour” filled my ears, and I laughed in wonder because the music wasn’t being played by an organ.

The song was being played by strings—violins, cellos, bass—and it gave me the distinct impression that I was being pulled into the church, lured by the lovely music
into the arms of my lover.

The sound of a hundred people standing was followed by the doors of the church opening.

And there he was.

I didn
’t have to search for him. Our eyes simply met, and everything, everyone else was gone. I still heard the music, but it felt distant, like a soundtrack playing in the background of a movie.

I saw his eyes widen and his mouth fall open
and his expression change from stoic to stunned.

Quinn Sullivan
had lost his composure.

He looked completely
astonished and it took my entire slow march down the aisle for him to recover.

I tried to imagine how he saw me
: the strapless silk taffeta bodice, the cinched waist, the huge layered skirt with overlapping folds. The delicate wedding shawl felt as light as air, and the kid mohair fingering-weight yarn shone beneath the lights of the church.

I tried to imagine how he saw me, but I was also stunned by the sight of Quinn. He was in a custom cut tuxedo and looked like every
woman’s ideal of the perfect man, a fantasy that Ian Fleming had encouraged by creating the character of James Bond as the sexiest man in the world—except that James Bond had nothing on Quinn Sullivan.

By the time I met him at the altar, he was smiling ruefully. He
stared at me with narrowed eyes, like he’d just caught on to a grand deception that I’d orchestrated, and he was proud and impressed that I’d pulled it off.

Quinn stepped forward before I
’d quite made it all the way to the front. He kept his gaze on me and tucked my hand in his elbow. He kept looking at me as we climbed the two steps to the altar, and he continued to hold my eyes as the officiant welcomed all our guests.

He leaned toward me at an opportune time and whispered,
“Nice dress.”

I held his gaze and returned,
“Wait till you see what’s underneath.”

If
I hadn’t been so enraptured with Quinn and the wonderful enormity of the occasion, I would have noticed that Elizabeth and Fiona cried happy tears throughout the entire ceremony while holding hands. I would have noticed the looks of joy shared by Desmond and Katherine. I would have noticed Steven’s giant smile and Dan’s approving head nod.

But I didn
’t notice, because Quinn’s eyes poured his being into mine during the readings, the short sermon, and when we exchanged our traditional vows. His gaze felt like a promise of our future and a celebration of our past. The only time he broke eye contact was when we were proclaimed husband and wife.

And the only reason it happened then was because he pulled me into his arms and kissed his bride.

***

“
I’ll keep this
short, because I know you’re all looking forward to the open bar.” Dan glared around the room.

A small but
pleasant tittering of laughter erupted in the hall. I looked at the faces of Quinn’s extended family, his parents’ friends, my friends, Quinn’s friends, and stared in wonder at the amalgamation gathered.

We were married
, and Dan was about to give his best man speech.

We
’d survived couple photos—both the hired photographer’s and Donovan Charles’s fashion photographer, which ended up being the cost of borrowing the wedding dress—family photos, and wedding party photos.

We
’d lived through our first dance as husband and wife, which happened to be one of the few things that Quinn had an opinion about. I realized he’d picked the song when the opening notes for The Cars’ “Just What I Needed” sounded over the speakers in the ballroom. I laughed so hard that Quinn had to pick me up twice.

Quinn enjoyed his dance with his mother almost as much as she did. I didn
’t know who’d picked the song, but I felt like Nat King Cole’s version of “Paper Moon” was perfect.

When the time came for the father-daughter dance,
I walked to where Desmond was standing with Katherine and asked him to dance. And so we danced. As the last bars to Ella Fitzgerald’s “Someone to Watch Over Me” drifted through the air, Desmond dipped me. It made me smile and it made me laugh because he did it so well. We hugged, and he whispered in my ear, “I’m proud of you, kiddo.”

I
knew my smile was massive because my cheeks hurt when I said, “Thanks, Dad.”

This would likely be the only time so many of the people we loved would be gathered together in the same room. I felt a swelling of gratitude for Marie and Katherine, that they pulled this together
and made it happen—and not just the lovely ferns, the impressive cake, the beautiful decorations, and the stunning centerpieces.

I
was thankful for the people who’d come to show us that we were important to them, that they were invested in our happiness.

And now Dan was holding a microphone and squinting at Quinn. Quinn was squinting right back.

“You know,” Dan started, shook his head, “I’ve known this guy a long time. Some of you might not know this, but we shared a bed for a while….” He allowed a dramatic pause, then continued. “It was a crib, and we were two.”

A b
urst of accommodating laughter filled the room, and Quinn grumbled something beside me. He was scowling, but he was also smiling.

“
Even then he was bossy. He was always quiet, and I believe my mother once nicknamed him Sully the Sullen.”

More laughter. I reached over and h
eld Quinn’s hand; he squeezed mine in his.

“
But, I gotta admit, Quinn Sullivan is also the best and bravest man I know. And that’s why, when he told me that he and Janie were getting hitched, I was so happy for him. Because she is the best and bravest woman I know…and I know a lot of women.”

Another rumble of laughter. My eyes flickered over to Kat
, and I found that her gaze was on her food. I tucked that away for later analysis.

“
So raise your glass to Janie and her husband Quinn. May your pockets be heavy and your heart be light. May good luck pursue you each morning and night. To Janie and Quinn!”

“
To Janie and Quinn,” the room echoed, and everyone drank.

Quinn and Dan shared a glare and a smile as Dan passed the microphone to Elizabeth. She stood as he took his seat.

She grinned at me then turned to face the room. “I’ll also try to keep my speech short, because I, too, am looking forward to the open bar.” This drew chuckles and a few exclamations of “hear, hear!”

“
Anyone who knows Janie knows that she is the wisest person in the room. And it’s not just because she knows more about viruses than an immunologist or the mating practices of sea horses than a marine biologist, or that she can tell you the square root of any number without batting an eyelash. Janie is the wisest person in
any
room because she loves without condition.”

A few
awwws
filtered through the crowd, and Elizabeth winked at me.

“
As a recipient of Janie’s unconditional love, I can tell you that it’s a beautiful thing. If you think she looks beautiful today, just wait until you see the beauty of her heart.”

I blinked away the stinging behind my eyes and felt Quinn reached his hand around my shoulders as he brought me to him
and placed a kiss on my forehead.

“
And Quinn Sullivan, you should all know, is by far the smartest person in the room, and here is why.” She paused, and her gaze moved to Quinn’s. “He is the smartest person in any room because he married Janie.”

More
awwws
were followed by a round of applause. Elizabeth waited for the clapping to die down before she lifted her glass. “Here’s to the wisest and the smartest individuals in the room. To Janie and Quinn.”

“
To Janie and Quinn!” came the echo as glasses were raised.

I shared a brief gaze and smile with Elizabeth, and she blew me a kiss, mouthing the words
I love you
as she sat.

I thought the toasts were over, so I turned to Quinn to remark on how nice they
’d been. To my surprise, Quinn stood, taking his glass with him, and he pulled me up beside him. He reached for and accepted the microphone.

Then,
looking out at the crowd, he cleared his throat. “We want to thank my mom and Janie’s good friend Marie for putting this thing together. They did a really nice job, and it’s been…it’s been fun. So, Janie and I want to say thank you.”

He paused to allow the crowd a moment to acknowledge their efforts
before he continued.

“
I wanted to make a toast to my wife. I don’t really care about the open bar, but I don’t talk much, so this’ll be short. Raise your glasses.” Quinn looked to me. “To Janie Sullivan, my friend….”

He paused, his eyes moved over my features and lingered on the gigantic smile splitting
my face in two, then said, “I know you by heart. To Janie.”

“
To Janie!” the crowd repeated, lifting their glasses then drinking accompanied by a few
awwwws
and mumblings of appreciation.

Quinn
sipped his champagne then, his blue eyes both mischievous and reverent, he leaned forward and kissed me.

***

The plane took
off for our mystery honeymoon destination. We curled together in our seats, holding each other, tired yet replete.

My eyelids became heavy with a happy sleepiness
, and I let my mind wander.

I didn
’t think about snake venom or dorsal fin collapse; nor was I thinking of robots, the origins of idioms, ISO international date standards, or china cabinet and teacup analogies.

I was thinking about the wedding, but not
just the beautiful ceremony, the amazing reception, the food, or the flowers, or the touching moments between me and my friends or me and my new family.

I was thinking about all of it
—the entire day.

It
felt like the wedding had followed a script, one that had been written a long time ago.

It said that I needed something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue. So, I
’d worn the old Sullivan family Claddagh ring, a new hand-knit lace wedding shawl, a borrowed haute couture wedding dress, and blue suede shoes.

The script d
ictated that I dress in something dazzling of my choice, and that Quinn look dashing as well; that the first time we saw each other be just minutes before we spoke our vows; that we be overcome with the sight of each other and the rightness of the moment.

I
t required that I walk down the aisle and be given away, given to my husband and that he be given to me, that all our friends and family watch this occur, and by watching give their blessing to our marriage. The fact that I and I alone had been the one to give myself away didn’t diminish the meaning behind the sentiment. If anything, it felt more sacred.

The script called for a romantic first dance
between us, a calm, silly moment within the sea of expectations and well wishes. It also said Quinn must dance with his mother, for her to share that moment with her son and for her family to understand that their relationship had healed. Of course, we went off script when I danced with Desmond instead of my father, but one could argue that a little improv was necessary to keep things from becoming too predictable.