Chapter NINETEEN

“DID YOU GET TO KEEP the dress from last night?” asks Skylar, as we sit in our sunny kitchen having a casual family breakfast. She’s already told me that she watched every second of the Emmys. She thought Kate looked like a princess and I looked like a queen. It occurs to me that sounds like I could be Kate’s mother, but I know Skylar means it as a compliment.

“I gave it back. Complete with the wine stain from a party we went to afterward.”

“The parties must have been amazing!” says Skylar, wide-eyed.

“We definitely had fun,” Bradford says, smiling at me. He’d been sitting in the audience and then joined Kirk, Kate and me for a night of postshow celebrating. If Kate was in mourning for Owen, she managed to hide it pretty well, dancing with Kirk and accepting accolades everywhere she went for her impromptu TV appearance. At one point when I asked her how she was, she whispered that she was feeling relieved. Makes sense. Kate had seen the end coming for a while—Vanessa Vixen was just the final straw.

“The parties were fun,” Bradford repeats, “but Sara kept me up way past my bedtime. We didn’t get home until two.”

“Oh Daddy, you’re just a wild and crazy guy,” Skylar says.

“Tell Mommy how crazy!” says Dylan, jumping up and down in his chair. “Tell her what we’re doing today that’s crazy.”

“We’re not telling yet,” Skylar hisses to Dylan, giving him a warning look.

I don’t know what they’re talking about, but I’m not worried. Ever since Hong Kong, I feel like a cloud has lifted. I wake up every day feeling exhilarated. Despite getting home late last night, I rushed downstairs early this morning, full of energy to squeeze orange juice and make fresh muffins and omelets for breakfast. I’m just as wild and crazy as Bradford. Today I used whole eggs instead of just the whites.

Dylan jumps up again and runs over to whisper something in Bradford’s ear, and Skylar, who’s never seemed concerned before about getting anywhere on time, keeps checking her watch.

“Some place you need to be?” I ask her.

“Nope, just staying here today,” she says, trying not to smile. “Nothing special going on.”

What am I missing? There’s more covering up going on here than at a Revlon counter.

A few minutes later, Berni and Aidan stroll in, each of them holding a baby. And what’s going on? One of the babies has on a little pink dress, and the other’s wearing a blue sweater.

“Don’t tell me you’ve given up on one-color-fits-all,” I say, going over to give each of the babies a kiss on top of the head. “Isn’t this against your plan for an egalitarian upbringing?”

“We only dress them this way for special occasions,” Aidan says, smiling.

“Don’t give it away,” says Skylar, trying to shush Aidan. “Daddy hasn’t told Sara yet.”

“Told me what?” I ask, looking at Bradford.

Bradford hesitates, and then comes over to me.

“I haven’t told you that we’re getting married,” he says putting his arms on my shoulders.

“Yes you have,” I say, taking a gulp of my coffee.

“But he hasn’t told you that you’re getting married today!” Dylan says, unable to keep his secret for one more minute.

“Nice work, Dylan,” says Skylar, rolling her eyes.

I look from one grinning face to another, trying to understand what anybody’s talking about. How could I be getting married today? We don’t have a cake. I don’t have a dress. And I was going to spend the day alphabetizing the spices in the pantry.

“I couldn’t wait another day,” says Bradford, hugging me tightly. “I know you never wanted to plan a wedding. So the wedding is coming to you.”

“He did everything,” says Berni admiringly.

“But I got your dress,” says Skylar. “I bought it at Century 21. That really cool discount store down by daddy’s office.”

Skylar knows what she’s doing. For herself she shops at Bergdorf’s on Fifth Avenue. For me, it’s a bargain at Century 21.

“I’m the ring bearer. I bear the ring,” chimes in Dylan proudly. “Bradford says that means I carry it. And I can’t lose it.”

He looks briefly worried and Bradford comes over and ruffles his hair. “You won’t lose it, Dyl. You’re my very responsible big boy.”

I’m still flabbergasted. So I have a dress, a ring bearer and an eager groom. But I’m no fool. I’ve read Brides magazine. You can’t get married without a three-tiered cake and four-tiered bridesmaids dresses, a bouquet made out of exotic flora that cause anaphylactic shock in only five percent of the general population, a band leader who croons “Sunrise, Sunset” even though you’ve begged him not to and a high-stepping horse and carriage to take you to the ceremony. Though check local regulations—many municipalities require the steed to be Pampered.

“It’s a nice thought, honey,” I say, kissing Bradford. “But we can’t possibly do it today.”

“We can do anything we want,” says Bradford. Then stroking my face, he adds, “Sara, I really want to be married to you.”

“I do, too,” I say, and I know that I mean it. I have no doubts or hesitations anymore. No fear of shadows from either of our pasts eclipsing our bright future. I’d love to marry Bradford today. If only I didn’t have bags under my eyes from staying up so late last night.

“Then we’re doing it,” Bradford says, kissing me. “This afternoon. Right here.”

“Here?” I ask, looking around the splattered, pot-and-pan strewn kitchen.

“Of course here,” says Bradford. “This is our home. What better place to celebrate our future together.”

The Plaza Hotel is one possibility. But despite myself, I’m completely thrilled. The day’s going to be wonderful. I’m having a wedding and all I have to do is show up.

“You’re keeping it simple, right?” I ask Bradford.

“Very simple,” Bradford says. “This is just about us. And how much we love each other. Nothing else.”

But a few minutes later, two trucks pull up in front of the house, and I realize the whole family has been busy making secret preparations. Skylar runs expectantly to the door.

“Right this way,” she says, ushering in two burly workmen who start dragging in gold-leafed stanchions, round tables, a stack of gilded chairs and a half dozen white-stained planks of wood. I know today is only about how much we love each other, but maybe Bradford measures passion in two-by-fours.

“You forgot the velvet ropes,” Skylar says, frowning as she looks over the bounty.

“They’re in the truck,” says one of the workmen.

That’s a relief. I’m sure we’ll be needing to hold back the throngs. I hope the bouncer’s in the truck, too.

Before he can go back for them, the driver of the second truck traipses into the living room, carrying huge, long flower boxes. In a minute, the pungent scent of calla lilies overpowers the room.

“Those smell disgusting,” says Skylar, wrinkling her nose. “Can you get rid of them and bring in something else?”

“It’s what you ordered, lady,” says the florist.

“Fine. Then let’s put them outside the front door. They’ll look pretty,” says Skylar, sounding less like a teenager and more like a little executive. Planning a wedding can definitely age a woman.

The florist dutifully moves the vases of lilies and Skylar descends on the other boxes. Then she turns to me. “I want you to be surprised,” she says. “Go upstairs.”

But there’s already another surprise at the door.

“It’s me-e-e-e,” calls out an inimitable voice that I haven’t heard in a long time. But not long enough. “It’s me-e-e-e-e. Mi-mi.”

Mimi bounces into the room in a tight Hérve Léger cocktail dress and a white fur shrug. Just what the average woman wears on Sunday morning. Especially if she’s coming from her Saturday night date.

“I heard about your little wedding,” Mimi says, and she actually comes over and gives me a hug. A piece of white fur lands in my mouth, and when I blow it away, Mimi thinks I’m giving her a kiss. Which, amazingly, she returns.

“Sweet little Sara,” she says, taking my hand. “I don’t know why Bradford loves you, but he does. And if he tells me one more time how wonderful you are, I’m going to puke.”

“Thank you,” I say. Because it’s the nicest thing she’s ever said to me.

“Skylar’s been busy-busy planning this wedding with her daddy. Isn’t that cute?” She glances over at Skylar, who’s carefully unpacking streams of white garlands and starting to loop them through the banister on the staircase. “So I’m here to help. We’re all family now.”

I look at her dubiously. Either she’s here to spike the punch with knockout drugs and ruin the wedding—or her motives really are pure. And maybe they are. In some odd, modern way we really are family. And for the first time ever I’m secure enough with Bradford—and myself—that I don’t even mind having her in the room.

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” I say.

Mimi goes over to help Skylar with her garland-looping, but after one twist she gets bored and wanders back to me.

“I don’t mind giving Bradford to you,” she says with mock beneficence. “I tried every trick I know, but he wouldn’t take me back. So no matter.”

She drops her voice and moves us both a few steps away to make sure Skylar’s out of earshot. “Anyway, I’ve met someone new,” she confides. “My Bikram yoga teacher. He has some moves I never thought were possible.”

Given all of Mimi’s moves, that’s some accomplishment. But even if Mimi can stand on her head with her legs wrapped behind her ears, how long is the guy likely to last? And what happens when he’s gone? When the finagling CEO didn’t work out, Mimi wanted Bradford back. So what happens when the affair with the yoga teacher falls flat on the mat?

“That’s great. I hope this works out for you,” I say. “But if it doesn’t, I want to be clear. You’re done playing win-back-your-ex-husband. Right?”

“Right,” Mimi says with a flip of her white shrug. “Never look back is my motto.”

Obviously a new motto. I bet she hasn’t even had time to stitch it on a pillow yet. But I like it.

“Come on, Sara,” calls Skylar, from her place on the staircase. “You’re supposed to go upstairs.”

“Yoo-hoo,” calls someone new at the door, before I can take a step. “It’s me, Priscilla. I saw you’re having a party. I thought I could lend a hand.”

Priscilla comes in followed by a troop—literally—of little girls. About a dozen first-graders wearing beanies and Brownie scout uniforms parade in behind her. The only Priscilla parties I’ve been to involved sex toys and keys, so do I really want her hand in my wedding? At least her gift to Bradford and me will be something more interesting than a toaster.

“We’re out looking to do good deeds,” says Priscilla, wending her way through the boxes and the still unconstructed wood panels cluttering the floor. “You look like you could use some help.”

“I think we’re just fine,” I tell Priscilla, figuring she and her girls must have better things to do. Don’t they have some four-square knots to tie or some cookies to sell?

“We need badges!” pipes up one of the pip-squeaks. “And I’m tired of walking.”

“Good, then we’ll stay,” says Priscilla, checking out the room, and obviously making a mental list of all the things that need to be done.

“Are they any good with hammers?” asks Skylar, waving vaguely toward the wood. “We’re building a canopy for my dad and Sara to get married under.”

“Sure, we’ll do it,” says Priscilla, who must figure that if one of the girls pounds her thumb, there’s always that first-aid badge to go after.

Bradford wanders back into the room and surveys the scene with a big smile. But then he sees Mimi and his face falls. He walks toward her.

“I thought we had an understanding,” he tells Mimi pointedly.

“I understand, I understand, I understand,” Mimi says, waving her finger like a metronome. “You’re getting married. Our family has changed. I’m supposed to be nice. And that’s exactly what I’m being.”

Bradford looks at me dubiously.

“It’s fine,” I say. “Mimi is being nice. And a little later, she might even show us some yoga moves.”

Mimi looks delighted. All she wants is for someone to appreciate her. And if I take her with a grain of salt, she’s a little more palatable.

Dylan comes in, holding blue-sweatered Baby B, and staggering only slightly under the robust infant’s weight.

“Berni says he’s all dressed up,” Dylan says to Bradford. “But he’s not wearing a blue blazer. How come I have to wear mine?”

“Because you’re not a baby,” I tell Dylan, figuring that Bradford has already set the dress code for him. “And think how handsome you’ll look.”

“But I don’t want to wear my blazer,” Dylan says.

“Then you don’t have to,” Bradford says, coming over and putting his arm around Dylan. “This is the whole family’s special day. You can dress however you want.”

“Yay!” says Dylan enthusiastically, screaming his delight directly in Baby B’s ear. I brace myself for the baby to start crying, but he just gurgles. Bless Berni and her noisy vacuum cleaning.

At the far end of the room, the Brownies are busy observing the workmen construct the canopy. Is there a badge for watching? Skylar has finished putting flowers in the stanchions and she unrolls a long bolt of white fabric, forming a center aisle down the living room.

“Would you please go upstairs, Sara, please?” Skylar entreats. “You’re going to see everything, and I want it to be a surprise.” She brushes back a strand of hair from her sweaty forehead. I’m touched. I’ve never seen her work this hard. Those teenage hormones are pretty impressive when they’re put to this kind of use.

I finally go upstairs to our bedroom and try to catch my breath. My wedding day. But I’ve really got to do something about the puffiness under my eyes. I sneak back downstairs for two tea bags, steep them and come back up to rest for five minutes with the warm, wet English Breakfast bags on my face. I’ve been reading about this cure for years. Though maybe I should have used a different flavor. If it doesn’t work as a beauty treatment, I’d rather have a mug of Constant Comment waiting for me.

“Sara?”

There’s a little knock on the bedroom door and I sit up, but the tea bags seem stuck to my eyes. It takes me a moment to peel them off, and when I look in the mirror, I do a double take. I should have read the fine print. The puffiness is gone, but it looks like the tea bags are still attached because the skin all around my eyes is now stained a pale brown. I sigh. At least I won’t need as much eye shadow. Nothing’s going to get me upset today.

I turn away from the mirror, and realize the person at the door has walked in and I’m face-to-face with the last soul in the world I expected to see today. The surprise wedding didn’t startle me. I was cool and collected in the face of Mimi and the Brownie scouts. Not even the little house being constructed in my living room got a rise out of me. But now I’m caught off guard because James is in my bedroom.

“What are you doing here?” I ask my ex plaintively. And I know he’s my ex, because we took care of the legal work right after Hong Kong.

“I wanted to see you,” James says. But did he want to see me this way? I catch him looking curiously at my raccoon eyes.

I take a deep breath. “You can’t see me. It’s my wedding day.”

“I think technically it’s the groom who’s not supposed to see you. At least once you’re in your dress.”

“Then my luck should be holding,” I say. “Even I haven’t seen me in my dress.”

“Great. Then we’ll all get to see it at the same time,” James says.

“You’re staying?” I ask, panicked that James’s showing up this way will spoil the day for Bradford. But apparently not.

“Bradford invited me to the wedding,” James says with a smile. “He thought it sent a good message to Dylan that we’re all friends.”

“He invited you?” I ask. So Bradford was thinking about more than the cucumber sandwiches in planning today. He was considering everybody’s feelings. And suddenly, I have a warm glow from head to toe. If I had any doubts about marrying Bradford—which I don’t—this would have wiped them all away.

“He called me last week, and we had a good talk,” James says. And then he pauses. “Sara, this time you picked the right guy.”

I smile. “Maybe you were the right guy, too. Just at the wrong moment.”

James fumbles in his pocket and pulls out a piece of lined paper that I immediately notice is covered with Dylan’s crayoned scrawl.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Something I wanted to show you before the ceremony. Dylan gave it to me last week.”

I take the paper hesitantly. With everyone back from Hong Kong, we’ve had a happy household. And Dylan has seemed on top of the world. He’s repeated over and over James’s comment about how special he is because so many people love him. But who knows what really goes on in the head of a seven-year-old.

“Read it,” James says as I unfold the slightly crumpled paper which James himself has obviously opened and closed a dozen times.

Dear Daddy, I read out loud, hearing Dylan’s little voice in my head.

Mommy’s getting merried and I’m happy. Mommy said I can call Bradford whatever I want. I want to know if it’s okay with you if I call him Daddy. He loves me just like you do. I love him, too. And I’m helping plan the weding.

Love,
Your son Dylan

He’s carefully signed his name in script for the first time and I look up with tears in my eyes.

“You okay?” James asks, smiling at me.

“Dylan spelled wedding wrong,” I say, because I’m too sentimental right now to say anything else.

James laughs. “He’s a good boy. But in case you didn’t notice, he spelled ‘married’ wrong, too.”

I reach for a tissue to wipe the tears. I guess everybody cries at weddings. The good kind of crying. And this is definitely a good cry, because when I finish wiping my eyes, I notice the tea stains finally coming off. Tears with benefits.

James gives me a hug, wishes me luck, and leaves the letter behind as my wedding gift. Priscilla will never be able to top this. No matter what kind of vibrator she buys.

I wash my face and quickly put on some makeup. Given how sentimental I’m already feeling, I choose the waterproof mascara, just in case.

“Ready to get dressed?” asks Skylar, bursting in, holding a white plastic garment bag.

“I can’t wait to see what you picked,” I say. “I know it’s going to be perfect.” Oh damn, I’m going to start crying again. Already.

Excited, Skylar rips open the bag to pull out her idea of a dream wedding gown.

“Look,” she says. “Dolce and Gabbana.”

The skirt is exquisite—layers of peau de soie satin with delicatedly appliquéd flowers and just the hint of a swirling lace train.

“I really get to wear this?” I ask. “I’ve never had anything this gorgeous.”

“I’m glad you like it,” says Skylar, thoroughly pleased with both herself and my reaction. “And you’ll be really happy. It was on sale.” She’s got my number. And I hope she has my size. Last time we went shopping together, she was a size 0. Which already puts me in the plus category.

But I slip into the skirt, which remarkably, is a perfect fit. I’m spinning around in front of the mirror admiring how beautiful it is—when I realize there’s a little something missing.

“The top,” I say, looking into the now-empty garment bag. “It did come with one, right?”

“It did,” Skylar agrees, “but it was way too matchy. Nobody does that anymore. I had a much better idea.”

Skylar pulls out a small shopping bag from a teen store called Razzle-Dazzle. Not a place where most brides shop. At least I hope not.

“This is going to be so-o-o perfect,” she says, practically jumping up and down in anticipation. “Try it on.”

She hands me a garment so small that I can’t imagine what part of my upper body it’s possibly supposed to cover. I hold the white stretchy fabric in front of me by its teeny spaghetti straps. It’s a T-shirt, and it’s mine—which I know because across the front, emblazoned in rhinestone studs, is the word bride.

“I love Razzle-Dazzle,” says Skylar triumphantly. “They’ll write anything you want on a T-shirt. I thought this would be appropriate.”

I can’t argue about the appropriateness of the word—but the teeny T is another matter. Still, Skylar has worked on this outfit so intently that I can’t disappoint her.

I pull on the T-shirt and look in the mirror. Yup, it’s form-fitting, but mercifully, my navel isn’t exposed. And even though the top is tighter than anything I’ve worn before, I stand up a little straighter and smile. Maybe the real point isn’t how I look but how I feel. And right now, sure and secure and surrounded by people I love, I’m convinced I don’t look half bad. In fact, I look pretty good.

“This is spectacular!” I say to Skylar.

“Magnificent! Perfect! Unbelievably . . . like . . . so cool!” she exudes. “I’m going to go get dressed, too. I’ll send Kate up in five minutes when it’s time for you to come down. Sara, I really love . . .” She stops, suddenly embarrassed by her own emotion. “I really love all of this.”

“Me, too,” I say, and I give her a kiss.

I walk around the room, looking in every mirror I can find, and for the first time in my life, I don’t see anything at all about myself that I want to change. Did I always have such nice shoulders? Probably. I just never thought to show them off before.

As I’m preening in front of the mirror, Kate rushes in, carrying a huge bag containing makeup and heaven knows what else. But when she sees me standing all aglow, she tosses it aside.

“There’s nothing I could possibly do to make you look any better right now,” Kate says admiringly. “If everyone were as happy as you, I’d be out of business.”

She’s right. But then I look at my friend, who less than twenty-four hours ago broke up with her billionaire. “You look suspiciously good yourself,” I tell her.

“I’m happy, too,” she says. “You wouldn’t expect that, right? But I’m looking forward to the future. I don’t know exactly what it’s going to be, but I’m ready for it.”

“Whatever happens next, it’s going to be great. I’d bet on it.”

“I’m betting on it, too,” says Kate. And then she gives me a little smile. “By the way, your friend Kirk is terrific. He’s funny and he’s been so supportive. Something Mr. You-Know-Who never was.”

I’m glad we reached the point so quickly where we don’t even say Owen’s name out loud. And as for Kate and Kirk—well, I kind of like the idea. Has a certain ring to it.

Downstairs, I hear someone starting to play the organ. I didn’t know we had one. I look worriedly at Kate.

“What’s going on down there?” I ask. “I thought this was just us.”

“It is just us. All the people who love you,” says Kate.

“Okay.” I give her a kiss. And then trying to keep my voice from breaking, I say, “You’ve been the best friend in the whole world. Thank you for being with me every step of the way.”

“Just one more step we need to take,” Kate says, linking her arm in mine. “You ready?”

“Finally, I am,” I say emotionally.

I start to follow Kate out the door and wonder why she seems so much taller than usual. I look down at my feet. Maybe it’s because I’m not wearing any shoes.

“Um . . . Kate,” I say, coming to a complete halt. “I can’t go.”

She turns around. “Come on, honey. Don’t worry,” she says. “You’re fine. It’s just cold feet.”

“Very cold,” I tell her, pointing to my toes.

Kate looks down and starts to laugh. “Well Skylar’s only fourteen. She can’t think of everything. Let’s just grab something from your closet.”

I think about it for a moment, but I have a better idea. Today’s my day to be just me. Comfortable with myself. And who’s ever really been comfortable in satin-bowed Jimmy Choos?

“I think I’ll stay like this,” I say.

“The barefoot bride,” Kate agrees. “I don’t know why, but it’s you.”

As we walk down the staircase, the music goes from organ to cello. Then a violin. And I swear that’s a French horn.

“Do we have a ten-piece orchestra in there?” I ask.

“No, Aidan brought over the Baby Magic Keyboard. He’s pretty good at it. We just told him he couldn’t play any Raffi songs.”

When we get to the closed French doors to the living room, Kate gives me another hug. “All you have to do is walk down the aisle when the doors open,” she says. “I’ll be sitting inside.”

Kate disappears and I wait anxiously for my cue. Aidan plays “The Wheels on the Bus” and “Pop Goes the Weasel≵—which sounds particularly good on the cello—but clearly those are the warm-up songs while everybody takes their seats. Because then Aidan stops and there’s quiet for a moment. Someone pushes open the French doors, and just then, from the CD player, comes my entrance music. My eyes fill with tears as I hear Louis Armstrong croon “What A Wonderful World.”

Bradford couldn’t have made a better choice. And I couldn’t have made a better choice than Bradford.

I start to move slowly forward down the aisle.

“You look beautiful,” whispers Berni as I walk past. Baby A apparently agrees, because she gurgles approvingly from her spot in Berni’s arms. Next to her, Aidan is cradling Baby B. And on the other side, Berni’s mother Erica is holding the hand of a handsome older man who I’m guessing is her new beau, Doug.

I turn my head to the other side of the aisle, where Dylan is sitting up very straight. He’s wearing his blue blazer after all and clutching a small box in his hand as if it contained the enchanted ring from The Lord of the Rings. He’s right. To us, these will be just as magical.

Skylar is sitting next to him, grinning and looking exquisite in a long flowing skirt and a T-shirt that matches mine. With one difference. The rhinestones on hers spell out daughter. As I walk by, she points to the sparkly word, then points to me. I gulp. I’m glad I thought to wear the waterproof mascara.

The Brownie troop has decided to stay, and the girls are throwing rose petals into the aisle. Not a bad idea since the white runner is now decorated with a few tic-tac-toe boards that they must have drawn earlier. Nearby, James is sitting on the edge of his gilded chair, flanked by Priscilla on one side and Mimi on the other. Poor man. Even seven years in Patagonia shouldn’t require that kind of penance.

I raise my eyes to the end of the aisle and see the now beautifully decorated canopy, covered with tulle fabric and garlands of flowers. Bradford, unbearably handsome, is standing in front of it, looking straight at me and smiling. We lock eyes for a long moment, and when I demurely look down, he follows my gaze—and sees my bare toes peeking out from under my elegant swirling skirt. He laughs, then comes partway down the aisle to get me. Offering an arm, he takes me toward the altar and the minister—a man in a white robe trimmed with gold braid who’s preparing to perform the ceremony.

“KIRK?” I say, a little too loudly.

I glance over at Bradford. I know Kirk plays a surgeon on TV, but how does he get to play the minister at our wedding?

“Don’t worry, this is all legit,” Kate whispers to me. Then she adds admiringly, “Kirk can do anything. He’s very smart. He takes courses all the time.”

That’s good enough for me. I can’t worry. But just in case I might, Bradford points to Kirk’s Internet-earned official state license, now pinned to the side of the canopy.

Kirk graciously starts the ceremony, then calls on Skylar who comes forward and recites a poem she wrote. It happens to be about this great land America, and for a moment I can’t figure out why she’s reading it. Then I remember. She composed it for a class assignment last month and one poem a year is enough to ask from any teenager. Besides, she got an A on it.

Dylan steps forward nervously, holding the rings. Kirk leads us through the vows and Bradford and I slip the gold bands on each other’s fingers and say our I do’s.

“Is that all?” asks Dylan when he sees Bradford and me kissing.

“No, that’s not all,” says Kirk, smiling at us. “The ceremony is over. But everything else is just beginning.”

“Here’s to new beginnings,” says Kate, popping the cork on a champagne bottle. She comes over and gives a kiss to the bride and groom. And one to the minister.

We head into the dining room which is bursting with enough food for a week’s worth of shows on the Food Network. And maybe that’s where it came from, because Ken Chablis is standing at the table looking proud.

“I told everyone at the network to invent a Chocolate Surprise for your wedding,” he says delightedly.

And they’ve done it. The table is laden with chicken in chocolate sauce, chocolate-chip stuffed potatoes and sandwiches of bread-and-chocolate. As for the desserts, I may be out of a job soon, because it looks like Ken’s staff have come up with more disgusting chocolate desserts than I ever could have imagined.

“Wow,” says Dylan. “I love getting married.”

Me, too, I think. Skylar is piling Dylan’s plate with food and I don’t worry about his getting dizzy from all that chocolate—because all of us are already flying high. I look around the room at Berni and Kate, at new friends and old. Bradford comes over and takes me in his arms. Everyone around us is talking, but I don’t hear most of it because I’m too busy thinking how lucky I am. Louis Armstrong is right. It’s a wonderful world.