Mom didn’t have much time off when I was a kid, and when she did, she was usually so tired that she just wanted to watch television, which meant I got to watch cartoons in my bedroom for the entire day. I was fine with that. But once, as we were both watching television in our respective places, Mom called me into the room with urgency in her voice, and I ran.
But there wasn’t an emergency. She was staring at this scene on her show with a shining, smiling mother, who was tossing her child up in the air. Waves were crashing in the background, and inexplicably, Mom got it in her head that we had to go to a beach. She sat down and started researching where to go. On her next day off, we headed for the New Jersey beach that was reputed to have free parking and the most amenities, like public restrooms.
Unfortunately, that led us to Beachwood, which we didn’t know also had the highest pollution. On the Saturday that we arrived, when Mom was all brushed and polished and ready to ask strangers to take perfect photos of us, the water quality was considered poor, and there were ugly flags up and down the beach warning that it wasn’t safe to swim. Ignoring the warnings could result in stomach flu, rashes, pinkeye, respiratory infections, meningitis, and hepatitis.
The list was enough to scare even my mother.
As she debated about what to do, I saw something fascinating and crept toward it slowly. It was a dead fish that had washed ashore, and it was being attacked with great zeal by a huge flock of seagulls. They were loud, they were messy, they were aggressive, and they were ripping every single scrap of meat from that dead fish’s bones.
As I’ve sat back on the sidelines and watched the wedding plans rolling forward, I keep thinking of those birds attacking that poor, dead fish, stripping its bones clean. I actually feel almost guilty for proposing to Elizabeth, in spite of how much I love her, in spite of how happy we are when we’re together.
Because apparently my proposal turned her parents into seagulls, and my fiancée became a dead fish.
“It’s fine,” she says on the phone for the third time in seven minutes.
“If you don’t like the flowers,” I say, “just tell your mother that you want the stephanotis.”
Elizabeth sighs and covers the receiver. “She’s right that the stephanotis are expensive. Apparently they have to build up the inside of each flower.”
“Which is why they look delicate, and that’s what you liked about them.”
“But daisies are cute too,” she says. “It’s still a pop of white, and maybe it’s more my style.”
So far, nothing about the wedding has felt like her style. It feels like she’s just agreeing to anything to keep her mother happy. “Can I just mention again that if things are costing too much, I could talk to Grandmother. I know a lot of the guests are coming from—”
“My mom would have a heart attack.” She chuckles. “It’s been her lifelong dream to be connected to the Richmond family or another family like them. She wouldn’t dream of asking Catherine to pay for so much as a pickle.”
“Wait, we’re going to have pickles at the wedding?”
“Of course not,” she says in her sing-songy-mimic-her-mother voice. “Pickles? What, are you suddenly Southern?”
“Well, if you change your mind.”
“I won’t.” She uncovers the receiver and tells her mom that daisies are great.
It’s clear from her face that daisies are not great.
When I walk into work, there’s a pigeon on the windowsill of my office, which now reads “Director,” and it’s pecking at something. A beetle, maybe? But it just makes me think again of that poor dead fish and wish there was more I could do.
“What’s wrong?”
When Grandmother walks in, she doesn’t ask whether something is wrong, like a normal person. She asks what’s wrong.
I spin around, doing my best not to look startled. “Oh, I’m fine.” Move along, nothing to see.
“Something is wrong.” She sits in the chair across from my desk. That’s not something she would’ve done two months ago. She’s relaxing more every day without even realizing it.
I sigh and sink into my desk chair. “I’m not allowed to talk to you about it.”
“But if you were allowed to talk to me about it, would it have anything to do with wedding expenses?”
“If I wasn’t allowed to talk about it, I wouldn’t be able to confirm or deny that excellent guess. I also wouldn’t be able to mention that my lovely bride can’t even get the flowers she wants and has to pretend that daisies are actually what she had in mind.”
My grandmother doesn’t say another word. She doesn’t wink, or smile, or laugh. She whips out her phone and taps on the screen.
I hop up, quick as a blink, and practically sprint around my desk toward her, but I barely see the word Moorland before she’s holding the phone to her ear.
I cringe and perch on the edge of the desk. I should have kept my mouth shut. I always thought I was made of stern stuff, but if I were being tortured, I’d clearly fold with one little dunking or one pathetic zap.
How disappointing.
“Betty.” Grandmother’s voice sounds weird, like she’s. . .worried? Then she sniffles. Loudly.
“Catherine,” Betty Moorland says, and I can hear it faintly thanks to Grandmother being half-deaf and keeping her phone volume all the way up. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, you know, ever since Alistair.” Grandmother hiccups. “Some days are harder than others.”
I’m actually a little worried, but then Grandmother holds the phone away from her face and winks at me. She’s a real piece of work.
“This morning, I was interrogating Emerson for details about the wedding, and you know, he never gives me anything at all, the ungrateful boy.”
“Oh, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“But I realized today that, I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be on this earth, and I’ve never planned a wedding, not once. I don’t have a daughter, and I. . .” Grandmother waves her hand at my tissues, and I hurry to hand her one.
She blows her nose so loudly that I practically need to cover my ears.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m just so. . .distraught.”
I roll my eyes. There’s no way that Betty’s going to believe—
“Would you like to take over some of the wedding planning?”
“Oh, could I? Would it upset you?”
“Not at all,” Betty says. “But I should warn you. My daughter’s a real special girl, but she can be a little headstrong.”
“I think I can manage her.” Grandmother winks.
A few moments later, she hangs up.
“All the flowers, the meal at the reception, the hors d’oeuvres, the dress, the clothing for the wedding party, the transportation, the wedding hall, the table decor, the wedding cakes, and the music for the reception are now going to be handled by me.” Her grin is pure Machiavelli.
For the first time, it occurs to me that my grandmother might just turn out to be another seagull.
“So, the thing is. . .”
She waves her hand at me. “I was acting, you know, but the best acting comes from an underlying truth.”
“What is that, exactly?”
She stands. “I’ve always wanted to plan a wedding and never had the chance.”
“What about your own wedding?”
“My father planned that, and it was just horrible.”
I text Elizabeth. GOOD NEWS. YOU’RE OUT OF THE FRYING PAN.
WHAT DID YOU DO? she asks.
BAD NEWS: MY GRANDMOTHER IS A VERY HOT FIRE. MAYDAY MAYDAY.
She calls me, and I explain what happened.
Elizabeth sighs. “Oh, thank goodness.”
“What does that mean?” My stomach’s starting to hurt, and I’m not sure whether it’s hunger—I skipped breakfast—or indigestion from stress.
“My mother’s the worst, because we have no money, but it needs to look like we have money. I keep asking her if we can just be honest with your family about how we’re broke, but she won’t let me. So we go round and round, trying to spend as little as possible but make it look like we’re spending a lot.”
“And now?”
“Even if your grandmother has hideous taste, at least she has a black Am Ex.”
Above all else, my bride-to-be is pragmatic, and I may love that about her the most. “Well, try not to let her push you around.”
“I’m counting on my knight on a shining white horse to defend me.”
I did try to get on Marshmallow once. I’m not sure whether she’s upset because of the horrible name I gave her, or whether I just suck at horses. Even though Elizabeth was leading me around, Marshmallow still chucked me off into the dirt.
I haven’t felt inspired to hop on any horse since then.
“Sadly, today I left my chain mail at home to be polished.”
“I think we’ll be just fine.”
As if her words prove prophetic, at the cake tasting later, one of the few wedding events I’ve actually been looking forward to, Grandmother’s wonderful. She doesn’t even take a bite.
“At my age, just looking at this much cake is dangerous.” She sighs wistfully. “I swear, with one bite of sweets, my thighs expand an inch.”
“Surely not,” Elizabeth says. “You look amazing.”
Grandmother tuts. “Enjoy it now, young one. Eat all the cake you can.”
And we do.
“Chocolate mousse for my groom’s cake,” I say.
“With raspberry ganache,” Elizabeth adds.
“And for the wedding cake?” the attendant asks.
“I liked the classic white wedding cake,” Elizabeth says.
No matter what she says, I can’t control my expressions.
“What?” Elizabeth asks. “What’s wrong with that one?”
I shrug. “Nothing.”
“Do you like the waterfall of roses?” She points. “Or can we do this one?”
The chef sketched a custom cake with animals chasing a bride and groom up the side of the cake. It’s horses at the bottom, then dogs, then cats, and finally, two small Pomeranians near the top.
“It’s cute,” I say. “But don’t you think it’s a little juvenile? Our wedding isn’t a kid’s birthday party.”
“Your future wife owns and trains horses,” Grandmother says. “She saves the lives of tiny dogs and cats all over the state.” She arches one eyebrow. “You think that’s juvenile?”
“No.” I sigh. “Look, what I’m saying is that—”
“If you’re saying anything other than ‘yes, dear,’ then I have failed terribly.” Catherine’s basically glowering at me.
“Are you always going to side with her?” I frown. “Because you’re my grandmother, and I did not tell you about the issues we were having so you could just come in and overrule me.”
It hits me then.
“Wait. Am I a seagull?”
Grandmother sniffs. “I have no idea what nonsense you’re spouting with the seagull, but if you have any opinions that differ from the bride’s, you’re the problem.”
Well, crap.
The next day, we have a very full dressing room while I’m being fitted for a tux, and I know that next door it’s even crazier, where Elizabeth’s trying on gowns. Seren and Dave are allowed over there, even though I’m not, which seems monstrously unfair, and Elizabeth’s parents are on my side, so as not to interfere with Grandmother’s ‘help.’
HOW’S IT GOING? I text.
I FOUND *THE* DRESS. Heart eye emojis galore convince me she’s not kidding.
WELL, I LOOK LIKE A PENGUIN.
YOU’RE LUCKY THEN. I LOVE PENGUINS. LIKE TINY LITTLE MEN WITH BIG GUTS.
YES. THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT I MEAN. I BLAME ALL THE CAKE.
I LOVE YOU.
IS MY FAMILY MAKING YOU NUTS?
THEY’RE SO MUCH BETTER THAN MINE, she says. THE ONLY FAMILY BETTER IS THE ONE YOU AND I ARE GOING TO MAKE IN ONE MONTH.
And that right there is the focus. That’s what I remember whenever I start to worry that either Elizabeth or I are turning into dead fish through this process of planning a one-day extravaganza celebrating our union.
It’s because we’re about to make our own family.
And we’re going to do it right. We’re going to do what my dad and my mom, and what her dad and mom, and what my grandmother all failed to do. We have Dave and Seren as our fearless guides, and we’re going to make a happy, lasting family.
So when the day finally arrives, Elizabeth has the flowers she wanted—and the centerpieces and the altar flowers that she wanted. Our monstrously large cake is covered with tiny animals, all lovingly crafted, including Hottie, Adonis, Marshmallow, Floof, and Boba, all clawing their way upward to the adorable bride and the goofy groom.
The other friends and family we wanted to come are seated up front, and the ones we didn’t want here are seated at the back. And all the faces we look out at are smiling. Plus, Elizabeth insisted on telling everyone to bring their pets if they wanted to, so there are dozens of dogs sitting on guest’s laps. Which is really, really strange, but kind of neat, too.
Elizabeth’s father walks her up the aisle, and as I reach for her hand, I realize that if I had followed any one of my plans, I would never have gotten here. Bentley was right that day when he forced me to exercise outside Elizabeth’s place—sometimes plans are stupid. The best stuff just happens on the way to your existing goals.
After the priest finishes, he asks us for our vows.
“We have a strict pact,” I say. “Elizabeth made me promise the same thing that she’s made the family promise.”
“Vows, toasts,” she says. “They always get out of hand.” If her grin is sheepish, well, it’s still adorable.
“So we’re getting one minute or less each.”
The audience starts murmuring.
I’m not usually considered to be super hilarious, but I decide to run with my joke idea. I inhale a huge breath, and then I start talking as quickly as I can. “The reason that I love Elizabeth isn’t that she’s gorgeous, funny, smart, and dedicated. No, the reason I love her is. . .” And then I slow down.
People get it, and they laugh, thankfully. Maybe it’s pity laughter, or maybe they thought pretending to talk like an auctioneer in order to say more in my allotted one minute was actually funny. Either way, when I looked it up online, it said that making a joke before something serious makes it hit harder, and I’m hoping it’s true.
“You don’t know Elizabeth until you’ve seen her around an animal.” I can tell from people’s expressions that some of them already know what I mean. “It’s like. . .seeing a seal on land, and then watching it jump into the ocean. When she’s saving some helpless creature, she lights up, and it’s beauty like you’ve never seen.”
I take her hand in mine.
“As long as I’m alive, I’ll care for you in the same way you care for all the helpless creatures in the world.” I drop my voice just a hair. “All I ask is that you share a little of that great karma with me. You’d hate to leave me down there. . .” I look down. “And be all alone up there.” I glance up. “Right?”
She laughs. “And, in a nutshell, that’s why I love you, Emerson,” she says. “You may have a strange sense of humor sometimes—what my mom might call an acquired taste—”
Her mom’s shaking her head like she’s embarrassed.
Elizabeth clears her throat. “She didn’t say that about you, to be clear.”
Everyone laughs.
“But all your jokes hit with me, and all your generosity toward me and your support of my goals hasn’t gone unnoticed either. You’re the kind of person who doesn’t know or care about horses. . .until someone you love loves them. Then you love them, too. Not many people know how to love that selflessly, without reproach or timelines or strings. I promise that I’ll try and be good enough to be worthy of the way you love me.”
“And now I’d like to pronounce these two lovely humans husband and wife.” The priest signals Elizabeth. My wife, being who she is, was absolutely insistent that we involve some animals in the ceremony today. After I face-planted thirty seconds into my first time sitting on a horse, she decided to nix the idea of riding in on her horses.
But, she’s been working with Floof and Boba for weeks and weeks now, and she insists they’re ready to bring us the rings. It took pounds and pounds of bacon to keep them on target for such a long distance, but my gorgeous bride in her massively fluffy, beaded, and sparkling dress calls them, and they come trotting up the aisle. One of the cutest things about Poms is how they always look like they’re smiling.
Uncle Bentley’s in the second row with Lucky, and unfortunately, once Lucky sees the fluffy beans racing up the aisle, she realizes something good is happening up here.
She slips Uncle Bentley’s grasp and vaults to the aisle.
Within a beat or two, she realizes the pups are focused on Elizabeth’s lowered hand, and she redirects, heading for the bacon reward like a heat-seeking torpedo. As she approaches, she leaps right over Floof and Boba, and lunges for my bride.
In a surprise move, Grandmother steps forward from the first row and body checks her, and I swear it looks like something out of a cartoon. Lucky abruptly stops moving forward and drops to the ground, stunned. I’m more impressed than I’ve ever been with my grandmother, until I realize that her arm’s bleeding. Lucky’s tooth or claw or something must have caught her skin somehow.
And sheesh, there’s a lot of blood.
An alarming amount.
Chaos breaks out in the audience, with everyone shouting. Thankfully, I know my sister Ardath’s here. I scan the front rows, looking for her face. When I finally find it, she lifts her eyebrows.
“Sutures?” I mouth and mime sewing someone up.
She nods big time.
Within twenty minutes, with more than five hundred guests watching, my sister has sanitized, numbed, and stitched up my grandmother’s arm.
“You’re one tough lady,” Ardath says.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” Grandmother says. “Remind me what hospital you work at.”
“Why? Are you planning to buy it?” Ardath’s humor is quite dry.
Grandmother roars with laughter. “Maybe I should.”
“Then let’s just say it’s St. Luke’s, then.” My sister’s a baddie, and I bet my grandmother thinks twice about disparaging my siblings again.
“I like having a doctor on call,” Grandmother says. “Now we can proceed with the wedding. Right?” She looks around at the gathered audience, and they scatter like errant children, scrambling back to their seats.
One pointed glance from my grandmother, and the band begins playing the march again, as if we’re resetting to the beginning.
“No, no,” Grandmother says. “They’re just getting to their ring exchange.”
The director looks confused.
“It’s fine,” I say. “Any music will do for me to tie this one down forever, just as long as no one else gets bitten, gashed, or maimed.”
A moment later, after we’ve put the rings on one another, I’ve waited plenty long enough. I wrap my hands around my wife’s waist, pausing for a moment to mouth that word. Wife. And then I pull her close, bring my lips right over hers, and whisper, “I am so glad you propositioned me when you did.”
She slaps my chest, smiling her signature insouciant grin. “You wish.”
“I love you more than you could possibly know, Mrs. Duplessis Fansee Richmond.”
“Is this a good time to tell you that I’m planning to keep my last name?”
I blink. “Wait, you are?”
She laughs. “Not a chance. All your names are plenty confusing already, thankyouverymuch.”
When I kiss her, I forget about all the people waiting. I forget about how we first started dating. I forget about all the dogs and horses who look to us, and all I think about is how I could do this forever and never have it be enough.
But I’m in luck, because we have forever.
A few minutes later, when all our family members start making toasts, for a brief moment, I wonder whether forever might be a little too long. Seren and Dave deliver touching memories about my first years with them, and they wish us luck, just as parents ought. My grandmother. . .well. She isn’t the worst.
But Jake?
He’s definitely the worst one.
“On the first day we met, Emerson had his head so far up—”
Bea grabs his arm and shakes her head.
“And to this day, he still has an army of soft-headed minions who will defend his every move—his every word.” He snorts. “I have no idea how he does it. He has always been able to hypnotize everyone into loving him effortlessly.” He nods slowly. “But the very most impressive move he has ever pulled off is this one.” He shrugs. “Elizabeth Moorland, I hope you don’t regret it, but you’re surely the best thing that ever happened to my brother. Don’t let him forget that.”
Beatrice is quick to pop up the second he sits down, and I suspect she may have pulled him down. I’m not sure why my sister always feels like she has to make up for Jake’s bullheaded rudeness, but it’s been like that as long as we’ve had him around.
“Emerson and Elizabeth are everything that’s right in the world,” Bea says. “It’s probably not a secret to most of you that all of us Fansee kids had a bit of a rough start in life, but Dave and Seren, whom we all call Mom and Dad, have brought us together, and their love has taught us where to aim. I’m not sure any of us thought we could find what they have, but.” She claps. “Emerson, I think you found it.” She starts to cry then. “I couldn’t possibly be more happy for both of you.” She sits, wiping at her eyes.
Her eloquent generosity actually makes up for Jake’s idiotic diatribe.
When Ardath stands up, I’m shocked. She isn’t the most talkative on a good day, but in large groups? Forget it.
“Emerson, you’ve always been a role model to me, and now you’re still an inspiration.” She shrugs and smiles. “I wish you two all the happiness that none of us had as children, and all the peace that none of us found until we met Mom and Dad.”
When she sits, Killian pops up, like a mop-topped daisy. It’s like they all think if they don’t make a toast, they’ll earn demerits.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
“Are you kidding? Did you hear my mom and dad?” Elizabeth asks. “Both their toasts were about Easton.”
Those made me laugh. My new mother-in-law’s a little distractible and once she realized she’d wandered off talking about how much she hoped Easton would find someone, she got flustered and thought she was out of time and sat down. Her husband tried to fix it by saying how many ways Easton had disappointed them, which just made the whole thing a bigger mess.
“You know, you’d think that by this point, I’d have realized that toasts are a bad idea.” My fourteen-year-old brother tosses me a desperate look. “But I’ve never been someone who wants to be the only one not doing something, and I guess that applies to sticking my foot in it, too.” He bobs his head a little. “But anyways, I guess I’m supposed to say how great Elizabeth is, but I don’t really know her very well yet. Emerson’s marrying her after knowing her like a week. What I do know is that Emerson has great judgment, way better than me, so if he loves her, she must be pretty amazing.” He sits down abruptly.
And then everyone starts to clap.
“I’m pretty sure those claps are everyone’s way of encouraging us to stop making toasts,” Easton says. “But I just wanted to stand up and say that if everyone had a sister like Elizabeth, there would be way fewer sibling rivalry jokes. She has been. . .” Is he tearing up? “Just the best. Always the very, very best.” Easton holds up his glass. “I’m sure you’ll all join me in making one last toast, to Emerson and Elizabeth’s happiness this week, this month, this year, and on to forever.”
When people cheer this time, Lucky, Boba, Floof, and all the dogs in attendance start to bark, too. Most people would have found it all far too chaotic, but I can tell with one glance at my wife that we just had the exact wedding she wanted. A cake with pets on it, stitches performed onsite thanks to dog idiocy, and an embarrassment of riches in the way of people clamoring to wish us well.
Nothing in our lives has been traditional, not how I grew up, and surprisingly, not how Elizabeth did either. Not our jobs. Not our goals or our manner of meeting. Certainly not our families.
But maybe that’s what helps us recognize how special what we have really is. Because both of us know what it looks like not to have it. “Thank you,” I whisper. “For being exactly who you are.”
“And thank you, for being willing to change to make me happy,” she says.
I figure, as long as we each remember our gratitude and our willingness to change, we’ll do pretty well in our forever. I lean toward her, our lips barely brushing when people start chanting.
“Throw the bouquet!”
“Why do they want me to throw it now?” Elizabeth asks, looking a little annoyed. “We haven’t even danced. We’re certainly not leaving yet. Isn’t that supposed to be the last thing I do?”
“Apparently a few people are leaving,” I say. “It looks like Rhiannon—”
“Oh!” Elizabeth slaps her head. “Her mom has surgery tomorrow morning.”
“Right. That.”
“Alright.” She stands up. “Everyone who isn’t married, gather round.”
At most weddings I’ve attended, it’s a small but robust group of young women. This one, however, is massive. My sisters Beatrice and Ardath, and Elizabeth’s friends, Victoria and Rhiannon. Plus a lot of people I’ve barely met.
“Wait,” Mom says. “You should go over too.” She nudges her best friend, whom we usually call Aunt Barbara, to join.
“No way,” Barbara says. “Stop.”
“You should go,” I say. “It’ll be fun.”
Only, Aunt Barbara’s pretty consistent in her refusal, so I let it go. The last thing we need to do is weaponize a silly tradition.
“Here we go.” Elizabeth turns away from the gathered group, facing me. She’s looking at me like I might give her inside information, and I realize she’s mouthing something. I squint. . .and I realize she’s saying Rhiannon.
Does that mean she wants Rhiannon to catch it?
I cut my eyes far right, which is the side Rhiannon’s standing on, kind of off by herself. She definitely doesn’t look inclined to dive for it, if Elizabeth’s hoping for that.
But when my wife finally throws the flowers down toward the floor and then whips them back, she badly miscalculates, and they go sailing way past the women who are all lined up.
In fact, they almost bean poor Aunt Barbara in the face.
Her hands pop out as a reflex, and she catches them just before they break her nose. “Oh.” Then, as if it’s just registering with her what happened, she drops them with a horrified gasp. “Oh, dear.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” Mom says. “You caught those flowers fair and square.” Mom’s smiling, but her best friend looks horrified. I hear her last marriage was a real disaster, so I can’t blame her.
“You don’t throw away the whole bag of potatoes just because one is rotten,” Mom’s saying.
“Oh, I disagree,” Grandmother says. “Always throw out the whole bag.”
Barbara looks like she wants to run and hide, so when we get up to dance, I lean over and whisper to her on the way to the floor. “Don’t worry. The way you look is exactly how I felt right before I met Elizabeth. Something wonderful could be right around the corner.”
“Or there could be an air conditioning unit, poised to fall from the upstairs window and smash me flat.”
“Sure,” I say. “Or that.”
“Congrats on your happy marriage,” Aunt Barbara says. “I hope there are no looming appliances waiting to flatten you.”
It’s funny how we all drag our own baggage around everywhere we go. When I gather my lovely wife into my arms and begin to dance with her, I think about all the oversized luggage she has helped me check.
“Thank you,” I whisper, as our first song as a married couple ends. “For freeing me.”
“All I did was point out your wings.” Elizabeth stops in the middle of the dance floor and brushes off the shoulders of my jacket. “Now, let’s fly off into the sunset together.”