The day before my mother’s wedding, I open my e-mail to find a reply from Junpei. It’s short, but sweet. He wants to set up a meeting via webcam for the following Saturday morning at eleven, eastern standard time. In one week, I will get to chat with my long-lost half brother face to face! But what if he doesn’t speak English? I’ll have to practice some Japanese phrases. I’ll have to prepare some pictures. I need to choose an outfit. Suddenly, there is so much going on all at once. I can only concentrate on one thing at a time.
So. The wedding.
If it were me, ten or fifteen years in the future, getting married to, say, Hervé, or some grown-up version of Chad, I’d chuck every black thing in my closet and wear a huge, poufy white gown. So what if it had a train that could trip me up? My groom would be there to catch me. Best-case scenario, a wedding is a once-in-a-lifetime event, so I’d want it to be a big deal.
Mom and Raoul’s ceremony, however, is surprisingly low-key, considering it’s the first time for both of them. We’re having it in our backyard, with the lilac bushes and the bird feeder. Only a small group has gathered. Mom’s family is represented by my grandparents, of course. Raoul’s mother is here, as well as his sister and her kids. Whitney, her mom, and Nathan have come over, along with some of Mom’s and Raoul’s friends and colleagues from work. They’ve hired a female judge to officiate. Through Mom’s bedroom window, I can see the guests milling about.
Mom steps into a simple burgundy sheath, the color of the maples at the edge of our yard.
“You would have looked great in a white gown,” I say. “You know, like Princess Diana wore? Or something by Vera Wang.”
Mom stands with her back to me, waiting to be zipped up. “Princess Di was only twenty-one when she got married. I’m too old for that. Besides, I can wear this dress again.”
I close up her dress with one hand, and she turns around, bringing us face to face. She holds me by the shoulders firmly, bracing me. “Are you ready for this?”
I nod. My arm starts to spaz a little. I feel kind of nervous, but I’m sure she does, too. I’ve never had a dad before, and she’s never had a husband. It’ll take some getting used to.
“Okay, one, two, three,” she says, and we both take a deep breath. And exhale. We hold hands as we go out of the bedroom, through the living room, and out the back door. We walk into music—a Mexican wedding song wafting from stereo speakers—and over the soft grass, to where Raoul stands waiting. He’s dressed in a suit, not a tux, and he’s smiling at both of us.
I stand next to them as they exchange vows. When Mom says “I do,” my body goes still. Calm.
Raoul says, “I will,” and I feel as if I’ve been covered in a blanket of safety and love. Before there were just two of us, and now there are three.
The judge, in her navy suit, tells them that they can kiss. As their lips come together, everyone starts to clap. When they break apart and turn toward the gathering, the guests toss birdseed at them. It rains down on Mom’s hair and dress, making her laugh.
“Okay,” Raoul says. “Let the party begin!”
I move toward the card table where the wedding cake is, but I know that Raoul doesn’t mean just now. He’s talking about the rest of our lives.