Josh and I are getting married. Amid the hue of grief, he is a warm, consistent light. He asks me to marry him long after we made the decision together, but we both wanted the moment of a ring and sweet words. He holds both of my hands and tells me that his world is larger than he thought possible because of our relationship. We eat sushi and watch his grandmother’s diamond glint in the low-lit restaurant. We laugh at the stupid amount of love that is between us.
We plan our wedding during my last year of grad school. We book our venue for the July following my graduation. Josh is accepted into the same program I am finishing, so we figure that summer is the best time for both of us, before he starts school. We are getting married in Northern California, under a grove of eucalyptus trees overlooking the bay. We decide we will serve tacos from our favorite Mexican market. Josh brews all the beer for the reception, and my mother designs the beer labels for “Dukersen Ale,” a joining of our last names. We ask our loved ones to make pies for dessert instead of ordering a cake. We decide that we don’t want kids at the wedding. We tell everyone to bring their dogs, and I buy our dog, Charlotte, a flowered bow tie.
We ask Paul and Simon, a couple close to Sharon who I have known for over twenty years, to officiate our ceremony. I introduced Josh to them during a trip to New York, where they live and where I attended undergrad. We had dinner with them in their apartment near Harlem. It was one of those perfect meals where I can’t remember anything we ate but can still recall the sound of Simon singing as he served dessert, the laughter as we listened to Paul tell a story, the night tipping toward the next day as we talked endlessly. When we left, I remember leaning against Josh’s shoulder in the taxi and saying, “I want them to marry us.”
A hundred friends and family sit on benches facing a wooden archway that our kind neighbor built for us. Tess has strung garlands of marigolds together and draped them over the redwood arch. My mother has laid down an aisle of brightly colored antique rugs from her home. Our reception site waits for us, a short walk away. It is a remodeled single-engine airplane hangar with high ceilings and a long, gleaming bar that was rescued from the local firehouse when it was torn down. Farm tables are lined with runners made of pages from our favorite books and hold mason jars filled with local flowers, lovingly arranged by our friends.
I do feel the weight of Sarah as I hold my bouquet to my chest. The flowers are both petals and ash, leaves and bone. She is both here and so very not here. I experience a version of déjà vu all day; she glimmers at the edge of every moment. I joke with Tess, who is one of my bridesmaids, that if Sarah were here, she would probably hit on one of the groomsmen or cry so loudly during the vows that everyone would pay attention to her. We laugh. We’d both do anything to have her here with us.
Josh and I listen to Paul start speaking while we wait for our entrance. “Couples don’t live in isolation, but in communities,” he says. “We, their community, create the environment that gives shape to their relationship, and so how we hold them is a responsibility and a great gift to them.” He goes on, but my heart has already tipped over, and I am full of love not just for Josh but for the group of people waiting for us, who have held us for so long.
The ceremony is magical and cold and perfect. The fog rolls in, and I can’t feel my hands. Paul and Simon sing a duet from La Cage aux Folles, and everyone is laughing. I say my vows first.
I say, “I have never been more certain of anything than I have been of loving you.”
I say, “My world is infinitely larger and more beautiful and I am acutely aware of the joy and magic you bring into my life every day.”
I say, “I will hold on to the truth of this moment—which is that in a world that can be hard and sad, we are lucky enough to stand among those we love and share the brilliance of our commitment.”
I say, “You dazzle me, my love. You have brought a lightness into my life that I didn’t think was possible, and I commit to creating a life with you that is rooted in that radiance.”
I say a great many things that fill the space between us. There is only one moment when it feels like my chest will crack and I won’t be able to continue. Josh looks at me intently when my voice shakes at “a world that can be hard and sad,” and the true meaning sings in a language that only we can speak: This is a world where my beautiful, infuriating little sister is dead, but you, Josh Duke, have wrapped my grief in something I can only call holy because this is as close to understanding the cosmos as I will ever get.
Josh speaks. He says, “In all the chaos and uncertainty this universe can afford to us, I am calm and centered and loved and loving within your embrace.”
He says, “With you, the world is in focus. Everything makes sense. I don’t need to apologize for being myself. The world, my world, our world, is bigger with us in each other’s lives. Together, we do the things we couldn’t do alone.”
He says, “You, we, are something special and cosmic and full of colors not found anywhere else, constantly painting a picture of love and devotion and adventure and companionship that when I reach the end of my long life and look back at that picture, I can say, ‘That was a life well-lived, with the best person I could live it with.’ ”
He says, “I will plant succulents on our patio because I will be too busy having fun with you to remember to water anything regularly. I will kiss your eyes good night before we sleep and wake up every morning smelling the back of your neck.”
He says, “You have my heart, and I have yours. It’s buried in my chest. It will always be there, beating forever to remind me of all the things I’ve promised.”
We leave in a flurry of red, pink, and white petals. For a moment, Sarah is standing next to me, grinning and arms outstretched. I can almost remember what she smells like. In the blur of cheers and flowers and love, she is gone, and I am left with my shining partner, walking toward my second life.