The photographer understood immediately.
“So you want the walk treated almost like its own event.”
“Yes.”
“Exactly.”
Then I added:
“I want a separate album.”
“Only the processional?”
“Mostly Ethan.”
She was quiet again.
Then said:
“I love this.”
The extra coverage was not cheap.
Our wedding budget was already stretched.
So I reduced the flower order.
Two large reception arrangements disappeared.
Nobody cared.
Certainly not Margaret.
For the next three weeks, Ethan continued practicing.
He sent updates.
24 steps today.
Then:
I went too fast at step 17. Again tomorrow.
Another day:
Question. Which hand shakes Adrian?
Adrian called him.
They spent ten minutes discussing the problem that I would be standing on Ethan’s right side when he needed his right hand free.
Ethan finally solved it himself.
“I let Claire go.”
“Then shake.”
“Then hug.”
Adrian said:
“Perfect.”
Ethan replied:
“I practiced.”
The morning of the wedding, I was surprisingly calm.
Until my mother brought Dad’s cufflinks.
She held them in her palm.
“I thought Ethan should wear these.”
I stared.
They were silver.
Simple.
Dad wore them at every wedding, funeral, graduation, and formal dinner because they were the only cufflinks he owned.
I began crying so hard my makeup artist quietly left the room.
Mom cried too.
“I thought it might help.”
“It does.”
“It also absolutely does not.”
We laughed through tears.
Ethan got ready with Adrian and the groomsmen.
At 11:04, Adrian texted me a photo.
Ethan stood in a dark suit.
Hair combed carefully.
Dad’s cufflinks visible.
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