Silence.
Then Lena asked gently, “What exactly do you want photographed?”
“Everything.”
And I meant it.
I wanted Nathan waiting behind the church doors.
Nathan straightening his jacket.
Nathan holding out his arm for me.
Nathan counting under his breath if he needed to count.
His hands.
His expression.
Every nervous glance.
Every careful step.
The moment he handed me to Daniel.
The moment he hugged me.
The moment he sat beside Mom.
All of it.
One photographer would continue covering the ceremony normally.
The other would focus heavily on Nathan.
Then I made one more request.
“I want a separate album.”
Lena was quiet again.
Finally, she said, “So the walk itself is part of the story you want preserved.”
“No,” I said.
“It is the story.”
The extra coverage wasn’t cheap.
I had to take money from another part of the wedding budget.
So I canceled two oversized flower arrangements planned for the reception and replaced them with smaller ones.
Nobody noticed.
Certainly not Margaret.
Meanwhile, Nathan continued practicing.
He sent me progress reports.
“Twenty-two steps today.”
Another day:
“I went too fast at the turn. I’m doing it again.”
Once, he called Daniel with what he considered a serious logistical emergency.
“What hand do I use?”
Daniel was confused.
“For what?”
“The handshake.”
“Your right hand.”
“But Sarah is on my right.”
Daniel spent several minutes attempting to explain how Nathan could shift positions.
Nathan finally interrupted him.
“I let go of Sarah first.”
Daniel laughed.
“Yes. Exactly.”
“Good,” Nathan replied. “I practiced.”
Part 4 — The Walk
On the morning of my wedding, I was calmer than I had expected.
At least until Mom brought out Dad’s cufflinks.
She had saved them for Nathan.
The sight of those tiny pieces of metal resting in her palm broke something open inside me.
I cried so hard that my makeup artist quietly stepped outside and gave me several minutes alone.
Nathan got ready with Daniel and the groomsmen.
At one point, Daniel sent me a photograph.
Nathan stood in his suit with his hair combed carefully into place. Dad’s cufflinks gleamed at his wrists.
His expression was so serious that I almost laughed.
Below the photograph Daniel had written:
He has asked me what time it is eleven times.
I typed back:
Tell him I haven’t escaped.
A minute later:
He says good.
Eventually, the moment came.
I waited in the small room near the back of the church.
Then the door opened and Nathan walked in.
He stopped when he saw me.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
His eyes moved slowly over my dress.
Then he said, “You look like Mom in her wedding picture.”
Of all the compliments I received that day, that was the one that nearly destroyed me.
I looked at him in Dad’s cufflinks.
“You look like Dad.”
Nathan touched one cufflink gently.
“I know.”
The music began outside.
His entire posture changed.
He straightened his shoulders.
Then he held out his arm.
“Ready?”
I took a shaky breath.
“No.”
Nathan frowned.
“That’s not right.”
I laughed through my tears.
