On This Day (13 page)

T
he members of the wedding party have all returned to the lodge now. Everyone’s on edge as we wait for this thing to begin. And I, for one, will be glad when it’s finally over. Not that it hasn’t been fun—well, sort of. I mean, weddings are definitely exciting and memorable and amazing, but I can see now that they are also tons of work. Especially for the maid of honor. And especially when it’s an all-day event like this. Right now we female members of the wedding party are cloistered in this stuffy room, touching up our hair and makeup and waiting until it’s time to start the official wedding ceremony. Everyone is chatting nervously, and if you closed your eyes, you might actually believe you were in the middle of a henhouse.

“You never told me your cousin was such a hotrie,” says Lana
as she helps Jenny with her lip liner. Lana is the makeup expert of the group—or so she claims—and who am I to argue?

“Whish one?” asks Jenny, trying to keep her lips from moving.

“Patrick,” says Lana in a slightly breathless tone. “Man, he is really good looking.”

“So is Conner,” chirps one of the other bridesmaids.

“Except that Conner’s
taken”
Jenny proclaims as she checks out her face in the mirror. “I think that’s good, Lana. Thanks.”

“Yeah,” says Lucy, “with Jenny’s married brothers, it seems most of the groomsmen
are
taken.”

“Patrick’s not,” says Lana. “I know, because I asked.”

“You bold woman,” teases Jenny. “So what is this, Lana? Are you going after my cousin now? And here I thought you were nurturing a crush on that guy from work. Ryan or Brian or—”

“Bryce,” Lana corrects Jenny. “And I already told you that it’s nothing serious. Now tell me more about this sexy cousin of yours and why you’ve been keeping him such a secret. He’s not gay, is he?”

“He’s
not
gay,” I offer in a slightly irritated tone.

Lana peers curiously at me.

“He’s just a little shy,” explains Jenny as she fluffs her veil.

“You mean he
used
to be,” I add as I help her to get the veil just right.

“How do
you
know him, Ingrid?” demands Lana.

I laugh lightly. “Oh, I’ve known Conner and Patrick for, like, forever. We all kind of grew up together. Right, Jenny?” Okay, I
know I’m getting pretty territorial here, not to mention a bit arrogant, but Lana just gets to me. And I can’t believe she’s setting her sights on Patrick today. Someone should warn the poor guy.

“Yeah,” says Jenny. “Conner was always the tease and the clown, and Patrick was the quiet, studious one.”

“Well, it’s usually those quiet ones who grow up to make something of themselves,” says Lana as if she’s expert in men as well as everything else.

“That pretty much describes Patrick,” Jenny informs her. “My aunt told me he’s landed a really good job.”

“Yeah,” I add. “He was telling me about it earlier today. He sounds pretty stoked about it.”

“Hey, why were
you
talking to Patrick?” asks Lana with suspicion. “You’ve already got a guy, Ingrid. Remember? Why not leave Patrick to those of us who are still looking?”

I just laugh. “Hey, I was only being friendly,” I assure her. “I hadn’t seen him for a long time, and we were hanging at the pool together. Just chilling, you know.”

Jenny tosses me a questioning look, and to distract her, I glance up at the clock on the wall. “Whoa,” I say suddenly. “Look at the time! We better start listening for the music.”

And the next thing I know, we’re all hovering near the back door that opens to where the ceremony will take place. With everyone clustered behind me, I shush them as I lean my head out the door to listen. To my relief, it’s still the trio playing, which
means we’re okay. I glance over to the left and spy Jenny’s dad and some of the other groomsmen gathered by the side door. It seems that everyone is ready—everything is in place.

As I stand there in the doorway, watching the guys who will soon escort us down the aisle, I realize that I am looking at Patrick. In fact, I’m sure I’m staring at him, wondering,
Who is this guy really? And what is he really like? And why am I so obsessed with him today? Like, why doesn’t someone just slap me?

As if he can actually feel my eyes on him, he turns around and looks directly at me. Then he smiles and casually waves. I take in a quick breath and smile, waving back as if I haven’t turned into some kind of groomsman stalker. Then feeling thoroughly ashamed of myself, I go inside, leaving the door open so that the music continues to float in. I even pretend to busy myself with the flower girl and ring bearer, although they both have their moms right there to make sure they do their thing right and on time.

“It’s almost time,” I say to Jenny and the rest of them. “The next song is the cue for Betsy and Sammy to get out there and kick this thing off.”

Betsy squirms in her fluffy pink dress, and for about the fifth time, her mom reminds her to “just take little handfuls of petals to drop along the runner.” She shows her what a little handful looks like, then puts it back in the white wicker basket. “That way you’ll have enough petals to drop them all the way down the aisle.” She smiles and adjusts the pink bow in Betsy’s hair. “And remember, honey—don’t walk too fast.”

“And hold on to Sammy’s hand,” says Sammy’s mother. “And no tugging on her, Sammy,” she warns her son. “Just walk nicely, and you’ll get a really good treat afterward.”

Sammy seems to buy into this treat business, and when it’s time, the two little ones wear very serious expressions as they join hands and begin to walk toward the wedding area, carefully following the path we showed them earlier this morning. Okay, they might be going a little bit fast, but they look so adorable that I’m sure no one will notice.

I’m actually holding my breath as I nod to the first bridesmaid to go. Then I remind myself that this is supposed to be fun, and I force myself to take a big, deep breath. I nod to the other four bridesmaids as each of their turns comes up. And of course when bridesmaid number three, Lucy Ming, is heading out, I can’t help but steal another glimpse of Patrick, her escort. And I can’t believe it, but I’m jealous of Lucy. I wish it were Patrick instead of Michael’s brother escorting me.
Grow up, Ingrid!

Finally, Lana is going out, head held high as she takes the arm of her escort. Then I turn to Jenny. “It’s time,” I tell her in a hushed voice and lean over to kiss her cheek, careful not to disturb her makeup. “This is it, sweetie. Your big day.” Then she hugs me and thanks me for everything, and I feel very close to tears.

“Break a leg,” she says as I take David’s arm and start heading toward the wedding area. The music and timing are absolutely perfect—exactly as planned. So far so good. I’m thinking we might actually pull this oft As I go through the first arbor, I see the rest
of the wedding party, all nicely in place up front. Okay, Sammy is squirming a little and playing with his bow tie, and Betsy’s pink bow has slipped out of her hair, but other than that, things look pretty good. As I get closer, I find myself once again looking at Patrick. I realize that he’s the tallest of the groomsmen. And I can’t help noticing how straight he’s standing, what a strong, confident, but gracious smile he has … Then I notice Jason off to my left, and I force a little smile for his sake. But even as I do this, I’m thinking,
It’s over between us, buddy
. And in all fairness, it’s not because of Patrick. I mean, that would be totally ridiculous. I am perfectly aware that nothing whatsoever is going on between Patrick and me. But I’m also aware nothing is going on between Jason and me, either. And I’m fairly certain that anyone who’s spent as much time daydreaming about another guy as I have today is
not
ready for marriage. Even so, it’s going to be hard. Very hard. Focus on the wedding, I scold myself. This is Jenny’s day, not yours.

I take my place and slowly turn around to watch for Jenny. There is a brief pause in the music, and then the familiar bridal march begins. I tried to talk Jenny into something softer, more classical, but Jenny wanted the traditional dum-dum-da-dum, “here comes the bride” music. And, well, it’s her wedding. As I see her and her dad coming down the aisle, I have to admit she was right about this, too. She’s such a sweet, old-fashioned girl—it’s just perfect.

Even from where I’m standing, I can see the tears glistening in her dad’s eyes. He’s the nicest guy, the sort of man I would pick for
my father if we were given those kinds of choices in life. My own dads on his fourth marriage now, and I’m lucky if I see him once a year.

Jenny’s face is simply glowing. I swear she’s the most beautiful bride I’ve seen in my entire life. That dress is a luscious mix of layers of white chiffon and satin, elegant but soft, a real Cinderella kind of dress—-perfect for Jenny. I feel so proud to be her best friend right now, so glad she chose me as her maid of honor. Especially knowing how much Lana pressured her for the job. Fortunately, childhood friendships and promises rank higher with someone like Jenny.

Oh no, I can feel it. I’m starting to cry too. Just watching Jenny’s dad plant that big kiss on her cheek and whisper something in her ear.
Hang on
, I tell myself.
Don’t start blubbering now
. I give Jenny a huge smile as she continues forward, but she doesn’t even see me. Her eyes are locked on Michael’s. I turn and glance at him and am almost knocked over by how intently he is looking at her. It’s as if they’re the only two people in the world. So romantic!

The bridal party slowly turns around as Michael takes Jenny’s hand and walks her to the front, and the official ceremony begins. I feel so happy and relieved to have seen that look of total devotion in Michael’s eyes. Not that I didn’t trust him, exactly, but he is so rich—make that, his family is so rich. And Jenny is your ail-American girl next door, a total sweetheart … I suppose I’ve been secretly concerned that it could be a mismatch. I’ve worried that Michael might’ve picked her just because she’s so good natured
and kind and pretty, someone he and his family might control and walk all over. But seeing that look in his eyes … well, I think Jenny’s in good hands.

I remind myself to breathe again and to focus on the ceremony. After all the time and energy I’ve put into this, I should at least be present in mind and spirit.

H
ere she comes! Here comes my darling girl. Oh, my sweet Jenny is absolutely radiant today. Her hair is like spun gold, and her face is all lit up with love and hope and such great expectations! And I can tell she’s looking right into Michael’s eyes as she walks so slowly, so gracefully to the music. And his eyes are getting misty as he looks at her. He seems a dear boy, really. Oh, he’s probably a bit overindulged. But hopefully he’s mostly unaffected by his family’s wealth. Perhaps he is following his brother’s example. Laura has told me how her David isn’t caught up in money and appearances and such superficialities. For Jenny’s sake, I pray this is true of Michael as well. And I sincerely pray that Jenny will not be pulled into the shallowness of material wealth.
O heavenly Father, watch over these two young things. Keep them under your wings
.

I look at my Eric, walking her proudly down the aisle. So much like his father! Not for the first time today, I am struck by the resemblance. Such handsome men. Such
good
men.

Now the two have reached the front of the aisle, only a few feet from me, and my Eric pauses to kiss his dear daughter and to whisper something in her ear. She smiles at him, kisses him back, and then he slowly, and I’m sure with reluctance, releases her hand as her handsome groom claims it.

I remember the day Jenny was born, how thrilled we all were to finally have a girl in the family. From the very first day, she was the absolute apple of her fathers eye. He was smitten by the pretty, fair-haired girl, and we all knew that she could wrap the poor man right around her little finger. Yet she remained unspoiled. In all these years I’ve never once seen her take advantage of her father’s devotion.

I think the good Lord sometimes bestows a particularly sweet nature on a precious few of his lambs. I have no idea why or how he makes these choices, but I firmly believe Jenny has just such a nature. She’s the kind of girl who lights up a room, who always has a cheerful smile and a kind word for everyone. Goodness knows, she’s not perfect. But she is my only granddaughter, and I’m sure I’ll be forgiven if I dote on her just a wee bit. And especially
on this day!

My Calvin was completely taken with Jenny as well. I’m sure it helped him, and all of us for that matter, to get over the trials and challenges we’d suffered with Karen’s rebellion and absence.
And even when we finally lost our own dear daughter, back when Jenny was only a little girl, I know it was Jenny who helped her poor grandpa to move on. We often kept her overnight on Fridays, when her parents and older brothers went to the college ball games. Jenny and Calvin would play checkers and other board games. I can still remember how Calvin would get down on the floor with her to play Candy Land. “You’re the only one in the whole world who will play this with me,” she would say, batting those big blue eyes. He would just grin from ear to ear. And, of course, he would always let her win. Oh, how I hope he can see her now.

My hearing isn’t what it used to be, and I have to strain to catch all the words as Jenny and Michael repeat their vows. Jenny told me how she wanted to use the traditional vows and how she had talked Michael into it. “Once he heard how pretty and genuine the words sounded, well, he was right there with me, Grandma.” She grinned in triumph. “Really, he’s just as old-fashioned as I am.”

And that’s a good thing. Because sometimes it seems as if Jenny really was born into the wrong generation. Even as a little girl, she was drawn to old-fashioned things. Sometimes I could’ve sworn she was as old as I was. Well, until I compared our faces in the mirror, and then I would have to laugh. But the sort of music she listens to, the kind of clothes she loves, the movies she watches—it’s as if she’s a throwback to the forties.

“On this day, I do thee wed …,” she is repeating as she looks into Michael’s face. I can’t see her expression from here, but I can imagine. In my mind’s eye I can see the sincerity in her sparkling
eyes, that firm little chin pointing up, her whole being reflecting the commitment of her heart.

“I don’t believe in divorce, Grandma,” she told me when she was about twelve years old. Her parents had been having some squabbles. Nothing big, but it had worried her, since Ingrids parents had been divorced for some time by then. “When I grow up and get married, I will
never
get divorced.”

Dear heavenly Father, please help her be true to her heart, and help Michael to be an honorable and loving husband. Please give them a marriage that can be sustained through the years—the good times and the bad
.

“For richer, for poorer,” she is saying now. “For better or for worse …”

I reach for my handkerchief and catch the stray tear that rolls down my wrinkled old cheek. I listen as Michael repeats the same promise. I pray that he keeps it.

I’m old enough to know that no one can keep the promise every single day. We are only human, after all. I know how many times I broke my wedding vows, if not in my flesh, in my heart. And, naturally, I regret it greatly. Even more now that I’ve lost my Calvin. And I know that he broke his vows to me as well. There were times when he put work or hobbies before me. Times when things were bad, and he threw up his hands and turned away. But eventually we came back together. Eventually we apologized. We forgave. We continued. Isn’t that what marriage is all about?

Dear Father, teach these two precious ones how to apologize and
how to forgive. Nurture their love for each other, and help them imitate your love—your unconditional love—for us
.

Not that I think we ever really reach that place in our human lives, that ability to consistently give unconditional love to one another. But it’s a goal, something we can strive for, aspire to, and I think Calvin and I came fairly close toward the end. More and more I found myself putting his needs, his desires above my own—and it was a wonderful feeling to be able to do this. And I know he often did the same for me. Perhaps we knew at some deep level that our time together was limited, that we were in the final act of our play, but I think some of the sweetest days, the best love we shared, came right before the end. And while I regret losing him, and I desperately wish he were still here with me, I will never regret our last few years together. For they were golden. Truly golden.