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Mom curls a final ribbon of brown hair, letting it flutter between her fingertips. She sighs, and it sounds like something equally melancholy and joyous.
The end of an era.
The beginning of a brand-new journey.
“Goodness…I feel old,” Mom reflects, stroking Caroline’s little round head. Her eyes lift to me with nostalgia. “It feels like yesterday I was putting pigtails in your hair, pulling pennies from your nose, and washing dirt stains out of your rompers.”
I can’t help but laugh.
“Now you’re getting married,” Dad muses.
He shows no sign of resentment or scorn toward the man I’m getting married to. We’re beyond that now. While our family dynamic isn’t conventional, and I realize my parents may never completely approve of the path we’ve taken, I know there is still acceptance there. And as each day passes, the acceptance grows.
They accept that we are what we are.
They accept that they can’t change what we are, and they would rather love us than leave us.
They accept Brant as the boy they raised and as the man who fell in love with their daughter.
And above all, they accept this:
Just as we cannot force ourselves to love someone, we cannot force ourselves to unlove them either. Fate can be foolish, and fate can be careless.
But fate is always true.
Placing a glossy kiss on Caroline’s head, I smile with fondness, I smile with joy, and I gaze up at my parents with the same sentiment.
“Have a remarkable day, my darling daughter,” my father says, his eyes creased with emotion. Canting his head down, he gives my arm a tender squeeze as he whispers in my ear, “Each remarkable day paves the way toward a truly remarkable life.”
The expression on our reverend’s face concerns me.
My arms start to shake as I clutch the bouquet of flowers to my chest and worry my lip between my teeth. I watch the wrinkles in his forehead furrow as his eyes flare slightly and his lips twitch with a strange combination of professional politeness and…
Amusement? Horror? Confusion?
I simply can’t read him. Leaning forward a bit, I whisper, “What is it?”
Glancing at me, the reverend forces a smile, then returns his attention to just over my shoulder.
He winces.
What is happening?
With wobbly knees, I shuffle from foot to foot on the rainbow aisle runner, my eyes flickering across the sky as I tilt my head up to distract myself. I’m jittery with nerves and fighting impatience. What’s taking so long? Is Brant having second thoughts? Cold feet?
Is he hurt? Sick? Lost?
Pauly’s property is certainly hard to find, tucked away in wooded suburbia, but surely someone would have informed me if Brant was running late to his own wedding before I made it down the aisle.
A family of birds flies overhead, and I smile, inhaling a deep, calming breath.
It’s fine, June. Just be patient.
The speakers finally crackle to life with the prelude to our song. My heart races, more nerves coasting through me.
Only…instead of “Over the Rainbow,” it’s the intro to “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails.
“Shit.” I hear Kip curse over the deep bass beats as he frantically adjusts the song. “Sorry, wrong playlist.”
