Page 46 of Cabin Fever

“Places!” Priya calls, marching around like a tiny dictator.

I don't get a good look at Finn until I’m walking down the aisle fifteen minutes later. The guitar starts. Theo’s mother goes down the aisle, then ours. Mom walks to her seat in the front row on the bride's side, her spine straight.

Then it's me. I step out from behind the sea grapes onto the aisle's white runner over raked sand and fix my eyes down the aisle. I try to focus on the arch, on Father Aldo's kind, round face, or on the horizon behind him, but my eyes slip. Finn is like a magnet, drawing me in, and once I arrive, everything else on this beach loses signal.

He's in a suit the color of wet sand. No tie, his white shirt open at the collar. He looks like someone paid him to stand on this beach as an extra. Just to make the photos look better. His hands are folded in front of him, but when he turns his head, they fall to his sides.

That charming smile, the one he's used on every bridesmaid thus far, doesn’t just slip. It falls. His lips part, and his chest rises once, sharp, like the wind slapped him in the face. His eyes travel down the length of my blush dress and back up to my face.

Finn Gallagher looks at me the way I’ve wanted to be looked at since I was thirteen years old. I dreamed of it. Of him glancing over the fence and doing exactly that. And then he’d obviously jump the fence, and we’d passionately make out behind the rose bushes.

I almost laugh, remembering my silly teenage fantasies. But looking at him now, it doesn’t seem silly at all.

I make it to my mark on unsteady legs and take my place at the arch on Dahlia’s side, then turn to face our friends and family. And there we are. Best man and maid of honor, opposite each other for the length of this ceremony. It’s both a gift and pure torture to have every reason to watch him.

The music lifts. Everyone stands. And Dahlia comes down the aisle on the arms of Denny and Rose. She told me she talked to our father, but didn’t give me any details. He’s sitting in his chair, seemingly delighted with the arrangement, and I wonder what he feels. If he feels. If there’s some part of him that’s sorry, or if he isn’t capable of apologies. It’s easier to accept that he isn’t capable of real, fatherly love than believing he’s simply chosen not to give it.

Dahlia’s dress is simple and soft, moving like water around her ankles. Her feet are bare, and her blond waves look perfectly wind-tossed. She’s stunning.

Somehow, she and Rose convinced Denny to buy a new suit for this. I grin, remembering how insistent he was that the suit he’d owned since the Clinton administration would do, because he hardly ever wore it.

Dahlia pauses next to Dad. He's in a blazer, an open collar, and boat shoes, tan and composed. The moment only lasts a second. He rises halfway out of his chair, catches her hand, and Dahlia whispers something before kissing him. It’s only then that I see how white his knuckles are as he grips the printed program.

Once again, my sister has shown me what healing looks like. I don’t know if I’m there yet, but as I see Theo's throat working as he watches her approach, I wonder if our most empty parts can’t be fully stitched up by ourselves. And not because we need someone to love our brokenness away, though that certainly couldn’t hurt. But because it’s the act of opening our hearts to love someone else, even when they hurt us, that provides the balm.

My mom smiles up at me, and I can’t hold in my emotion. I want to love better. I want to be better to be able to love. And I’m ticked that if I ever describe this life shift, I’ll have to admit it happened at a wedding. Such a cliché.

As if reading my thoughts, Dahlia meets my eyes and laughs. I pull out my handkerchief, watching Bev pass a tissue box down her row like communion.

Denny and Rose deliver my sister to Theo, one on each side. Denny shakes Theo's hand with both of his and says something that makes Theo's chin crumple. Then it's just Dahlia and Theo in front of the arch.

Father Aldo spreads his hands over the whole assembly and says, “Please, sit. The ocean's agreed to keep it down.” Everyone chuckles.

The ceremony is short and also lasts a hundred years. That's the only way I can describe it. I’m lost in Father Aldo telling the story of a couple who met as barely more than toddlers on Larkspur and came back together more than twenty years later, but my focus doesn’t stay on my sister.

Finn watches me, and his gaze doesn’t drop when I notice. Our eyes stay locked through the readings, through Father Aldo's homily about houses and foundations. Every word Father Aldo says to the couple crosses the space between us like it's been misdelivered.

What you promise today you promise on your worst day, not your best.

Finn's lips twitch.

Love is not only a feeling, and it won’t survive on its own. It's a living, breathing organism that you grow, feed, and maintain.

My bouquet is trembling.

I tear my eyes away as they begin their vows. Theo goes first. His hands shake as he pulls out a notecard, but then he looks up and slips it back in his pocket.

“I had this all organized,” he says, and the guests laugh. “It was supposed to be funny. Make me look good.”

The laughs grow in size.

“But here you are.” His voice catches, and it takes him a moment to compose himself. “You’re standing here knowing me. Fully. All my mistakes, all my failures.” He uses his thumb and forefinger to wipe his eyes. “You know everything about me, and you're still standing here. I can’t make a joke about that.”

Dahlia’s nose is red, tears slipping down her cheeks.

“I'm going to spend the rest of my life being the man who deserves that. I promise to be brave. To be strong. To do everything I can to provide for you and our family when we have one.” He grins, and Dahlia laugh-cries, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief.

“Most importantly, I promise you the truth. Before it's polished, before it's easy, you get it first. And I promise I’ll never give up on us.” His voice cracks. “No takebacks.”