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Cora
Three years ago
Women swarm the room,buzzing around like worker bees eager to aid the queen. The queen—actually, the bride—sits on a tall chair, labeled “Bride” in silver letters on the back, and breathes heavily while another woman does her makeup. Her thick, black locks are pinned back partially and curled. Eyelids brushed a soft blush. Lips coated in a neutral gloss. A subtle shimmer added to her skin.
Most brides are so nervous on their wedding day and never remember all the little moments. Like this one in the dressing room of the church. Which is why I am here. To capture the bride with her bridesmaids tending to her. Her mother keeping the bridesmaids—as well as people not in the room—in check. Novelty items such as jewelry and robes and hangers.
I bring the camera to my eye and snap a handful of images. Before anyone stepped foot in here, I walked around the grounds and took several photos of the church, flowers and various displays. The wedding is nowhere near luxurious. Sherrie—the bride—was adamant about keeping the ceremony clean and simple and pristine. Not an overabundance of flowers or decor. Whites and creams and a hint of blush-pink. Very subtle, but utterly breathtaking. The photos of her gown on the hanger will be coveted for years to come.
“Twenty minutes, ladies,” a woman shouts from the door before disappearing.
As if that is the cue they have all been waiting for, everyone’s pace triples. Bridesmaids zip each other up in their blush-colored gowns before removing the bride’s dress from the hanger. Once the makeup artist steps away, the bridesmaids step front and center. I bring the camera back to my eye and snap continuously as they help her into her dress.
When the dress is in place, her maid of honor hands her the bouquet and everyone steps back a moment, allowing me to take some individual photos of her before she leaves the room. After I finish, hair and makeup step back up and double-check to make certain everything is perfect.
She makes such a beautiful bride. Something I will never be.
I shake off the errant thoughts and leave the bridal suite. A moment later, I knock on the door for the groom’s suite. A guy with dark hair, gauge-pierced ears, and a wicked smile answers the door. For a moment, I flashback to another guy who had similar features, a guy I once cared about, but push it aside and slip on my professional mask.
I lift my camera and waggle it. “Is everyone decent? I’d like to get some photos of the groom’s suite before the ceremony begins.”
He peeks over his shoulder then steps aside and gestures me to enter. “Sure, we’re dressed. Can’t speak for decent,” he snickers.
I ignore his insinuation and walk into the room. Snapping a few pictures, I tell the guys to do whatever it is they were doing before I came in. The guys relax and start joking with each other, slapping backs and teasing the groom about how he will only have one piece of ass for the rest of his life. But the groom lights up at the idea and I capture every little tweak in his lips. Every crinkled uptick near his eyes. Every ounce of joy he exudes.
Love is a funny thing. When you see it with your own eyes, it is unbelievable. Unparalleled. Simple touches—the way he tucks your hair behind your ear or toys with the ends of the strands or draws art on your skin with his fingers or holds you close every chance possible. A small upturn of the lips—just enough to let you know he is thinking of you. A slight lean of the body—because he can never be too close or get enough of you. Love sneaks up on you, slithers itself around your heart like vines, blankets you in warmth and security and joy, and blossoms like a field of wildflowers. It is incredible and incomparable and incomprehensible.
And I hope to never feel it again.
I take a few more photos of the groom and groomsmen, excuse myself, and head for the main area of the church. Once there, I walk in and photograph the crowd in the pews. Candid images of family and friends, old and young. People carry on conversations about how the bride and groom met and fell in love instantaneously. They recant how inseparable they are and how they never imagine them apart. After several more clicks of the shutter, I head back to where the bridal party will enter. And thankfully, away from all the puppy-love conversations.
It isn’t as if I don’t believe in love. Love is real and magical and undeniable. But love is also a rusty, jagged hunting knife in my chest. Twisting and depressing.
The music shifts and I take a deep breath. Ten seconds later, the groomsmen walk through the large wooden doors. I snap photo after photo. The guy who answered the door to the groom’s suite passes me and winks. I continue taking photos and don’t acknowledge the gesture. If I were any other woman, I would melt into a puddle at his feet. Swoon at the prospect of him asking me to dance later or grab a drink or exchange phone numbers. He is definitely gorgeous, but unfortunately for me, I am far from interested. In anyone. Ever.
I purse my lips, bring the camera to my eye, and continue photographing the wedding. After all the groomsmen pass, the music changes again. The wedding march—a standard, but elegant choice. Once upon a time, this song popped into my head. Impregnated visions of white gowns and black suits and promises of forever. But I was young and naïve then. I am neither of those things anymore. And after my dreams were obliterated, I am quite content becoming an old cat lady. At least as a cat lady, I will receive nothing but unconditional love.
The wedding passes and a million photos are taken. But it is not until the reception when I lose my shit.
Upbeat music fades from the sound system and the deejay speaks up. “This is for all the lovebirds in the room. Grab your guy or lady and head out to the dance floor.”
A new song crackles through the speakers. A song I haven’t heard in years. One that cracks my heart and cripples me on the spot. The twangy guitar intro to “Better Together” by Jack Johnson floods every available space in the room and drowns me instantly. Tears prick my eyes and, within seconds, roll down my cheeks. An emotional ball the size of a softball lodges in my throat.
I can’t breathe.
Fuck. I can’t be here. I can’t be here.
The groomsman hottie approaches me, a smile plastered on his face until he notices my state. “Hey, you okay?”
I shake my head. It is too much. All of it. The bride, the groom, the promises, the happiness, the music. One big ball of happily ever after. Something I thought I would have. Until my heart got ripped from my chest and annihilated.
“I need to leave,” I tell him. “Now.”
“Do you need a ride? I can drive you.”
As great as the idea sounds, I decline his offer. The last thing I need is to lose my shit with a guy that resembles the reason why I am crying. All that would lead to is another hot mess.
After I pack up my camera equipment, I find the bride and groom and apologize for my early departure. Thankfully, all the necessary photos for the wedding have been captured. Now it is just flat out party time. They hug and thank me and then I bolt out the door. Away from the reminder of broken promises.
When I reach my car, I set everything in the back then get in the car and lock the doors. I sit there, alone in the lot, for over thirty minutes, crying in my hands. Sobbing as if I am sixteen all over again.
Over the last decade, I have lost so much in my life. All of that loss wraps around one person.
Gavin Hunt.
Losing Gavin was like cutting out my heart with a spoon and tossing it in the darkest, deepest parts of the ocean. Without him, I had no reason to love. No desire to love. Nothing has changed. Over the years, brick by brick, I slowly built a towering wall around the space where my heart once sat. Reinforced it with steel beams and barbed wire. Hardened myself to everyone. Family. Friends. I would never allow someone to do to me what Gavin Hunt did—crush my heart and run away with my soul.
Right here, in the parking lot of the reception hall, where two lovers celebrate their joyous union, I make a vow to myself. A vow that will never be broken, because I hold the key. I am the gatekeeper of this truth.
“I will never open my heart to anyone ever again. I will never love another person ever again. And I most definitely will never marry anyone.”
