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It’s not that I want to avoid him forever—I couldn’t anyway. But after everything that’s happened recently, I have no idea what to say to him. He’s a groomsman, so sometimes I have to take his picture when he poses with the rest of the wedding party or prominent guests.
Talk about awkward.
The problem is…I don’t know what the problem is. We’ve never had uneasy times between us before, but now I am at a loss for words. He wasn’t there for me the day of my near-death experience, and I get it, people get busy. Which was what I’ve pretended to be since then because I could not shake the feeling that something was very off between us.
The wedding vibe is not helping.
Walking among the guests before the ceremony, I feel like this will never be me. I’ll never have a bunch of people gathered to see me get married again.
I won’t have the giddy excitement of getting my pictures taken while having my hair and makeup done over mimosas with my girlfriends. There won’t be some guy in a nearby room, soaking up advice from his friends while enjoying a cigar and a snifter of brandy, all the while freaking out inside because he’s about to marry me.
I am not taking pictures of my future. Today, more than any other day of work in the past year, has made this fear sink in. Since the divorce, I had tried to think of doing weddings as taking pictures of my future.What angle would a bride look best in? That’s the one I want for my next wedding picture.
Going to as many weddings as I regularly did, it was like shopping for my future wedding. I knew the best caterers, the best florists, the best DJs, the best hairstylists, all of them. And now, I don’t need that information for me.
The one guy I thought might be the one…he doesn’t want me back.
That feeling has been eating at me. The fear of never having love again had hit me days after deciding to leave Mark. It was only natural, after catching my spouse cheating on me, or so my therapist said.
But after things had frayed between me and Rowan, that fear had grown into a monster, haunting my dreams and my days. Because if I couldn’t make things work with Rowan, how could anyone else stand a chance?
As the string quartet strikes their bows, the guests take their seats and the officiant stands beneath the arch. The wedding party comes out first and line up by the officiant to wait for the bride. Rowan looks incredibly handsome in his black tuxedo. All the brothers do, but he outshines each of them. Each has a boutonniere of ivy and baby’s breath. But it’s hard not to take pictures of only him.
Long and black were the only requirements Willow had for her bridesmaid dresses—aside from that, they picked what they wanted, so each bridesmaid could suit their own tastes. But they all have the same small green and white bouquets made to match the men’s boutonnieres with stems wrapped in white ribbon.
When the string quartet switches to the Wedding March, the bride enters the veranda with her parents. Willow is breathtaking. Her long dark hair is pinned up in a loose bun, with gently curled tendrils draping perfectly. The ivory dress is lace, skimming her body. She is beautiful in every sense of the word, but it’s the inner glow that takes her over the top. I have never seen such an elated bride in my whole career.
I get a few shots of the trio before they walk down the aisle. She hugs each of them just before joining Sawyer at the arch, and as happy as I am for Willow and Sawyer, my heart is heavy for myself.
They asked for no photos during the actual ceremony, so they aren’t distracted by my movements. A growing trend that lets me take a breather for a few minutes. The videographer captures everything on video anyway. Watching my friends get married, I am wrapped in my own emotions. I should not be thinking of myself at the moment. But still, my heart aches for the man near the groom. Even if he has a date.
Is that wrong of me? I wasn’t sure. Not that it matters. I don’t know what I want to say to him anyway.
After the nuptials and the bridal party scoot away, I follow them to wait for the reception to begin. Everyone poses on the marina’s dock for more pictures, and it’s sweet the way Sawyer cannot take his eyes off his new bride. While I take pictures of him beaming at her, Mrs. Cargill tells Rowan, “In a year, that could be you and Ally.”
It’s all I can do not to scream.
But I remain professional, even while my heart sits on the edge of a knife. A few more pictures, and it’s time for the reception and dancing. The food smells wonderful, but I’m nauseous. I just want the day to be over.
Snap out of it, Autumn, you’re at work.
They have their first dance, and then others join them on the floor. Mrs. Cargill says something to Rowan, who then asks Ally to dance. So, I swipe a flute of champagne to take the edge off.
“You okay, Autumn?” Delia asks quietly.
“I’m fine. Why?”
“You don’t normally drink when we’re on the job.”
I smile as calmly as possible. “It’s the Cargills, so you know it’s gonna be good stuff. You should have some, too.”
“Oh, smart.” She picks up a flute.
It’s not only the fact that Rowan is here with another woman. It’s also that the last time I had any fun at all was with him, and I’m surrounded by people having fun while it’s my job to take pictures of it all. An outsider looking in. Which yes, while that’s my job, it feels wrong today.
Just admit it, Autumn, it’s because you want to be the woman on Rowan’s arm.
I sigh at the thought and find more ways to take pictures of the same people doing new things. There’s a silly GIF photo booth, more dancing, and other frivolity, and I can’t do any of it. Not that I hate my job, but there are times when taking pictures of other people’s fun just plain sucks. By the end of the night, I am burned out on all things Cargill.
