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The euphoria proclaiming my feelings lead me right up to a middle-aged man, also standing by himself. I stuck out my hand. “Hi. I’m the maid of honor’s boyfriend.”
“And I’m her dad,” the man retorted, raising an eyebrow.
I cringed in embarrassment. Of course. I’d seen him at the chalet. “Nice to meet you.” I tried not to sound as awkward as I felt about letting a few minutes of social success go to my head.
“We’re happy you could make it. Never met Jenna’s last boyfriend. Always some excuse.” He narrowed his eyes at me evaluatively.
“I’m very happy to be here.” I sought some way to express how much Jenna meant to me. “Jenna is the best person I know other than my grandma. I mean, they’re equally good.”
We stood awkwardly, me hoping Jenna’s dad would do me a favor and knock me unconscious, but I was blissfully saved by the timely entrance of the bride and groom. More importantly to me, Jenna entered behind them. As the other guests applauded, Jenna hugged the edge of the room until she got to my side.
I was relieved to see her, and even more relieved when she slid an arm around my waist like we belonged together.
“Dad, have you met Adam?” Jenna asked.
Mr. Allen dipped his head toward me. “The maid of honor’s boyfriend? We’ve met.”
I moved my lips into a facsimile of a smile. Why had I thought I could impress Jenna with my social skills? Perhaps I should find her Uncle Howard and wow her with my vast knowledge of fungi.
Jenna slid her hand through mine. “Come on; let’s find our seats.” She led me to the table at the head of the room, festooned with dark purple silk. Jenna and Adam, our name cards read, resting side by side. If I hadn’t come, Jenna would have been sitting next to an empty chair.
And I would have been sitting in a crowded, nondescript meeting room associating with people whose common interest was germs.
“Thank you for inviting me,” I said softly, my gaze never leaving hers.
She offered me a small smile, squeezing my hand in response. “Thank you for being here.”
Her sincerity touched my heart, making it flutter in a way it only ever did with her. This moment, sitting at this table with Jenna, felt right—like we were meant to be here together.
I leaned in a little closer. Jenna smiled and stood on her tiptoes until our faces were close together.
“Sorry.” We broke apart at the word, and then both of us saw her brother Patrick standing in the narrow space behind us, a sheepish expression on his face. “I think that’s my seat.” He waved one crutch toward the table.
We let Patrick by and sat down ourselves. Jenna switched our name cards so that she was closer to the outside edge, in case she had to get up during dinner.
Turned out to be a wise decision because she kept having to sort out issues with the food (salad course was to be brought out before, not with the entrée), the music (DJ had gone to the wrong venue, easy mistake to make) and the drinks (pre-dinner cocktails weren’t supposed to be served with the meal). I felt a little helpless watching her dashing around, barely able to eat her food, just sitting there without anything useful to offer.
After dining on my selection of filet mignon and truffled potatoes—trout, even when locally caught, wasn’t my thing—the wedding party began giving toasts, a mic passed from the other end of the table where the groom’s party sat all the way toward us.
Patrick gave a short, funny tribute to his sister and new brother-in-law and then handed the mic to me, presumably so I could pass it to Jenna. Unfortunately, Jenna had just dashed away to give instructions to the caterers about where to roll out the wedding cake, so I sat awkwardly for a moment while all the guests gazed expectantly at me.
Then, as Jenna noticed my distress and hurried back to her spot, I realized that I might be holding onto the perfect chance to let her know how I felt. Surely a declaration in front of all her relations would prove to her that I was serious about sticking around.
I got to my feet. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t sure if I should say something since I haven’t actually met the bride and groom yet.” I gave a little wave down the table. Beth and Chase were grinning as if the situation were funny, and Jenna’s mom smiled encouragingly. Her dad, however, was frowning. I hurried to continue my message.
“I realized that it might be appropriate to share some of the things I’ve recently learned about love.” My eyes sought Jenna in the back of the room, and she stared back with a confused expression. “Some people think love is just a chemical reaction, a cascade of hormones starting with oxy—” I broke off, remembering I wasn’t presenting a paper. “Well, in any event, simply a biological function tailored by evolution to perpetuate the species.”
Jenna started moving quickly, probably prepared to tackle me if I didn’t stop ruining her sister’s wedding.
“But I’ve learned that love can’t be defined so clinically,” I hurried to add. “Love gives indescribable meaning to the simplest acts: holding hands, playing miniature golf, watching fireworks.”
Jenna paused mid-dash, a slow smile dawning across her face.
“Love also makes the difficult bearable,” I continued, holding her gaze. “Trusting someone with the pain you’d rather not acknowledge. Putting aside things you thought were important for things you’d rather not do—and then realizing that what you really want is to be with the person you love more than anything else.”
She reached my side but made no motion to take away the mic. I checked once more, found the bride and groom smiling indulgently at me, and pressed on. “I’ll close by sharing that my grandma, widowed after only a few short years of marriage, taught me that even a brief love can be a great one.” I spoke right to Jenna. “She also taught me that hiding from the pain of the past is no way to live. And with that, I’ll pass this on to the woman I love—Jenna.”
Jenna pressed her hand over mine as she took the mic, and I sat down. I’d owed it to her to share what was in my heart. Even if she didn’t want to continue our relationship, she’d already brought something wonderful to my life, and I would never be the same.
