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Epilogue
Cindy
“Idon’tthinkit’sgoing to fit,” Aurora says, trying to fasten the tiny buttons that run up the back of my wedding dress.
“It has to.”
I’m sucking my tummy in as much as possible, but it increases my nausea. I’m on thin ice anyway with how long my anti-nausea medicine will last. A serious drawback to having a wedding early in a pregnancy.
I’m disheartened when Aurora tugs on the bodice then says, “You’re breathing for five. We can’t have you passing out. Let me try something else.”
Her hands move up my back and start buttoning at the top. “Okay, we might have to leave a few around your waist undone, but with your veil, no one will notice.”
I glance at my tattoo. This is one of those times I really need the reminder.The flower is no less beautiful if the seed is planted by the wind.I smile at Aurora in the mirror. “The wedding is no less perfect if the buttons aren’t fastened all the way.”
“You know your brothers are just going to rip the dress off of you anyway. This way there will be a few less buttons rolling around.”
“I’m going to be the one rolling around soon. I can’t believe they knocked me up with quadruplets.”
“I thought I had it bad with twins. I can’t believe how fast your belly’s growing. We put the wedding together in no time and you’re already showing.”
“When we get together to hang out, it’s going to look like we run a daycare.”
“Except the kids will be our own.” She steps away from me and pulls the veil over my back.
“Promise it doesn’t look weird?”
“You’re beautiful. And if a few buttons are the biggest thing that goes wrong today, then you’ve practically pulled off the perfect wedding.”
The perfect wedding. Yes. In my mind, that’s what Ineed. I don’t like that something’s already gone wrong.
The Justice of the Peace has been warned not to do any improvisation, just read exactly what we gave him, and do everything in exactly the prescribed order.
Aurora guides me to our staging area, where I’m hidden from the guests. She’s by my side until her music cue sends her away, arm-in-arm with one of the dashing groomsmen.
My Dad smiles warmly and steps close when we’re the only two left. His voice is low. “The flower is no less beautiful if the seed is planted by the wind. It turns out, I had a lot to learn about being flexible too. Thank you for teaching me.”
My hand clutches his forearm, and he pats it gently when the Wedding March starts.
“That’s our cue,” he says.
Everyone stands as I come into view. I’m met with smiles from more friends and family than I expected would be happy to celebrate our unusual marriage. Everything’s going as planned. My vows are memorized. Jeff, Adrian, and Ballz, look absolutely stunning in their custom tuxes. Nothing in stock fit their broad, muscular shoulders and trim waists.
But the smiles that light up their faces when they see me is the most heart-warming thing I’ve ever experienced.
Or wait. Maybe that’s heartburn. My father lifts my veil, takes his seat, and the vows start. Now I can’t tell if I’m having morning sickness or regular wedding nerves. Or both.
Nausea builds inside of me. I had the wedding planner put a floral display next to me, and an empty bucket behind it, just in case.
I glance down. It’s in place. I let my gaze linger on the gorgeous gardenias, lilies, and roses—traditional beauty, but my heart is full when I spy the dandelions sprinkled through the arrangement.
Jeff begins his vows. I meet his gaze, take a deep breath, and my stomach settles a little.
But as I exhale, I realize my body fooled me. It’s all happening too fast. I can’t get my bouquet out of my hands. No bucket, no humility, no restraint.
Jeff is directly in my line of fire as the full force of four babies expels the dry bagel, banana, and medicine I’d counted on holding me through the ceremony.
My guys circle around me, Ballz getting the bucket to my face about a gallon of vomit too late.
