Chapter 14 - The Wedding We Never Got to Finish
Our first anniversary came faster than I expected.
People assume trauma makes time slow.
Sometimes it does the opposite.
One day, your wedding is on every phone screen you see.
Then suddenly, eleven months have passed.
My hair reached my shoulders.
Nick had become board chair of Bennett Hospitality while continuing part-time architectural work.
He refused a CEO salary.
Evelyn called him ridiculous.
He hired an experienced chief executive instead.
“You know what leadership is?” he told me one night.
“Tell me.”
“Knowing which jobs you shouldn’t do.”
I pointed my fork at him.
“That’s the smartest thing a Bennett man has said in this entire story.”
Richard, sitting across the table, raised his hand.
“I’m offended.”
“You should be.”
He laughed.
That was another change.
Richard laughed more.
Olivia had become part of our lives in a strange, unexpected way.
Not best friends.
Not replacement family.
Something more honest.
People who survived the same storm from different houses.
Three weeks before our anniversary, Jenna called.
“I have a weird question.”
“Those usually go well.”
“What happened to your original wedding photos?”
“They’re in an album.”
“Do you look at them?”
“Some.”
“Do you have one from your first dance?”
I paused.
“No.”
The first dance images all contained Martha approaching behind me.
The sequence that followed was beautiful photography.
Terrible memory.
Jenna said:
“I want to fix that.”
“I don’t want Photoshop.”
She laughed.
“Not Photoshop.”
Then she explained.
A small inn owned by Bennett Hospitality had renovated its garden pavilion.
They needed promotional photography.
Jenna needed a couple.
Nick walked in while I was still on the phone.
I looked at him.
He knew immediately I was planning something.
“No.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“That face always costs money.”
“It’s free.”
“Worse.”
Two weeks later, I put on a simple ivory dress.
Not my wedding gown.
I had donated that.
The dress had become too connected to one day.
I wanted something new.
Nick wore the same gray suit from our rehearsal dinner.
Jenna placed us beneath string lights in the garden.
There were no guests.
Then I saw people approaching.
My father.
Evelyn.
Richard.
Olivia.
Karen from school.
A handful of friends.
I turned to Nick.
“You knew.”
He looked pleased with himself.
“I knew.”
“You lied.”
“I withheld joy.”
“That phrase is terrible.”
“Grandma approved it.”
“Of course she did.”
Evelyn walked toward us.
She held a small box.
“For you.”
Inside were the five pressed flowers from my original braid.
I stared.
“How—”
“You gave them to me months ago.”
“I forgot.”
“I didn’t.”
She had preserved them beneath glass inside a small silver hair comb.
My throat closed.
“Evelyn…”
“Your mother asked for flowers in your hair.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“She did.”
“Then I believe we have unfinished business.”
A stylist pinned the comb above my left ear.
No braid.
No attempt to recreate what had been stolen.
Something new.
Jenna positioned us.
Music began playing softly.
The song from our first dance.
Nick held out his hand.
“Would you like to finish this?”
I laughed through tears.
“We already finished it.”
He looked around.
“Then do it again.”
So I did.
We danced.
Slowly.
My father cried openly.
Richard pretended allergies were responsible.
Olivia filmed until Evelyn ordered her to put the phone away and “experience one thing without turning it into evidence.”
Halfway through the song, Nick leaned close.
“I have something to tell you.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why does nobody in your family understand that sentence causes anxiety?”
He smiled.
“It’s good.”
“That’s what people say right before the bad thing.”
He reached into his pocket.
Not a ring.
A folded piece of paper.
I opened it.
A property listing.
Small brick building.
Large windows.
Near my school.
I looked at him.
“What is this?”
“Your studio.”
“My what?”
“You’ve talked for years about starting weekend art classes for kids who can’t afford private lessons.”
My eyes widened.
“Nick.”
“Bennett Foundation is selling the building.”
“I’m not taking a building from your family.”
“You’re not.”
He grinned.
“They accepted your offer.”
“My offer?”
“Remember when your accountant told you the wedding media settlement fund had earned interest?”
I stared.
After one television network used our wedding footage without permission, Daniel had negotiated a settlement.
I barely touched the money.
“You made an offer for me?”
“No.”
He pointed behind me.
Karen stood there waving paperwork.
“She helped.”
I looked between them.
“You people are terrifying.”
Nick laughed.
“You don’t have to do it.”
I looked at the building photograph.
Sunlight.
Open space.
A place for paint and clay and children who needed somewhere to make a mess.
My mother would have loved it.
“What would I call it?”
Nick shrugged.
“That seems like your job.”
My fingers touched the tiny flowers in my hair.
I knew immediately.
Five Flowers Studio.
I started crying.
Nick panicked.
“Good crying?”
“Shut up.”
I kissed him.
Behind us, everyone cheered.
And for the first time when people applauded at something connected to our wedding, I didn’t feel humiliation.
I felt joy.
Later that night, my phone buzzed.
A message from an unfamiliar corrections email system.
Martha.
I hesitated.
Then opened it.
Only three sentences.
Happy anniversary.
I hope today belonged to you.
I’m learning that it always should have.
I showed Nick.
He stared at it for a long time.
Then locked my phone.
“What do you want to do?”
I looked toward our family beneath the lights.
May you like
“Dance.”
So we did.
