Here Comes the Bride?

Meghan’s bridesmaid stretched her vintage lace veil into a long train behind her as the white roses, peonies, and lilacs in her bouquet perfumed the air. Her younger sister and maid of honor, Erin, darted around snapping photos, telling them all to smile, and the smoke from her dad’s cigar wafted through the open door as he leaned against the outside wall of the Round Barn. His eldest daughter’s wedding was a time for celebration.

Celebration. Meghan agreed with her dad yesterday, last week, last month, hell, even a year ago when Tony asked her to marry. But now, with the ceremony minutes away, she was rethinking everything, including walking down the aisle at all.

Tony’s proposal a year ago surprised her, but he’d clearly been planning it for weeks. Reservations for dinner at the posh Shelburne Farms took months to get. He read aloud a poem he’d written, bent one knee and opened a velvet box that held his grandmother’s engagement ring. Meghan’s eyes kept blinking in astonishment. The whole restaurant applauded when she said yes. But what else could she say? Maybe she should have said yes, but in three years?

A burst of laughter focused her on the present. She looked at the closed wooden doors that separated her from the Milking Parlor where the ceremony would be held. They were worn with age, cherished relics of a former time when the building held farm animals instead of wedding guests. Doors that would have to be opened soon. Meghan closed her eyes.

Tony and she had easily agreed on this venue for their wedding. Every time they drove from their UVM college to the ski mountain of Sugarbush in the winter, they would detour past it. Their friends groaned from the back seat as they stopped the car to comment on the unique architecture of the circular barn. Tony would share an interesting fact about the land, the building, or the prior owners. He loved architecture, old things, and history. It was a bond between them. 

Her brain fired a new thought. Oldest children weren’t supposed to marry each other, right? Both too stubborn. Both alphas, wanting to be in control all the time. How was that going to work in a marriage?

She reminded herself that they had sailed through the wedding planning, managing the moms, the dads, the siblings, the guest list, and the menu. Everything had gone smoothly, except for a multi-week debate on what their first song should be. They streamed Spotify on almost every decade of music until they agreed on a Norah Jones ballad, tender, meaningful and slow enough to dance to. It dawned on Meghan that “Come Away with Me” advocated running away together, which now felt like a prophecy they should have listened to. I’m just nervous. All brides are nervous, right?

The chattering from the guests behind the closed door grew louder. Meghan imagined the friends and family seated, excitedly waiting for the doors to open. Could she do this? Did she still want to? What if she ran out the open door behind her and texted Tony to meet her in the parking lot for a quick escape? That would be easier. No one staring at her. No lifetime commitment at 22 years of age.

She was so young. Everyone said that. They were the first of their friends to get engaged while the rest of their graduating class was out exploring the world, meeting new people, not settling down. There were no other wedding dates on her calendar.

But when Tony was accepted into the architecture program at Columbia, and she secured a coveted teaching position in the archaeology department, it made sense that they should live together. Maybe we should have stopped there. Tried living together first. 

Meghan startled as the front of her white organza dress billowed out and settled in a graceful plume around her. She looked down at her two bridesmaids on either side of the dress, fussing and smoothing the hem into a perfect circle.

She did like the dress. A vintage find that needed a lot of tailoring. Women had narrow waists back in the 1950s. But Meghan fell in love with the seed pearl tailoring on the neckline, the cap sleeves, perfect for a summer wedding, and the short sleeves meant she could wear long gloves with matching seed buttons. She and her mom had several great weekends, trolling the Internet first, then the stores themselves until they found a dress that could work with the addition of some extra material. The bodice curved to match Meghan’s big shoulders, bosom, and modern-day waist. The skirt was hemmed perfectly to allow her white converse sneakers bedazzled with rhinestones to peek out. 

“Ready, honey?” 

Meghan blinked at her dad’s voice. Ready? No, she wasn’t ready. She closed her eyes and started breathing in and out. In and out. 

With her eyes closed and her breathing slowed, Meghan knew somewhere deep that she loved Tony. Her hand fit perfectly in his. Her black hair and freckles complemented his dark hair and olive skin. They loved history and nothing better than reading dusty placards in quirky museums dedicated to farm tools of New England in the 1800s or spring planting festivals of the Abenaki. They loved paddling a canoe on a crisp spring morning and skinny dipping in the cool water if no one was around. He read Keats aloud in the most sonorous voice. He said he loved her deep laugh. Their families drove them nuts in the same loving and kooky ways. Meghan let the images race inside her eyelids. She loved Tony, but was that enough?

***

Tony stood at the front of the room, trying not to catch the eyes of the friends and family looking at him. He was nervous. It was unlike him. He was never nervous. What is wrong with me?

Maybe this was all too sudden. Maybe he and Meghan should have lived together first. That’s what most of his friends were doing. Hell, half of his friends were still active on dating apps, not exclusive with anyone. Well, at least not yet.

But as the oldest of the five Viterelli brothers, he’d always led the way. Today, the brothers were standing at the front of the room staggered behind him in a small arc. He looked at each one, noting how well they cleaned up, varying shades of dark hair and eyes, all tall and strong, with Tony the shortest of the group at six feet even. He remembered their joined pasts, holding Guillermo’s hand, crossing the street for kindergarten, rushing Freddy past the parents after a wild party, braving the class bully when he picked on Albie, the youngest. To be honest, it was kind of a miracle that Meghan would even marry into this crazy bunch. They were a handful. “Two handfuls,” his mother always said. 

He looked at the front row of guests, his mother and father already seated, sitting tall and silent. His mother caught his eye, and she tweaked an eyebrow, then swiveled to turn a dark eye toward Mateo, who was poking his younger brother near the back of the arc. Tony smiled. He knew that look, the one that could stop dough from rising.

He remembered when Mom and Dad met Meghan after one of his rugby games at UVM. Dad was polite, asking her some questions about her major and if she’d been to Italy. But mom knew and Tony knew she knew. Later, she asked him if this girl was special. He nodded. 

“She’s not Italian, you know,” Mom said.

Tony felt both pissed and oddly guilty at her comment. “I didn’t ask for her DNA, Mom.”

“If it lasts, then I’ll worry,” his mom sighed dramatically.

It lasted. Tony and Meghan had been inseparable for the last two years of college. They even traveled together for summer jobs before their senior year, first on an archaeology dig in Israel, then to Spain for an architecture seminar. He delighted in Meghan’s deep laugh and her ability to find joy everywhere. A new flavor of gelato. The dramatic ceiling in a church. The icy water of a cool fountain. 

He knew she was the one. Her hand fit perfectly in his, her curves fit his angles. They both liked single malt and craft beer. They were old souls together, reading poetry and exploring dusty museums.

They had their differences, too. He never understood why she needed to get her nails done, and it annoyed him she waited until the night before due dates to write her papers. He liked plans and predictability, and that wasn’t always Meghan’s strong suit. We can still be ourselves. Just stronger together, right?

A drawn squeal drew his eyes to the back of the room as the doors opened and little Mary walked in, concentrating with a furrowed brow, throwing clumps of pink rose petals onto the floor. His throat constricted and his breath caught.  

Tony looked at the ground. He couldn’t take the stares anymore. Maybe he and Meghan should have eloped. If he ran down the aisle, through the door, and grabbed Meghan’s hand now, they could run away into the dusky sky, just like their song said. He smiled at the thought of it.

Even looking at the ground, he noticed the lights dimming. His best man clapped his shoulder. “Don’t faint now, bro, but here comes the bride.”

Tony looked up.

***

The strains of “Ode to Joy” seeped around the hinges of the door. 

“Ready, honey?” Dad asked again.

Am I? Meghan didn’t trust herself to speak, but she looked at her dad, as he winked as he held out his elbow. 

The doors opened and her 8-year-old cousin Mary solemnly started the procession, trying her best to scatter her rose petals even as they ended up in clumps on the white runner. Her two bridesmaids, her best friends, followed Mary in their pale rose gowns with matching converse sneakers. Then her younger sister, Erin, turning to snap one last photo before stowing her phone and giving her sister a thumbs up. It was Meghan’s turn.

“Dad, I’m not sure about this,” Meghan confessed in a whisper.

“Right, it’s like jumping out of a plane,” her dad answered.

Meghan blinked at him. “A plane?”

“No one is ever ready for life’s big moments. Those things that only happen once. I think you just have to live it, shut your eyes, trust, and jump,” he said. 

Meghan tried to consider her dad’s advice, but the music, the perfume of the flower, the doubts, conspired to confuse her. She didn’t know what she felt. 

Dad leaned over, kissed his daughter, and whispered, “Do you want some more time? I could start a flash mob.”

Meghan stared at him as the words sunk in. Then she laughed as she imagined her dad trying to dance down the aisle. “How do you even know what that is?”

“I’m up on my TikToks, young lady.” He kissed her again. “Ready, honey?”

Meghan nodded, “Thanks, Dad.”

As the music swelled to their entrance timing, Dad offered his elbow and patted Meghan’s hand on top. “Now let’s go. I hear there is a magnificent feast awaiting us after this little stroll.”

Meghan’s eyes welled. “Yeah. Maple cream cheese frosting on the cake.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?”

Meghan bit her lips and started walking slowly, just like they practiced in rehearsal. I can do this. She clutched her dad’s arm and focused on reaching the justice of the peace under the flower-laden arch at the end of the aisle.

As she processed, she saw Aunt Patrice and Uncle Jed holding hands and nodding. Next came Tony’s friends from the rugby team, broad shoulders bumping into one another. She heard a totally inappropriate wolf whistle as she walked by, but it made her smile. Friends, family, and then Tony. As she neared, he looked up. Their eyes met.

Tony’s eyes opened wider as he viewed her in her dress for the first time. Meghan approved of his black dinner jacket snug across his broad shoulders. The energy flowed between them and with each step forward, the force increased. Like the pull of a magnet, Meghan drew closer and closer. Tony’s shoulders dropped, and he exhaled. Meghan’s grip on her dad’s arm relaxed. They held each other’s eyes. The rest of the room blurred into the background. Tony’s mouth opened into a wide smile. Meghan winked at him and smiled back. They didn’t need to run. They didn’t need to hide. It was their big moment, and it was perfect.