By around 3 a.m., I knew exactly what I was going to do.
And it had nothing to do with saying anything to Margaret.
The next morning I called the photographer.
Her name was Lena.
“I need to change something about the wedding day,” I said. “And I need you not to mention it to anyone in his family. Not to his mother. Especially not to her.”
She was quiet for a second.
“Okay. Tell me.”
“I want another photographer.”
“We already have a second shooter.”
“I want one more angle.”
“For the ceremony?”
“For Nathan.”
Another pause.
“What exactly do you want covered?”
“Everything.”
I told her.
Nathan waiting at the back of the church.
Nathan holding out his arm.
Nathan counting if he counted.
Nathan’s hands.
His face.
Every step.
I wanted one photographer at the front covering us normally, and another positioned farther back or to the side focusing almost entirely on him.
Not just the walk.
The preparation beforehand.
The moment we reached Daniel.
The moment Nathan sat down.
All of it.
“And I want a separate album,” I said.
Lena was quiet.
Then, she said, “So you want the walk to be the wedding.”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I want.”
The extra coverage cost enough that I had to move money out of the flower budget.
I canceled two large reception arrangements and replaced them with smaller ones.
Nobody noticed.
Certainly not Margaret.
For the next three weeks, Nathan practiced.
He sent me updates.
“Twenty-two steps today.”
Then, “I forgot to slow down at the turn. Doing it again.”
Once he called Daniel.
“What hand do I use?”
“For what?”
“Handshake.”
“Right hand.”
“But Sarah is on my right.”
Daniel apparently spent five minutes explaining the logistics.
Nathan solved it himself.
“I let go of Sarah first.”
“Perfect.”
“I practiced.”
The morning of the wedding, I was calmer than I expected.
Until I saw Dad’s cufflinks.
Mom had brought them for Nathan.
Then I cried so hard my makeup artist had to leave the room.
Nathan got ready with Daniel and the groomsmen.
At some point, Daniel texted me a photo.
It was Nathan in his suit.
Hair combed flat.
Dad’s cufflinks visible.
His face more serious than I had ever seen it.
Underneath, Daniel wrote, “He has asked what time it is 11 times.”
I replied, “Tell him I haven’t escaped.”
A minute later, Daniel replied, “He says good.”
When it was time, I stood in the little side room at the back of the church.
Nathan came in.
He stopped when he saw me.
For a second, neither of us said anything.
Then, Nathan said, “You look like Mom’s wedding picture.”
That destroyed me more effectively than any compliment could have.
“You look like Dad,” I said.
He touched one cufflink.
“I know.”
