by LETO, JULIE
Not until now.
Twenty-Four
“NO,” ANNE SAID.
Mike stared at her, his jaw lax. Okay, so he’d made a vow not to allow the concerts to interfere with the wedding. He’d repeated that promise several times since March, right before he’d scavenged through their storage space for his tent in order to reunite with Jeff, Amy, and several other Phishhead friends for the first of three Phish concerts on the East Coast.
Anne had worked her Ticketmaster magic and scored him a pair of tickets for all three shows despite the fact that the 8,000 seat venue sold out in less than a minute. He’d declared her a goddess and promised to follow her to the ends of the earth.
Under any other circumstances, he never would have asked for a codicil to their initial agreement. But sometimes, situations arose that called for flexibility.
“Anne, honey, you’ve got to understand,” he explained. “This is Red Rocks.”
She glared at him, making it clear that if Phish were performing the first-ever concert on the moon, she wouldn’t care. The shows he simply had to attend were scheduled for the week of the wedding. And if that wasn’t insult enough, they were in Morrison, Colorado, which wasn’t exactly a hop, skip, and jump from their venue at Rehoboth Beach.
“I can’t believe you’re asking me this,” she said, shaking her head as she walked into their kitchen and picked up her knife. The fact that she had been using the sharp implement to chop onions before he’d walked in didn’t make him feel any safer.
Or any less conflicted.
He was entirely aware that making a request to travel across the country the week of the wedding to attend a concert by the band whose new shows he’d attended six times since the reunion tour began was pushing her goodwill.
In June, when the band had played in Camden, New Jersey, he’d brought her with him so she could fully understand the experience. And she’d enjoyed herself, even if she had stopped short of conceding that Phish was the best band in the history of music. During that trip, his friends had discussed the pact they’d made years ago to attend any show held at the spectacular amphitheater in Red Rocks. She knew he wasn’t making that part up. She simply didn’t seem to care.
He snagged his laptop and pulled up the venue’s gallery of pictures.
“Look at this,” he begged.
“No,” she snapped.
“Just look at it,” he insisted.
“What difference will it make, Mike? I can’t move the wedding. I won’t move the wedding. I wouldn’t move the wedding unless there was a death in the family, which I suppose, under the current circumstances, is a distinct possibility.”
She waggled the knife and it took all his power not to laugh. Anne was formidable, but it was hard for her to look menacing with her glowing cheeks and soft, round eyes.
“Killing the groom will not solve your problem,” he said.
She glanced down his torso. “Who said I wanted to kill you?”
He winced. He’d walked right into that one.
“I’m not asking you to move the wedding. If I get tickets to the Thursday night show, I’ll be back in plenty of time for dinner Friday night. Just look at the pictures. It’s the most incredible—”
“Mike,” she interrupted. “Red Rocks isn’t a half hour by car from the beach. It’s in Colorado. Anything could happen to keep you from getting back in time. After all we went through to get a rabbi, design a half-dozen cakes, including one with a edible Sirus on top, create our own invitations and hell, take the pictures of the dog with the tennis balls shaped like numbers to use on the tables so she could ‘be there,’” she emphasized his words with the dreaded air quotes, “you want to put all our planning at risk in order to hear a band you’ve already seen six times this year? You’re nuts.”
He was nuts. Nuts about her and nuts about his band. Since their very first date, he’d tried to show her the depth of his Phish obsession, but she simply didn’t get it.
“My friends are all going, Anne. Jeff, who is my best man. Amy. Ben, who was there the night we met. They’re sticking to the pact. They’ve all promised to be back in time, but if I go, too, I can make sure they don’t miss a minute of what is going to be the most spectacular wedding in this century.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s the lamest argument I’ve ever heard.”
“Maybe,” he said, truthfully. “But it’s Red Rock, baby. I swear to you, I’ll make sure every detail is taken care of before I leave. If something happens with the airline, I’ll sell an organ and charter a plane back home. I made you a promise not to miss the wedding. I won’t break it, I swear.”
Anne set her knife down, which Mike took as a very good sign. Then after a painfully long minute, she sighed in defeat. When her soulful brown eyes met his, he saw myriad emotions swimming in their rich depths. Fear. Doubt. Confusion. But the one that skimmed to the surface when she reached across the counter to take his hand was trust.
“Don’t let me down, Michael.”
“I won’t,” he pledged, before quoting one of their favorite songs. “You can rely on me, honey.”
Anne’s gaze darted to the door of her hotel room. Her best friends in the universe, Shane, Adele, and Summer, whom she’d met back when they lived in Albany and who had hand sewn the chuppah they would use for tomorrow’s ceremony, sat on the bed, toasting the upcoming nuptials with white wine in plastic cups. In between sips, they finished tying up the programs and pouring the candy store-worth of sweets—all with some significance to either the wedding or her relationship with Mike—into big jars and bowls for the reception.
She’d bought chocolate balls wrapped to look like baseballs, Jelly Bellies in coconut and berry blue to match the white and blue colors of her dress and Mike’s suit and tie.
Then there were the blue and white gummy fish.
Or as Mike would call them, Phish.
On the dresser was the royal blue yarmulke she’d given him two years ago for Chanukah. She’d had the Phish logo silk-screened on the back in gold. She’d even agreed, shortly after their engagement, to let him wear it for the wedding.
Now, if he’d only show up, they could both say they hadn’t broken their promises.
Summer grabbed the sleeve of Anne’s pajama top and pulled her attention back to the group. “He’ll be here.”
“His plane should have landed an hour ago,” Anne said, glancing down at the cell phone she’d kept by her side all day. “He hasn’t answered the message I left him.”
Shane waved away her concern. “He probably forgot to turn the thing back on. Sweetie, he’d never let you down. Not like this. Not even for Phish.”
Anne wasn’t so sure, but when a knock sounded on the door twenty minutes later, she leapt off the bed so quickly that an entire container of butterscotch discs went flying across the mattress and Adele spilled the last of her wine.
Anne wrenched open the door to find Mike standing there looking travel worn, but ecstatic. He took her into his arms, spun her to the side and not only dipped her halfway to the ground, but kissed her until she thought she might faint.
“You’re back,” she muttered once he finally set her upright.
He wiggled his eyebrows. “Of course I’m back. Do you really think I’d miss marrying the woman of my dreams?”
“Not on purpose,” she said.
“Not even on accident. Now, let’s get this party started.”
That night, they had a cursory rehearsal, then met up with some of their wedding guests at the Dogfish Brew Pub. On Saturday morning, Anne and Mike stole away from the friends and family and hid themselves on the crowded beach, stretching a towel under the scorching sun with only the sound of the crashing waves and the laughter of nearby kids hampering their private conversation.
Avoiding everyone had been a handy trick, but Anne insisted that they spend some quality time together before the craziness truly began. Mike didn’t argue. He seemed just as determined as she was to steal some time
together before obligations divided their attention in a thousand different ways.
Now that he was safely back, Anne asked for the details about Mike’s trip. For the rest of her life, she didn’t think she’d ever hear anything more soothing than Michael when he was in the throes of enthusiasm for some topic, whether it was for music, politics, or especially, for her.
On Sunday, they had no time together at all. Anne wasn’t even sure what Mike and his groomsmen were doing while she and her friends went into beauty mode, having their hair and nails done, slathering makeup on their faces, and ensuring that the robin’s egg-blue bridesmaid dresses and her contemporary gown in pale white with swirls of azure were pressed and perfect. It wasn’t until she tried to adjust her lipstick in a mirror that she realized the lighting in the hotel room was suddenly inadequate for the task.
She glanced out the window and her stomach dropped to her feet.
Clouds.
Smoky and ominous, they were rolling in from the horizon.
“No!” she shouted. “Not rain!”
Nearly an hour before, Michael had noticed the change in weather. As the day progressed, the blue skies that had made Saturday so magical had dulled to a murky gray. His best man, Jeff, a friend from his earliest days of following Phish, stepped up to the window beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Think Anne’s noticed the change in weather?”
“I don’t hear screaming from her room,” he replied. His ears had been trained for the sound, or at least the ringing of his cell phone. She’d either remained silent because she hadn’t noticed— or she was too overwhelmed with other details of the wedding to worry about the sky opening up and dumping their guests with sheets of soaking rain.
“This doesn’t look good,” Jeff said.
Mike flipped on the television, amazed that a day that had started off so gorgeous that he’d convinced both Jeff and his father to join him for a daybreak swim had devolved into disaster.
Of all the things Anne wanted most for the wedding, a beach ceremony had been her fantasy. Unfortunately, the weather report confirmed that the storm barreling toward them wouldn’t pass until the prescribed ceremony time had come and gone.
“Crap,” he said.
Mike’s dad clucked his tongue dispiritedly. “Time for Plan B?”
“It could blow through,” Mike argued, but even his well-honed debate skills weren’t going to get them out of this one. He wanted Anne to have the wedding of her dreams, but while they’d micro-managed everything about this wedding, neither of them could influence the atmosphere.
“You can go for a rain delay,” Jeff offered.
Mike shook his head. “No, the important thing is that we get married, not where. I’m ready to go.”
“It’s four forty-five,” Dad announced. “The wedding is supposed to start at six o’clock. If you need to move everything indoors, the hotel has to know now. You could call Anne—”
Mike pulled out his cell phone and dialed. Though he’d taken care of every one of his responsibilities before flying off to Colorado for the concert, Anne had carried the bulk of the matrimonial burden up until now. He was glad to take his turn in making the best of this unexpected situation—but he couldn’t make a decision this monumental without consulting the woman he loved. “I’m going to prep her for the possibility. Then, we’ll wait fifteen more minutes. If the storm doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere, then we’ll pack it up and move it all inside. Agreed?”
By the time Anne’s father came to collect her, her blood was thrumming with a wild mixture of anticipation, relief, and peace. She tried to be upset about the cancellation of their outdoor wedding, but she couldn’t conjure enough indignation to care. She loved Mike. He loved her. They’d sacrificed, compromised, and surrendered their way into a partnership of souls that she never imagined could exist, not even back when Anne was buying an extra bedside table for her bedroom.
Just when she thought she couldn’t make another decision about anything, he took over. With his signature joie de vivre, Mike had made all the arrangements to transfer the wedding indoors.
The results were perfect.
In the room next to where their guests waited for the ceremony to begin, Anne, her parents, and her brother gathered with Mike’s immediate family and their wedding party for the signing of the ketubah. After the rabbi explained the significance of the document to the party, emphasizing the history of the marriage contract, they both signed.
Once the rabbi and the witnesses added their John Hancocks, Mike’s childhood friend, Matt, and his brother, Aaron, produced shot glasses and a bottle of Schnapps. They toasted their future before the wedding party and rabbi left with the chuppah, the traditional, four-pole canopy that Summer had sewn.
Anne held tight to her parents while Mike departed with his mother and father on each arm. He shot her one last look over his shoulder. Against his pale white suit and bright blue tie, his eyes seemed even more turquoise, even more intense—even more hypnotic and filled with unadulterated love.
In a matter of moments, they’d be man and wife.
His expression made no secret of his anticipation. She blew him a kiss to seal hers.
The ceremony was an eddy of emotion, tradition and laughter. By the time Michael turned to her to recite his vows, her entire body suffused with warmth. He took her hands and she couldn’t help but notice that despite the crazy stress of the wedding, the weather, and the crowd, his touch was entirely steady in hers.
By custom, she recited her vows first. Thanks to a faulty computer, the words she’d slaved over for weeks were trapped in the circuitry, so she had to go entirely off the cuff. With anyone else staring at her, she might have been nervous. But with Mike standing across from her, unconditional love radiating off his body, she had no trouble putting together what she wanted to say.
“You might not believe this, but the first thing that comes into my mind when I look at you tonight is that time we went to Target together and you started playing basketball in the aisle.”
The knowing laugh from the audience confirmed what she knew to be true: they’d gotten to this day because of how they complemented each other. His neat to her messy. His playful to her pragmatism. His crack organization skills with her boundless creativity. With these contrasting combinations, she knew they could face whatever curveballs life threw at them, from rainy weather to neurological disorders to deciding whether or not Sirus slept on her side of the bed or his.
“So on that note,” she said, taking his hands in hers. “I want to promise that I will always try to find you entertaining and I promise that I will always try to keep my sense of play because that’s what you bring out in me and is one of the greatest reasons that I love you.”
Despite the catch in her throat, she reached into the depths of her heart, remembering the moments when she’d leaned on him the most. “We’ve been through so much together. I had a profession that I loved that ended up not being a good fit anymore and I quit and went to grad school. You were there for me in ways I never imagined anyone ever could, so I promise that I will always do the same for you.”
She swallowed thickly, fighting to contain her emotion. She needed to lighten things up, so she decided to make a promise that Mike might not entirely believe, even if it was coming straight from her heart. “One of our biggest challenges we’ve faced was moving in together. Our styles are,” she said, aware of the increasing chuckling in the crowd, “different. So with everyone here as my witness, I want you to know that I will do my best to make our home as neat and as clean as I can, even beyond my abilities.”
As the crowd laughed, probably in disbelief—especially from her side of the aisle—she thought of the poem she’d selected to recite, but for the life of her, she couldn’t even remember the title. She focused on Michael, on his comfortable, casual smile, and said the most important part of her vows. “I just want to say thank-you for loving me the way you do and I promise to alw
ays, always love you.”
She was on the verge of tears, but luckily, Mike launched into his vows so that she didn’t have time to cry.
“Anne, in addition to the traditional promises that I have made today, I have three promises to make to you. First, if you promise to make the pancakes, I promise to always make the coffee.”
Anne laughed, but couldn’t cover her mouth because Mike was holding so tight to her fingers.
“Second, I promise to always put you ahead of everyone and everything in this world.”
Her eyes watered and at that moment, she knew that if she would have insisted, he would have skipped the concert in Colorado. But she was incredibly glad that she had not taken away his joy out of nerves or fear or selfishness. Instead, she’d earned another sliver of his love. She couldn’t ask for more, yet he went on, “Not even the forlorn eyes of a four-foot-tall Weimaraner can steer me wrong, with God as my witness.”
Anne’s eyes misted. All because he’d told her she was more important than a dog.
Weddings really were a torturous business. Beautiful, but torturous.
“And finally,” he said, giving her hands a tentative squeeze, “when you and I first moved in together, I knew that this was a huge decision. I also knew right then and there that I was not going to want to ever go back to being alone. So to paraphrase the great philosopher Homer J. Simpson, I’m gonna hug you, and kiss you, and then I’ll never be able to let you go. But I was afraid that you would not let me do so, but not only did you, but you have returned that feeling each and every day. So if you will let me, I will hold you, hug you, kiss you, and never let you go for the rest of our lives. You are my soul mate.”
The rest of the ceremony was a blur. The circling. The breaking glass. The shouts of mazel tov. Before she knew it, the DJ had turned on the Wilco song that she and Mike had chosen for their exit entitled, “I’m the Man Who Loves You.”
And now the world knew that he was—and that she loved him just as deeply in return.
They were married. Husband and wife. With each step they took toward the yichud room where they would, by Jewish tradition, spend the first few moments of their married life in seclusion, Anne realized that her entire life had changed—for the better.