The Wedding Letters

by Jason F. Wright

  When I married Angela’s father there was never any question in my mind that it would be for forever, or until death do us part. I always thought my life would play out like a fairy tale from “Once upon a time” all the way to “Happily ever after.”

  Life doesn’t always go as planned. Some of the most difficult times of my life were during my first marriage. It was filled with yelling, heated discussions, name calling, long periods of silence and tears. It wasn’t always like that. For years we laughed; we enjoyed each other’s company. We were inseparable, and we were never afraid to express the love we had for one another.

  Things changed. The stresses of daily life began to take their toll. There was a child to raise, bills to pay, and careers to build. The problem became that we took care of all these other things instead of tending to our own relationship. The marriage failed.

  Don’t make the same mistakes I made. Learn from them. Put your relationship with each other first. Even after you have children, accept nothing less than being a priority to each other.

  You already know life is hard. Marriage is hard, too, and no marriage is perfect, no matter what you think. Every marriage has its ups and downs. The “Once upon a time” can end in “Happily ever after,” but it takes work, it takes compromise. It’s about give-and-take. It’s knowing that it won’t always be 50/50. It takes love, communication, a strong commitment, and knowing that at times there will be hurt feelings because we’re flawed and our words are sometimes flawed too. If you enter into your marriage knowing and accepting that each of you will make mistakes, then you will be armed with one of the most important gifts you can give each other: the power of forgiveness.

  If, through the years, you can forgive each other for being imperfect, then you will guarantee yourselves the opportunity to grow old together.

  I am so fortunate that I got a second chance at marriage with Shawn. I’ve learned to make every day count.

  Trust in each other and fight through the difficult times. There will be many. But at the end of the day, when you lay your heads down on your pillows, reach out across the bed and take each other’s hand and know that, despite the difficulties of the day, you are still one, still together—and together for the long haul. And finally, don’t ever be afraid to wear out the words, “I love you.”

  Congratulations!

  Samantha

  • • •

  Dear Noah and Rachel,

  This is the first Wedding Letter I’ve ever written, and I’m not really sure what to say. Isn’t that weird? I mean, I have my own book of them from my wedding day, and I’m still sitting here at my kitchen table trying to figure out what to say.

  I guess I envy you guys. That’s weird too. I am happy and I love my dear husband more than anything, but I still wish we could go back to the day you’re having now. It’s one of the few days in your life you will always remember. What you ate, who was there, who made the toast at dinner, who you danced with, what the food smelled like. I remember all of it.

  But then you get to the busy business of being married instead of getting married and things change. You work all day and then you come home and work some more to make a home and a family. You worry about money (which we have to constantly), and you fight about money (which we do sometimes). You try to build the best life for your children (which we try to do morning and night).

  But the beautiful thing about your wedding day is the why. Today is all about the why. Why you love each other, why you want to be together forever, why you’re getting married at the Inn, why Noah asked and why Rachel said yes. Enjoy the whys.

  A lot of my own Wedding Letters are gooey and filled with sweet thoughts about love and how perfect it all is. I wish I had a few that said how hard some days would be. That sometimes I would want to pack up my stuff and bundle up Taylor and come home to Mom and Shawn so they can take care of me. It’s OK to have those days; everyone has those days. Just make sure you have more of the other kind of days.

  The kind when, after a long day without seeing your husband or wife, you stand in the living room or kitchen or by the front door and just hang on to each other. You don’t have to talk about the day, or what’s bothering you, nothing. You just hang on to each other and remember what a blessing it is that God gave you someone to hang on to.

  Darn it, I got gooey when I didn’t mean to! I guess I’m Grandpa Jack’s granddaughter, huh?

  Congratulations, guys. I can’t wait to share this day with you.

  Love,

  Angie

  • • •

  Rachel and Noah,

  Anna Belle Prestwich—whom I presume you both know, otherwise this is an elaborate prank—has invited me to give you some advice.

  I’m divorced, as you may not have known or remembered, and I spend most of my waking hours preparing for our work together at the Department of Justice. It’s an adventure I cannot wait for our team to begin.

  It’s odd writing this letter to you and to a man I’ve not yet met. I do hope by the time you read this I will have made his acquaintance.

  My counsel for you comes from a song that was popular when you were in diapers. Andy Gibb recorded a song in 1977 about his new wife called “I Just Want to Be Your Everything.” The song has a line that I’ve always appreciated:

  “If you give a little more than you’re asking for, your love will turn the key.”

  In marriage you need to give a great deal. Be sure that you are doing enough, always giving more than you’re expecting. People speak and write about the best marriages being built on give-and-take. The key that opens that kind of relationship is pure love, and pure love comes from giving. If I’d done more of that, I might be married to a woman instead of to a dark office and a laptop.

  That is the advantage of friendships and mistakes. Because we are friends, I hope you may learn from mine. And you will likewise teach others down the road.

  As my mother used to say, “Always remember who you are and what you stand for.”

  John Fletcher

  • • •

  Dear Rachel and Noah,

  I write this letter from a restaurant in Phoenix. I have had this lovely stationery from your friend in my purse for a week or more but have not known what to write.

  I’ve come to dinner with a woman from my complex who was lonely tonight and asked if I would join her. But she saw two friends from her church and is now across the restaurant visiting with them. I do not mind. Being alone is something I’ve grown accustomed to.

  You’re getting married. The thought rarely leaves my mind these days. When Rachel’s father and I were married, we felt as if the world was telling us we had no choice. But we did have a choice, and we married because we were in love, very much so.

  I was expecting Rachel but if her father felt obligated to marry me, he didn’t show it. I believe he loved me then and I still believe it now. He did not always show it but when he did, he was kind and he was compassionate, particularly during our early years together.

  I loved him, too. He was handsome and a hard worker. He did not always enjoy the labor, and it was hard on him physically. But for most of our lives together, he put food on our table.

  He had other qualities to be certain and I tried to recognize and point them out. I hope you will do that with Rachel each and every day you are married. I don’t know when I stopped doing that with your father, but I did. That could that have been part of our ending.

  Being kind was not always easy. Rachel, you saw this. You saw that his anger was his undoing. I am not someone who prays. I have not been a woman who believed there was anyone listening. But, Rachel, I pray every day that Noah will not have a temper like your father did. If there is a God and if He loves you, He will see to it that you are not subjected to another angry man. I forgive your father for his anger fits. I forgive him for his lists. I do not and cannot forgive him for the way he treated you.

  I feel peaceful when I think of what your future will bring. I belie
ve Noah and his family to be good people. I know they have their own past, and so do we. But the future has no secrets.

  I wish for your health. I wish for your happiness. I wish that your father could see what you have become and the kind of man you have chosen to marry. I wish that Daniel would come home to me. To all of us. If we are lucky, he will join us on September 27 and celebrate the day with us.

  I have more to say but no more energy to say it. I love you, Rachel. I thank you for standing by me when I am difficult to stand by. I know I am often difficult to stand by.

  Congratulations,

  Stephanie Kaplan

  • • •

  Noah closed the book and looked at his mother. “Let’s do it.”

  Chapter 31

  34 Days to the Celebration

  Rachel left four messages for Daniel before he returned her call. He was apologetic, and though Rachel wanted to disbelieve and distrust, she couldn’t ignore the sincerity in his voice.

  “How have you been?” he asked.

  Rachel paced around her apartment in the same sweats she’d been wearing on the day she had left Noah in shambles. The television was muted, but she turned it off anyway. “Where are you calling from?”

  “I’m in town actually. I’m at the Mayflower.”

  With all the time to prepare for the call, she hadn’t been prepared to hear he was in the states, and certainly not just across the bridge in DC. “How long are you here?”

  “A few days. I’m arm wrestling with a Congressman. . . . Did you get my wire transfer for the last of your student loans?”

  Rachel resumed pacing and picked up the stuffed squirrel Noah had given her after their accidental meeting. “Yes, thank you.” She set the squirrel down. “I’m paid off. In the clear.” She picked up the squirrel again and moved it from one shelf to another. “I didn’t expect you to be so close.”

  “Honestly, Rachel, that played a role in me not calling sooner. I knew I’d be stateside and close enough for lunch or dinner, if you’re interested.”

  Am I interested? she thought.

  “That would be nice,” she said before she could talk herself out of it. “I have something I’d like to talk to you about.”

  Daniel was silent, and Rachel heard a woman’s voice in the background. “Sounds important,” he said and the background noise became an echo. “I can meet whenever you like, Rachel. Just tell me when and where.”

  They met in the lobby of the historic Mayflower hotel for breakfast the next morning. Daniel stepped out of an elevator wearing an Armani powerbroker suit, crisp blue shirt, and no tie. The ensemble made him feel strong and in control; he wore it often. His black hair was slicked back and graying at the temples, but as thick and full as ever. Rachel wore her favorite spring dress, one that made her feel more beautiful than anything she owned. She reminded herself in the mirror before leaving her apartment that she could stand to wear it every day.

  After a clumsy hug, Daniel kissed her awkwardly on the cheek. “You look amazing, Rachel, as always.”

  “Thank you.”

  He walked past the hostess and led them to a table in the furthest corner of the restaurant. “This all right?” he asked, and he pulled her chair out for her.

  She nodded, sat, and put her Blackberry on the table next to her silverware. She wasn’t sure if she wanted it to ring at some point or not, but seeing it there made her feel connected to something when the rest of the atmosphere seemed surreal.

  Daniel began the visit by making conversation so rote and uninteresting Rachel wasn’t sure it even qualified as small talk.

  After they’d ordered, Rachel used the break to change course. “You’re not here alone, I assume.”

  Daniel rearranged his napkin on his lap. “No, I’m not. My friend is here in town.”

  “You don’t have to call her a friend, Daniel. It’s been a long time, and I’m not a child.”

  “We’re not married, Rachel, and we’re more friends than anything. We take good care of each other.”

  “So how is she?” Rachel asked because she thought she was supposed to.

  “She’s good. She’s good.”

  “You know I’ve never met her.”

  Daniel studied her eyes. “Would you like to?”

  “I’d like that,” Rachel said with a firmness that surprised her so much that she said it again. “Yes, I’d like to meet her.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll call her when we’re done. She’s up in the room.”

  They both took drinks and settled their nerves. Then Rachel noticed Daniel angling for a better view of her ring finger. “You knew?” she asked.

  “About the wedding? Yes, I wrote a letter for the friend of yours, A&Something? I thought I might see a ring.”

  Rachel looked at her own finger and frowned involuntarily, exactly as she had more times than she could count since last weekend. “I meant to call and tell you myself.” She said the words without breaking her gaze away from her hand.

  “Don’t be embarrassed about it. I’m the last one who could file a complaint for not being kept in the loop.”

  Well that’s true, she thought.

  “Everything still set?”

  “Not exactly,” she said.

  “Do you need funds? Can I help?”

  “No. No money. It’s not that.” Rachel’s phone rang and she hit the ignore button without seeing who it was.

  Daniel slid the fresh flower arrangement between them to the side. “Is there something you want to talk about?”

  “There is,” said Rachel. “I’m not getting married. It’s . . . I called it off. . . . At least for now.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m sorry to hear that, but it happens. It happens all the time, so I’ve seen myself. Is it something that can be fixed?”

  Rachel sat a little straighter and tucked a rambunctious lock of hair behind her ear. “May I ask you something? Something blunt?”

  “Of course.”

  “When did you know about my mother?”

  “When did I know what about your mother?”

  “When did you know what she’d done?”

  “What she’d done?”

  “Yes, Daniel. When did you know about my real father?”

  Daniel took another drink of cranberry juice. While he wiped his mouth, Rachel retrieved a small stack of postcards bound in a rubber band from her purse. She placed them on the table.

  “She told you,” Daniel said.

  “She told me everything.”

  Daniel picked up the postcards and removed the rubber band. He flipped through them and remembered the places he’d been with an odd mix of pleasure and regret. “When did I know?” he said. “I knew after a few dates with your mother.”

  “She told you that soon?”

  “Of course. Those are things that come up in a conversation with someone who’s been married before. I hadn’t; she had.”

  “And you weren’t alarmed?” Rachel lowered her volume. “How? Why?”

  “Alarmed? She was a widow, Rachel. A lovely widow who’d been through a tough marriage and who had this precious daughter who missed her father. Sure, I was alarmed—I was alarmed at how alone you were.”

  The server arrived with Daniel’s omelet, croissant, and salsa and Rachel’s oatmeal with fresh fruit. They each offered a polite thank you and waited for the privacy to return.

  “You knew he’d died,” she said, fearing the truth was only half-told.

  “Yes, Rachel. . . . Are you all right?”

  She pushed her oatmeal away. “Did she tell you how he died?”

  “Of course,” he said. “It was an accident.”

  “What kind?”

  “He fell at work?” Daniel hadn’t meant for it to come out as a question.

  “Sure, he fell. But not at work, Daniel, at home. My parents fought and they both fell. But the fall didn’t kill him.”

  Daniel felt the hair on his neck come alive.

  “She killed him,
Daniel. She killed my father.”

  Daniel’s hands wanted to fumble with something and his eyes felt tempted to dart around the room. His stomach spun and churned, but he remained frozen, his upper body rigid, his muscles tense.

  “She killed him,” she said again.

  Hearing it twice doesn’t make it more true, he thought.

  “They had a fight, like they had plenty of times before, but this one was different. They struggled and she killed him. That’s all I know.”

  Daniel’s mind raced like a flipbook.

  “Daniel?”

  He fought through the paralyzed static and removed his glasses. He tucked them in his coat pocket and pulled at the corners of his forehead, tightening the wrinkles but loosening the tension. “I didn’t know, Rachel. I didn’t have any idea. I really didn’t.”

  “I don’t know whether to be sorry for you or angry. How could she keep this from us? How does she sleep?”

  “I think you know well enough that your mother has had more sleepless nights than both of us put together.” Daniel flashed through the memories of restless midnights, Stephanie’s winding and rambling bedtime conversations, her crying fits, and her chronic depression. He closed his eyes but could still see the vacancy in hers. “How did she . . . um . . . How did . . . Did no one know? Does no one know?”

  “Evidently not.”

  Daniel leaned in. “I didn’t know, Rachel. I couldn’t have kept that inside.”

  Rachel tapped the cards. “But you did know something, Daniel. You knew he’d passed away. You lied to me.”

  He made eye contact and allowed the words to spill out in a way that scared him. “I wish I could defend myself, Rachel. I wish more than anything in the world this moment wasn’t happening. I was uncomfortable, I was literally sick when I wrote the first card. I could barely breathe when I put it in the mailbox. I was out of the country, completely alone on some business trip. No one to talk to and no one to talk me out of it.” He picked up the cards and spun them over. “I carried it in my pocket for weeks. When I finally mailed it, I wasn’t even sure it would survive, it was so haggard and worn out already.” He flipped through the postcards until he spotted it: A well-traveled card boasting a picture of the Leaning Tower of Pisa on the front and a scribbled paragraph on the back.