“And you’re the famous Becky.” Jill sticks her hand out, but Becky ignores it, pulling her into a hug. Jill laughs and my heart grows even bigger.
I never imagined I would have a wedding, but I’m grateful for every perfectly imperfect detail. CeCe hands me the bouquet before stepping out the back door behind Becky and Jill.
The backyard has been transformed into a perfect little oasis. The lantern lights are glowing overhead and wooden chairs I recognize from The Broken Crown are set up in a half circle with a little part in the middle for us to walk through. Beyond them, they’ve even managed to put together a makeshift chuppah by draping a white tablecloth over four wooden poles.
After Jill and Becky have taken their seats, CeCe starts walking down the aisle, slow and steady the way she did at Jack and Blake’s wedding. I know I’m supposed to follow her, but I can’t make my legs move.
CeCe turns back after she realizes I’m not right behind her. “Mom?”
“I’m okay.”
I compose myself and take one step forward, then another. I keep moving, toward Tommy, who is standing tall next to Blake. His oxygen bag is beside him, but his wheelchair is off to the side. My eyes scan the faces, all looking at me. Becky and Jill, Abigail and Beau, Lou and Jack.
Somehow, my legs move me forward, and Blake greets me with a kiss on the cheek.
CeCe takes a seat next to Beau, but it doesn’t feel right. “Up here.” I nod toward my right. She blushes but doesn’t protest.
Once she’s beside me, Tommy reaches out and takes both my hands in his.
“We are gathered here today,” Blake says, “to witness the union of Tommy and Alexis in holy matrimony.”
“It’s about damn time,” Jack calls out.
Jill shushes him, but the rest of us laugh.
“In holy matrimony,” Blake continues, “which is an honorable estate that is not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently and soberly.”
He looks at us both and we nod in agreement.
“Tommy, repeat after me. ‘I, Thomas Jacob Whistler, take you, Alexis Leah Gold, to be my lawful wedded wife.’”
“I, Thomas Jacob Whistler, take you, Alexis Leah Gold, to be my lawful wedded wife.”
“‘To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health,’” Blake says.
In sickness, yes. But it’s too late for health.
“To have and to hold from this day forward,” Tommy says. “For better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness”—he pauses to take an ironic breath—“and health.”
“‘To love, honor, and cherish till . . .’” Blake’s voice falls off at the end of the line we all knew was coming. I should have written vows for us to say.
But when Tommy repeats Blake’s words, he doesn’t stop. He keeps me grounded in this moment like he has in all the other moments since he came back into my life. I love this man with every fiber of my being.
“Till death do us part,” he says firmly.
“Lexie,” Blake says. “Repeat after me.”
“I think I’ve got it,” I say. I take a deep breath and recite the words I never thought I’d be saying. “I, Alexis Leah Gold, take you, Thomas Jacob Whistler, to be my lawful wedded husband; to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. To love, honor, and cherish until I take my last breath.”
I hear a cry that I assume is coming from Becky or Jill, but I don’t take my eyes off of Tommy’s to find out.
“Do you have rings?” Blake asks me, momentarily breaking out of character. Someone laughs and I’m grateful for the brief comic relief. This is all so clearly unrehearsed.
“Jill?” I ask.
She steps forward and hands me the two simple white-gold bands she helped me pick out along with CeCe’s earrings. I give my ring to Tommy.
He repeats the words after Blake, but it feels like it’s just the two of us.
“Lexie, I give you this ring as a symbol of our vows; with all that I am and all that I have—” Tommy’s voice breaks and this time, I’m the strong one. I rub my thumbs over the back of his hand and wait until he’s ready to go on. “I honor you. With this ring, I thee wed.”
He slips the ring on my finger, where it fits perfectly on top of the one he gave me just moments ago. Now it’s my turn.
“Tommy, I give you this ring as a symbol of our vows; with all that I am and all that I have, I honor you. With this ring, I thee wed.”
The ring slides on his finger too easily. His hands are so thin now, just like the rest of him. I went down one ring size for him, but I should have gone down two or three.
“Ladies and gentlemen, by the power granted to me by the World Wide Web, I now pronounce you man and wife,” Blake says. “And daughter.”
Tommy and I both look back toward CeCe, whose glasses are fogged with tears.
“You may kiss the bride.”
As Tommy and I kiss, our small group of witnesses applaud. I pull him into my arms and hug him tight.
“Thank you,” he whispers in my ear.
“No, thank you.” I pull back and kiss him again. My husband.
“Wait, the glass!” Jill says. I swear she pays more attention to the Jewish stuff than I do.
She hands Blake a wineglass wrapped in a cloth napkin that he places on the ground. I hold Tommy’s hand as he lifts his foot and brings it down, shattering the glass into a dozen pieces.
“Mazel tov!” everyone shouts.
I remember learning something about this tradition in one of the few Sunday school classes I attended as a kid. It had to do with reminding the happy couple in this moment of joy that life holds sorrow as well.
That’s one reminder I don’t need.
Chapter Forty-Eight
CeCe
My parents are slow dancing to “It Had to Be You,” which has always been their song. They’re just swaying back and forth, nothing fancy like the choreographed dances that go viral, but I think it might be the best first dance I’ve ever seen.
“Is that him?” Becky whispers, her eyes darting toward Beau.
“She told you?” Just when I was starting to think there might be hope for my mom and me to have a semi-normal relationship, she had to blab her big mouth.
“She didn’t tell me anything,” Becky says. “But he hasn’t taken his eyes off you.”
I look toward the other end of the table and sure enough, Beau is staring at me with puppy-dog eyes, which would be a little annoying if it weren’t so cute. We’ve had to slow things down more than a little now that our parents know there’s something to be looking out for.
He smiles, and I smile before turning back to Becky. “Yeah, well.”
“Good for you, girlfriend.”
“My mom freaked when she found out.”
“Parents,” Becky says. “They just don’t get what it’s like to be young and in love.”
“Tell me about it.”
I look at Beau, who is still looking at me, then back at my parents, who seem to only have eyes for each other. I wonder if I’ll ever feel that way about someone. If I do, I won’t wait until it’s almost too late to get married.
I can feel Beau’s eyes on me.
Maybe we can share one slow dance without it feeling too weird.
Dancing at my parents’ wedding with the guy my mom doesn’t want me to date—now, that’ll be good to have in my emotional arsenal. Since I started reading the book Monica gave me, I’m trying really hard to absorb every moment. Because the more I live, the more experiences I’ll have to borrow from.
The song ends, and everyone claps.
“Ceese,” Dad says. I get up and grab his wheelchair, but he stops me. “Not yet, just come here.”
Aunt Becky seems to know what’s going on, because she stands off to the side with her camera taking a video. My stomach drops and I’m suddenly nervous. I walk closer to him and loo
k up into his eyes, one blue and one brown, which are the only part of him that still looks like him. But then I see his smile and I realize no matter what he looks like, he’s still my dad.
“May I have this dance?” he asks.
I hiccup back a sob and nod. A song I recognize starts playing. I think it’s called “Isn’t She Lovely,” but I don’t remember who sings it. My dad reaches for my hand and pulls me close. With my face buried in his chest, I breathe in his scent and try to memorize this moment so I can think about it on my wedding day.
It hits me then: that’s probably what he had in mind the whole time. That’s why Becky is filming this. A tear slips from my eye and it’s like my dad knows. He kisses the top of my head as we keep swaying back and forth.
When the song is over, he kisses my cheek and thanks me. I move my lips to thank him, too, but no words come out.
ONCE I’VE COLLECTED myself and everyone is sitting back around the table, I raise my glass and clink my fork against it like people do in the movies. Everyone stops talking and looks at me.
“Most kids don’t get to be at their parents’ wedding, much less be their mom’s maid of honor,” I say. “But since I’m here, I want to say a few words.”
I push my glasses up and take the folded piece of paper out from under my plate, where I tucked it earlier. “My whole life, I wondered why my parents weren’t married. It wasn’t normal. But then I realized, what they have isn’t normal. It’s better than that.” My voice starts to crack, but I don’t stop. “Thank you for loving each other and for loving me and for finally making our family official. To the bride and groom, my mom and dad.”
I lift my glass toward them and take a sip of the champagne they let us all have to celebrate.
“Time for the cake!” Aunt Jill says.
Aunt Jill sets the cake down in front of my parents and their eyes get all wide like they can’t believe it. I can’t blame them—it is pretty amazing. Lou helped me a lot, obviously, but she let me decide what it should look like. Since there weren’t that many people going to be here, we used a ten-inch cake as the base. There’s an eight-inch cake on top of that, and a four-inch one at the very top.
Lou told me it’s tradition for brides and grooms to freeze the top tier so they can eat it again on their one-year anniversary. I know enough to know that won’t be happening, but we might save it anyway. In case of a miracle or something.
There’s a miniature bride and groom on top of the cake—Lou had a whole collection of them, like a toy box filled with Barbie dolls, in all different styles. I picked a Caucasian bride with brown hair for Mom, and a bald Caucasian guy for Dad.
We decided to keep the icing simple, and I just piped around the edges with a round tip. We used real flowers, yellow-and-red roses to match Mom’s bouquet. Lou helped me strategically place three of them on the bottom tier and two on the middle tier to add a little extra oomph.
She could have done something fancier, but I wanted to stick with a design I knew I could do an okay job with. It wouldn’t have been the same if Lou had done it, and I wanted it to look as close to perfect as possible.
I catch Mom’s eye just as she and Dad bring the knife down to make a cut on the first tier. She mouths thank you, and I smile.
“Feed your bride,” Jack says. “It’s tradition.”
Dad shoots him a playful look, and for a second, this all feels completely normal. Mom is shaking her head no, but Dad breaks a piece off and feeds it to her. She looks embarrassed, but I can tell she’s loving it.
Dad can tell, too. He laughs, a big, deep laugh that I’m worried will turn into a coughing fit, but luckily it doesn’t.
Mom takes advantage of his open mouth and shoves a bite inside. She misses a little, on purpose, I think, and it looks like he has an icing goatee.
“Cecelia,” Dad says. “Come here.”
I walk over and bend down to his level, expecting a compliment about the cake and maybe a kiss on the cheek. But instead, he smashes a piece of the cake in my face before I even have a chance to open my mouth.
“Hey!” I step back, wiping icing from my lips.
“It’s delicious,” he says and for one brief moment, all is right with the world.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Alexis
Slide over,” I whisper, crawling into the hospital bed that’s turned our living room into a dying room.
“What are you doing?” Tommy asks through a yawn.
“It’s lonely upstairs.”
Tommy lifts his arm and I curl into his side, my head on his chest, the way we’ve lain for thousands of nights together. My head rises and falls along with his chest, and I try to block out the hollow rattle. His breaths are getting harder and harder to take.
I can’t.
I prop my arm up and lean my head against my hand so I can look down at him. My husband.
In the week since the wedding, not much has changed. I don’t know what I expected to be different—we have a daughter, a house, a life together. We’ve practically been married for the last fifteen years. We would have been, if I hadn’t been so damn stubborn.
Tommy reaches up and brushes his hand over my cheek. “What are you looking at?”
“My husband.” The word feels strange on my lips, but I like it.
“My wife,” Tommy says.
“I would hate us if we weren’t us,” I say. “So cheesy.”
“Mmm, cheese.”
I laugh. “You want some?”
“Nah, you’d have to get out of bed. And I like having you here with me.”
“It’ll just take a minute.” I pull the blanket back and climb out of the hospital bed that isn’t meant for two.
Tiptoeing into the kitchen, I quietly open the fridge. It feels like we’re sneaking around, although there’s nothing wrong with eating cheese in bed with my husband. My husband. I’m too old to swoon, but I can’t help myself.
I slide the cheese drawer open and consider the options, grabbing two sticks of string cheese before going back to my husband.
Turning the corner into the living room, I wave the cheese sticks around like they’re the glow sticks people dance with at those raves Becky goes to.
“Tommy?” I whisper when he doesn’t react. “Babe?” I hold my breath and lean closer until I see his chest rise ever so slightly. He’s just asleep. Thank god.
I put the string cheese on the coffee table and climb back in bed next to him. I yawn and reluctantly close my eyes.
Sometime later, I feel his hand on my shoulder, his breath in my ear. “I missed the cheese.”
“Hmm?” I mumble, not fully awake.
“The cheese. I’m sorry.”
I open my eyes and turn to face him. It’s not quite morning yet; the room is still dark. “It’s still here if you want it.” He shakes his head and I reach out to stroke his cheek, the stubble rough against my fingers. “Can I get you something else?”
“All of the papers, everything you’ll need is in the top left drawer of my office at home. For the house, insurance, my will.”
“We don’t have to talk about this now.”
“I think we do.”
My breath catches in my throat. “I’m not ready.”
“What was the quote Gran had embroidered on that pillow?” he asks before taking a labored breath. “‘You’re braver than you think, stronger than you seem’?”
I smile at his mention of my grandmother. I’m not sure how much of the heaven story I believe, but I hope she’ll be there to greet him, wherever he’s going.
But he’s wrong, I’m not strong. I lean down and kiss his lips. “You’re the strong one.” I kiss him again. “You’re the brave one, the kind one.” Another kiss. “You’re the calm one, and the patient one.”
He lifts his hand, bringing his finger to my lips, stopping me. “I’m also the selfish and the stubborn one,” he says. “But I guess love filters the way you see people.”
“I’m pretty sure every
one who knows you would agree with me,” I tell him. “Then again, to know you is to love you.”
“Oh, stop,” Tommy says with a smile.
“I believe you told me once that the proper response to a compliment is to say thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He kisses my forehead and I try to memorize the way it feels, his lips on my skin, his hand on my hip.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do without you,” I whisper. “It’s not fair that I have to go on without you.”
“You’re right,” Tommy says. The softness is gone from his voice and it chills me to the core. “None of this is fair—it’s not fair that I won’t be able to grow old and gray with you. That I’m going to miss seeing the amazing woman CeCe’s on her way to becoming. It’s not fair that I won’t be here to play with our grandchildren and laugh about how much they remind us of CeCe at their age. None of it’s fair.”
The tears I’ve been holding back come crashing down in fits and waves. I give up trying to control them and let my body shake with grief. Tommy pulls me closer, running his hands over my hair, trying to comfort me when I should be comforting him. “Shhh,” he says as he rocks me back and forth like a baby. “Shhh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
He holds me until my tears run dry and my head hurts as much as my heart does. “I’m sorry,” I tell him this time. I wipe snot away from my nose, hoping this isn’t the last picture he’ll have of me in his mind. “I told you I was the selfish one.”
Tommy brushes the tears from my cheeks. “You’re the only one. My only one.” He kisses my eyes, then both sides of my face before his lips find mine. His kisses are hungry in a way they were when we were young and in love and thought we had forever.
I still want forever.
Chapter Fifty
Alexis
Where’re we going?” Tommy asks as Beau helps him into the passenger seat.
“Patience, Dad,” CeCe says. She slides over to make room for Beau, who’s riding with us. Jill and Abigail are meeting us there since Jill had to stop by the café first.
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