Wedding Day

This was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives. My little girl Sheila, all grown up and looking like a fairy with her feathery white dress. And Tom, her man, his stern face melting into a silly, boyish smile. Sheila was the only one who could make him smile like that. They looked at each other so tenderly, as if each was totally in awe of the other. Standing side by side at the front of the chapel, they were complete. He was her world and she was his. This was their day. I wasn’t about to ruin it for them.

What was I thinking? This was every mother’s dream. To see her daughter marry a good and handsome young man. It was all so perfect. The soft violin music. The cute little flower girls with purple ribbons in their hair. My late grandmother’s pearls dazzlingly white around Sheila’s neck.

My daughter had found the love of her life. But life is long.

Sheila and Tom exchanged vows, promising to have and to hold each other, till death came to part them. Sniffles were starting to erupt in the crowd. Even Reverend Brown had a tear in his eye. He had known Sheila since she could walk. And he had known my troubles too. He was there for it all—the marriage counselling, the separation, the divorce.

Everyone seemed taken in by the magic of the moment. I wished I could be like them, to be swept away by my daughter’s happiness, to forget for a little while.

But how could I? Not while he was here. I glanced out the corner of my eye to the man a sitting on the aisle. I could recognize his profile anywhere. He still had the same dark brown hair, though the temples were graying. The same crow’s feet and dimples too. Phil.

Of course Phil had to be here. He was Sheila’s dad. My husband of nearly sixteen years. He was also the man who had taken my teenage daughter away for half a year every year, whisking her off to his cramped Vancouver apartment where he lived with his artist girlfriend and their rabid Scottish terrier.

“May we have the rings?” said Reverend Brown.

I watched their hands. Sheila and Tom exchanged the rings, touching each other’s fingers with a delicate softness. I nearly melted. Such care and attention. When had I last felt a touch like that?

Reverend Brown was still speaking, one hand raised to heaven like Moses or some prophet of old, his voice trembling slightly with passion and energy.

“I therefore proclaim that they are husband and wife.”

They kissed.

Shouts and applause rippled through the chapel. Sheila and Tom looked out over the crowd, half delighted and half embarrassed to have an audience. Sheila caught my eye and laughed a little. I laughed too, and with that my tears finally came.

To share in such a simple thing, a smile and a laugh—somehow it meant more than I could have imagined.

To tell the truth I had dreaded this day. Dreaded the thought of my daughter being taken away. The thought of her marriage falling apart like mine. And the thought of seeing Phil again, probably with his new woman on his elbow.

But he hadn’t brought her. Was it out of respect for me? Or had she not cared enough to come? Maybe she was too busy photographing and painting unsuspecting joggers in Stanley Park in an attempt to produce something nearly resembling art.

Or maybe she left him. How fitting that would be. The idea brought with it the sweet taste of justice served. Then he’d be like me. Alone.

I had dated other men after Phil, but none of them really fit. None of them understood me, that I didn’t need them to buy me expensive clothes or to do things for me. I just needed them to be there.

Reverend Brown was speaking again and I listened in. He had Sheila and Tom join hands. “Those whom God has joined together let no one put asunder.”

The words struck like a death knell.

I almost gasped, the breath catching partway in my throat. Those words. Their edges were sharp, and they were directed right at me, catching me unaware.

Had Phil heard them too? He was as much to blame for our sundering as I was. I snuck another glance at him. He didn’t seem to have noticed. Still gazing at the happy couple, still smiling.

Sheila and Tom were kneeling now and Reverend Brown was pronouncing a blessing. I was afraid that if I listened to the words, I’d hear something else about me.

But the reverend’s voice was too commanding to ignore.

“Bless them in their work and in their companionship.”

He paused between each phrase for what seemed like a lifetime.

“Awake and asleep.”

“In joy and in sorrow.”

“In life and in death.”

Indeed. Bless them, God. Bless them in a way you never blessed me.

We all sealed the blessing together with “Amen.” And I meant it.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Phil lean back in his seat and turn his head in my direction. What was he doing? Was he trying to get my attention?

Confused, I met his gaze. He gave me a smile, warm and kind. Was that a tear in his eye? His green eyes. I remembered now what they looked like. Like an evergreen forest, catching the sunrise. I felt I couldn’t turn away. He held me there with those eyes.

What gave him the right to look at me like that, after everything he did? He had no right. And I had no right to let him. But I did.

I don’t know how long it lasted. I kept thinking he would turn away soon. But he kept on smiling.

I smiled back, in spite of myself.

And something welled up inside of me. What was it? Affection? No. Regret? Definitely not. It was something else. A quiet warmth, the peace you get when you’re just enjoying the moment.

No, this was not happening. What was this anyway? Nothing.

I looked away. What was I doing? This day wasn’t about me and Phil anyway. It was about Sheila and Tom. Their happiness. Their new life.

I tried to focus back on Reverend Brown’s voice, but I couldn’t seem to. There were too many thoughts swirling around in my head. What was Phil thinking? Coming here and making eyes at me? Maybe I was misinterpreting things. He was just being friendly. If we couldn’t be friendly on today of all days, when could we? We all stood and said, “Amen” again and the ceremony was over.

Sheila and Tom left the chapel to more cheers and applause. They were off to take photographs before the reception. I watched them go, arm in arm. And that’s when the tears really started flowing, streaming down my face. People were starting to mingle but I was rooted to the spot. My little girl. She was gone, just like that.

I was fumbling in my purse for a tissue when I heard my name.

“Rachel.”

I looked up, tears still clouding my vision. But I knew it was Phil. He was closer now, holding out his handkerchief to me.

I took it without a word and began wiping my face dry. He didn’t have to say my name like that. Nobody called me Rachel. I was Ms. Nelson to my twelve-grade English students and Rae to my friends. I’d even told my other boyfriends to call me Rae. But to Phil I was still Rachel. Like no time had passed.

“Rachel,” he said again. As if he thought I hadn’t heard it the first time.

“Phil,” I replied, returning the handkerchief.

He held up a hand. “No, that’s all right. Keep it for now.”

You need it more than I do. Is that what he meant to say? What was that supposed to mean?

I kept the handkerchief.

“You look lovely,” he said. “You haven’t changed at all.”

“I dye my hair. You’re looking a bit gray,” I said, unable to stop a slight smile.

Phil smiled too. “You got me there. I still can’t believe our girl is all grown up. The time has gone by like nothing.”

Time does go too quickly. It’s even quicker when your daughter is growing before your eyes and she’s away for six months of the year. “Yes, it has,” I agreed.

“How have you been? We haven’t spoken in ages,” he said, sliding his hands into his pockets casually. “There’s some time before we’re needed for photos. Did you want to grab a coffee?”

I almost laughed. “Dressed like this? You must be crazy. Me in a dress and you in your three-piece suit?”

“What, you don’t want the world to see you looking fine? Well, I’m afraid your secret’s already out, my dear. You never had anybody fooled.”

“Well, after a compliment like that—”

“It’ll be just like old times.”

I gave him a hard look. “Things are different now, Phil.”

“I know,” he said more solemnly. “It’s just coffee.”

Just coffee. It better be.

“All right,” I said.

He offered me his arm like a gentleman and I took it.

We found our way through the chapel doors and down the front steps. I didn’t try to guess what onlookers were thinking. My sister would have had a fit seeing me arm in arm with Phil again. My father, rest his soul, would have gone to his car to retrieve a shotgun.

The clouds had disappeared and the sun was shining warmly that afternoon. What a perfect day for a wedding.

The elementary school next door was just about to let out, so there were parents in parked cars everywhere. We hurried across the road, almost skipping across to get out of the way of an approaching vehicle. The driver honked.

It felt strange being with Phil again. It was very familiar, comforting almost. But it wasn’t the same. Too much had happened. Too many heated arguments and misunderstandings. Too many nights going to bed feeling angry or dejected or empty.

Before long we were seated at an outside table of a little coffee shop squeezed in between a florist and a laundromat. The aroma was all coffee grounds. I sipped on my cappuccino. Phil got his standard cup of coffee, one cream, no sugar.

“So how’s teaching going?” Phil asked. “Is that principal of yours still giving you trouble? What’s his name, Jenkins, Jefferson?”

“Jensen. He moved to another high school four years ago,” I said. “And he wasn’t that bad. We eventually came to an understanding.”

Phil raised his eyebrows. “What kind of understanding?”

I smiled. “He stopped pushing new technology on me, and I stopped asking him to remind me how to use it.”

“Ah, I see.” There was a twinkle in his eye. “You never liked fiddling with computers, did you?”

“Neither did you from what I remember.”

“I still don’t. But I’ve gotten better these days.”

“How’s work at the law firm?”

“Less busy. I’ve been working fewer hours. Practicing something they call self-care.”

“Self-care?” Right. Phil had never lacked that. It was caring for others that he needed to learn.

“That’s right. Well, balance is probably a better word. I was never good at balancing my time when we were married, was I?”

I decided to be a little bold. “Balance is good. But I like the word priority even better. It forces you to put something first, before everything else.”

“Something, or someone?”

Oh, he was bold too. I looked away and took another sip of my cappuccino. When I looked back he was staring at me again with those big green eyes.

“Rachel, I’m sorry—”

“How’s Heather?” I said quickly. “Your wife.” As if he needed a reminder.

Phil turned a shade lighter and exhaled slowly. Was he feeling convicted? Ashamed of himself? Well maybe he should.

He spoke slowly. “She died. The cancer came back. I’m sorry, I thought I would have told you. A year and two months ago.”

A heaviness descended on me. Embarrassment too. Why hadn’t I known? Had he sent me a note, but I ignored it? I had spent so much time in my own head, thinking about the same old hurts again and again.

“I’m so sorry, Phil,” I said, unable to think of anything else to say but the cliché condolence. “I don’t know why Sheila didn’t mention it to me.”

“It’s all right,” he said, looking down. He sipped on his coffee. “It’s in the past.”

“That must have been so hard.”

He nodded slightly. “It was a rough few months, that’s true. In and out for tests and treatments. And then the hospitalization.”

I started to reach for his hand, but thought better of it. Phil noticed, but said nothing. Moments passed. How could I have been so oblivious? So cavalier even? I had assumed too much. Phil knew what I knew—what it was like to be alone. But he knew things I didn’t as well.

This time I did take his hand. A human touch. It was almost all I could offer. “If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

“Thank you, Rachel.” He gave a half-smile. “It’s enough that you know. And that you’re here with me.”

We sat in silence. There was something oddly satisfying about just sitting there. Like it was the right thing to do. There was a peace about it. Cars passed by. There was the occasional group of elementary school students walking past, chattering away. But otherwise it was quiet. I could hear my own breath, coming in and going out, and his breath to match it. I felt content, just resting in that moment.

“Sheila looked beautiful today,” he said finally, breaking the silence. “Like her mother.”

She had looked beautiful, hadn’t she? Our daughter, Sheila. When was the last time all three of us were together?

I let go of Phil’s hand slowly and our eyes met.

This day had brought with it so many unexpected moments. Somehow I didn’t know what to think anymore or how to feel.

“Phil?” I almost whispered it, like I was telling a secret.

He replied just as quietly. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry too. About everything.”

Phil nodded. “We made a mess of things, didn’t we?”

“We did.”

What more was there to say? Maybe if we had been older or wiser, things would have been different. But the past was the past. There was nothing we could do to change that.

Phil looked at his watch.

“We should join the wedding party for pictures. It’s almost time.”

“Yes, we should,” I said. I didn’t get up.

Phil stood and offered me his arm. I ignored him, lost in my thoughts again. Lost in better times.

“Phil, do you remember our wedding day?”

He wrinkled his forehead. “What?”

“Our wedding day. Do you remember it?”

“Of course I do. Most of it. Well, I remember being very nervous. But it all blurs together now.”

“I know what you mean. I hardly remember the ceremony. But I do remember—it sounds silly to say—I remember your eyes. The way you looked at me when I came down the aisle. It was lovely. I could never forget it.”

Phil softened. “Rachel, I wish I could have always looked at you that way.”

I stood and met his gaze. “You did today.”

The way he said my name. Softly, tenderly. He could have said, “I love you.” It would have sounded the same to me.

I never thought I would give Phil and myself the chance to make things up. I had put him out of my mind. Shut off communication. For years I had promised myself I would never speak to him. Never entertain the possibility of mending what was broken. But then today came. Just coffee. Right. This would never have happened without coffee.

I knew I should have turned him down. Then I could have gone on with my normal life, with all my old feelings, the old wounds. But I’d said yes. I’d held his hand. I’d looked into his eyes. And I’d sat with him and felt his hurt.

We must have been quite the sight, a couple dressed to the nines, waltzing through town one sunny afternoon, on a school day.

I took Phil’s arm again and smiled. I couldn’t stop myself. By then it was too late.