Chapter 5
Jane
D ue to my lack of family and limited number of friends, I haven’t been to a ton of weddings. Perhaps my own wedding would be less overwhelming if I had.
Or maybe not.
“Where are you going for your honeymoon?” asks one of Evan’s aunts. I’m pretty sure her name is Doreen, but I’m not entirely certain.
“We’re not going on a honeymoon,” I say. “The wedding, the new house—it was expensive enough.” I’m not great at making casual conversation with people I barely know, but I do my best.
“You don’t have to go anywhere fancy. After all, you might end up spending most of your time in the room.”
I stiffen—and I don’t think that’s different from the reaction I’d have if Evan and I were actually sleeping together. It’s still a weird thing to hear from his aunt!
“Doreen.” Lynne is suddenly at my side. “Don’t make her uncomfortable.”
She also swooped in to save me from Gladys, who seems unimpressed that we’re just having a light lunch, not a full Chinese banquet.
But I can’t say I’m disappointed with our simple wedding. About fifty people—half friends, half Evan’s family. A little mingling outside after the outdoor ceremony, and in a few minutes, we’ll eat under the tent.
Lynne also made a point of mentioning that Gladys is always complaining and I shouldn’t take anything she says personally.
I feel a tug on my skirt and look down.
“You’re so pretty!” says the little boy. “Like a princess.”
“Why thank you, Nolan.” I crouch down to speak to him. There are only two children at the wedding: Nolan, the son of Evan’s cousin and her wife, plus the baby daughter of two of Evan’s friends.
“Are we going to eat soon? I’m hungry.”
“Sorry.” Isobel—Evan’s cousin—jumps in. “Don’t worry, he’s not starving. He just had Goldfish crackers, but he’s excited about the cake.”
“I think we’ll be eating very soon,” I say.
“Can I sit beside you?” Nolan asks.
“No, she’s sitting at another table,” Isobel says, “but we’ll have Auntie Jane and Uncle Evan over for dinner later this summer, okay?” She smiles at me.
Auntie Jane. I’ve never been anyone’s auntie before.
Technically, I’m his mother’s cousin’s wife, but I’m an adult in this child’s life. Of his seven first cousins—five on his dad’s side and two on his mom’s—Evan is closest to Isobel, so I expect to see Nolan at more than the occasional wedding or holiday.
As Isobel leads him away to clean his hands in preparation for lunch, I think of my absent family. Evan’s American relatives flew in for the wedding. Only from Philadelphia, which isn’t a long flight, but still. They’re here, and my father isn’t.
“Hey.” Evan touches my shoulder. “How are you? Is my family overwhelming?”
He’s wearing a gray tux that I helped him pick out. His tie has become the tiniest bit crooked since the ceremony, and I reach up to fix it.
“No,” I say. “Nolan just said I look like a princess.”
“You do.”
Lana and Camila approach us. Lana is wearing a wide-legged purple jumpsuit—with her long legs, it looks much better on her than it would on me—and Camila is decked out in a blue cocktail dress.
“Hey, you two lovebirds,” Lana says. “How does it feel to be married?”
“Good,” I say. “Very good.”
But I swear Evan’s smile slips a fraction of an inch before he wraps his arm around me and echoes my words.
Or perhaps I imagined it.
There’s no long head table for lunch: Evan and I are seated at a round table with his parents, his brothers and their girlfriends, and Claudia. We start with a seasonal salad, followed by lemon roasted chicken, and then it’s time to cut the wedding cake.
Although Evan and I didn’t bother with speeches and dances, we both wanted to have a cake, and we were both in agreement that we cared more about the taste than the appearance. There’s no fondant, just swirls of vanilla buttercream with a few artfully placed buttercream flowers. The bottom cake is chocolate; the top cake is vanilla with a raspberry filling.
The cake was wheeled into the tent earlier, and now, I stand up and grab the provided knife. Evan places his left hand over my right hand. It feels strange to cut a cake while someone else is touching me, but I manage to cut a slice of the top cake. He breaks off a tiny piece and holds it to my lips. I open my mouth, and my lips graze his fingers.
Mm.
Feeding each other cake feels rather performative—like our kiss at the end of the ceremony—but I’m happy to do it.
And when someone from the venue starts serving up the cake, I take the first chocolate slice and walk it over to Nolan, and everyone laughs.
By four o’clock, the reception is officially over, and we thank everyone for coming before they head home. Claudia gathers up the guestbook and gifts—nearly all envelopes—and we head home in the limo with the boxed-up cake.
Home.
I’m still getting used to the idea that this house is now o urs .
In my bedroom, I take off my dress but leave my hair and makeup. When I step into the kitchen, Evan and Claudia are already there, wearing casual clothes. The two of them are taking apart my bouquet and putting the flowers in vases—I’d mentioned that I want to keep the flowers—and they’re laughing about something or other.
“What do you think?” He gestures toward a vase with pink and white roses, and I chuckle when he does jazz hands.
“Looks good,” I say.
“You hungry? Anyone need more than cake tonight?”
“Actually, I’m a little hungry.”
Nobody is in the mood to cook, so we order pizza to our new house for the second time.
After I remove the pins from my hair and wash it—I need to get out all the hairspray—I walk into Evan’s bedroom, since the door is open. I’m wearing a loose T-shirt and pajama shorts, no bra, and it feels normal to be around him like this.
Evan is sitting at the end of his bed, and he’s also in a T-shirt and shorts. His elbow is resting on his knee, his hand is splayed over his face, and there’s something oddly compelling about the pose, the slight crease between his eyebrows. He looks like he’s deep in thought. I’m about to return to my room when he looks up at me and smiles. He pats the mattress, and I come to sit beside him.
“We did it,” he says.
“Yes, we did.”
He puts his arm around me and pulls me against his lean frame, and we sit like that for a moment before he kisses the top of my head.
I’m acutely aware of the fact that this is not how newlyweds are supposed to part on their wedding day. And it doesn’t bother me…much. I’m not usually too concerned about what I’m “supposed” to do. But the occasional wistful looks on his face—plus the question he asked me this morning—make me wonder if he had doubts, even if they weren’t enough to run back up the aisle.
“You okay?” I ask him.
“Yeah. I’m fine, just a little tired.”
If he doesn’t want to talk about it, I won’t force him. I squeeze his shoulder, then head back to my room and check my phone.
My father didn’t even send me a text on my wedding day.
I pick up the framed photo on my dresser, the one that has sat on my dresser for as long as I can remember. It was taken at the Sears photo studio, back when photo studios at department stores were still a thing. Back when Sears still existed in Canada. It’s one of the few pictures of me with both my parents. I’m three years old, and apparently, I was Not Happy with the whole experience, but I’m smiling in the picture.
I imagine having my mother—and my father—at my wedding. Going dress shopping with her. Would she have had lots of opinions about the wedding? Would I have told her that I wasn’t marrying for love?
Maybe, if my mom were alive, I wouldn’t have made a marriage pact with Evan. My life might have turned out very differently. Maybe, for one reason or another, I would have ended up going to another university and never met him.
Maybe I would have met the love of my life instead.
I shake my head at these sentimental thoughts. This is why it’s best not to think of such things, but it’s hard to entirely avoid it on your wedding day.
The next thing I know, I’m wondering whether I would have been easier to love—and more open to it—if she were still here.
If, if, if.
Some people say that your wedding is the happiest day of your life. But I never expected it to be—and it wasn’t.
Still, it went well, and I’m now married to a nice man with lots of family.