Remy
Wedding Day
Bridgetown, Barbados
“Buttah, you look so pretty.”My mother-in-love held my chin between her fingers like she used to do when I first came around the family, back when she wasn’t sure how long I’d last with her crazy son. Now her eyes softened, and her smile was as warm as the Caribbean sun.
My mother came up from the other side, smiling like she had waited her entire life for this day, and she probably had.
“You are, baby. And I’m so glad you finally listened to Zo, I didn’t realize how much I had missed doing this with you,” she said as she thumbed away the tear that fell from her eyes really quickly. I told her today was a celebration, and there would be no crying.
Although I hated to admit it, she was right. These last few months planning our destination wedding had been the kind of joy I didn’t know existed. I went from swearing I'd never want a wedding to telling my husband we should do this every year, like our own little tradition.
“Thank you,” I gleamed, checking the mirror as we waited for the photographers to come back inside.
We were doing all the photos before the ceremony because, per mafia rules, no cameras were allowed during the actual event.
I used to think the rule was overdramatic until I was told that many of the men attending were ghosts in the regular world.
Their names held years of legacy. But they were only to be spoken about and not seen.
But I wasn’t letting that stop me. Not today.
If they didn’t know by now, I was the mafia’s rebel child, and mayhem was my love language.
So, I was going to document every single minute up to that ceremony.
It was my first wedding. Something for my children to look back on when our stories get old and the memories from the day start to fade.
A soft rap hit the door. My mom opened it, and in walked Taylor, big and pregnant. She was glowing and eating beef jerky like it was steak. She waddled through the door with the photographer behind her.
As soon as she reached me, I put my hand on her belly. My niece kicked against my palm, as if to let me know she felt my touch. I pouted as she did it. I couldn’t wait for her to come so I could have another set of little toes to smell.
“Come on, big Mama,” I joked, looping my arm in hers as we all headed into the bridal suite.
While the photographers set up the lights, Taylor pulled me aside.
“Bitch, did you marry the Bajan Big Meech?” she hissed in my ear.
I snorted. “Tay, why are you asking me that?”
“Girl, there are people lined up all down the street! Hollow is working overtime trying to figure out who actually passed clearance.” She laughed, but her eyes were wide, like she had witnessed something unheard of.
Taylor had never been here with us before. She knew Zo’s family was prominent. But she had never seen how the island reacted to the Richardsons. Barbados loved them. Five hundred invited guests and hundreds more trying to slip inside, like we were hosting Carnival, proved that.
“Something like that,” I mumbled as the photographers said they were ready.
We were behind schedule, so time was tight. We jumped right into the pictures. For 30 minutes, we snapped everything together as a group and me alone.
Mid-shoot, Taylor glanced at her phone, then rushed over to me.
“It’s time for me to head down. I love you. You’re so beautiful, and you make me proud to be your little sister.” She kissed my cheek. A single tear slid out before I could stop it.I wasn’t emotional, and neither was she. It caught me off guard and made me sink into the moment.
My mother dabbed my face again and held my hand as we all walked toward the door where my coordinators stood like two guards.
Downstairs, the noise hit me before the view did.
The wedding had officially begun. From my place, I peeked through the door like Ziggy when he was sneaking downstairs to get a snack at night.
The music started, and the whole place erupted.
Zohan had changed his entrance song. He walked out to “Welcome to Jamrock.”
His entire Bajan family turned up like it was the afterparty, not the actual ceremony. People were waving pocket squares, shouting “yeah man,” and singing along to the song. Judah had his pocket square out too, making Trouble give him the coldest stare.
I shook my head and laughed; I could already tell how the rest of the night was going to go. When he had told me he wanted a “Top Shotta” themed wedding, I told him to go to sleep.
The wedding party was big. It was a mafia royalty meets Caribbean royalty line-up.
All our children walked except baby Jace, of course.
The boys were mini groomsmen. The girls were flower girls.
Our two oldest were ring bearers. All the JMF wives and husbands walked.Taylor was my maid of honor, and Kennedy was my matron of honor.
And Zo’s brother, Xion, was the best man.
The song faded. The noise died down. My heart tapped faster.
Then my song came on.
Suddenly, it felt like the moment got serious.
I felt like I was the Debbie Downer at my own wedding.
My mother stepped beside me, my mother who could blow, and started singing Chrisette Michele’s “A Couple of Forevers.” She exited the door and sang down the aisle as she went to take her place.
Chills ran up my spine, and it felt like time had frozen.
I stepped into the hallway, and my father pulled me into the biggest hug and kissed my forehead.
The door opened, and my husband came into view.
Just thinking about Zo made my heart smile in a way it had never done before.
The way he’d loved me over the last seven years…
The softness he carried for me only, his patience, the way he corrected me with love.
He never felt like he had to raise his voice or his hand to ever get his point across.I lusted after Zo, but I fell in love with Zohan.
People rose, and my breath caught when I saw him at the altar.
Zo’s nerves were all over the place, which wasn’t normal for him. I watched him shift from one foot to the other, jaw clenched. Then, as he pulled out his pocket square and wiped his eye, I realized he was fighting tears of his own. My own spilled faster.
I reached him, and he just stared at me like he’d been starving for years and finally got fed.
“You look handsome,” I whispered.
“You’re beautiful, baby.” He touched my cheek, using the same pocket square he’d just cried into, and for some reason, that made me love him even more.
The ceremony began. For a moment, I looked out at the room, and if I didn’t think that black and gold could be done so beautifully, I was wrong.
Storm’s parents were front row alongside ours.
National elites had come from Italy. I saw the Don of New York in the crowd.
It was Mafia royalty on one side, Bajan elegance on the other.
We were the perfect mix. After vows, we jumped the broom, and then it was time for the reception.
Our first dance was to “No Letting Go” by Wayne Wonder. Our second, “I Can’t Stop Loving You” by Kem.
Somewhere between dances and countless cups of Rum Punch, my assistant Alivia stumbled over to us.
“Zo, why the HELL didn’t you tell me you had a brother this fine? I’ve already been in the feds, but I might make an exception and let him arrest me.”
We laughed so hard Zo almost spilled his drink.
“Liv, go on before I tell him what you said. You might not make it home.”
“For real?” she asked, excited instead of scared.
I shook my head. That girl would never learn.
Then she hugged me. “I love you, Rem. Thank you for everything.”
And I knew she meant it. Liv and I had been through hell and back together. When I finally reconnected with her, she had taken her second chance and run with it. She rebuilt her whole life, earned two degrees, and is now helping run my charity. That was my girl.
“Tell Mommy goodnight, likkle round head,” Xion interrupted as he leaned our daughter toward me.
He had been calling my daughter that since she was born.
What I quickly learned was that everyone in the Caribbean had a nickname, even if you didn’t want one.
They called my twins Roy and Sam, and I have no clue why.
I kissed her cheek, Zo did the same, and Xion walked her toward his parents. The kid-friendly function was over, and all the children were leaving with their grandpas.
Alivia stared at Xion as if he were a sculpture she admired. Like she wasn’t supposed to touch it but was absolutely about to.
He caught her staring, and his eyes scanned her body. Then he leaned down and whispered something in her ear. She nodded like he’d given her instructions.
Then she leaned over the table, swaying to the Soca beat with the world’s worst accent. “I’m a Bajan woman now. Just call me Cheryl.” We hollered.
Xion took her to the dance floor, and she danced on him like she’d been Caribbean her whole life.
Storm and Kennedy approached with a handful of shots.
“Come on, brother,” Kenn said to Zo. “Ain’t no sitting down tonight.”
Storm handed me more shots than I could count.
My eyes drifted over the crowd and landed on Trouble. He threw his hands up like, “Don’t blame me for nothing tonight.” I burst out laughing.
We all fell into laughter once we found Judah and Ivy in the crowd. She had him against the wall, giving the nastiest “dutty wine,” and he had his pocket square out of his jacket, waving it and screaming “BOP, BOP, BOP!”
Storm shoved another shot in my hand. They dragged us from our seats.
“This is a PARTY!” Storm shouted.
I grabbed Zo’s hand. We danced to some song I’d never heard before, swung and dipped across the dance floor, laughing like teenage lovers.
Year seven is associated with wool and copper.
Right now, and as it has always been, our love was copper. It was strong, durable, unbreakable, but most of all… it was forever.