13
Lia
Her dress is perfect. I can’t stress this enough.
If I had designed something for her myself I couldn’t have come up with a more fitting dress for my sweet, gorgeous best friend.
White chiffon, A-line skirt, corset top and sweetheart neckline, and straps tied in bows of long lace ribbon at each shoulder.
She looks like a princess, with her hair half-down in loose waves, a long veil trailing across her back.
“You told the photographer to catch Andy crying when he sees you, right?” I ask when there’s a short pause between shots.
“He’s not gonna cry,” she insists. “He’s not emotional like that.”
“About you? Uh, yeah. He is. You’re a vision. He’s gonna lose his mind.”
“Can I have the bride and mother-of-the-bride now, please?” the photographer asks, and I realize this might be the distraction I need to go on my warpath.
“Go, go,” I say, shooing Sophie towards the archway where her mom is waiting. “I’m gonna grab something from the boys and I’ll be right back.”
Sophie waves me off and I’m gone.
I knock on the third-floor meeting room door twice—that’s where the men are gathered, to keep Andy from seeing Sophie before the ceremony. When I hear laughter on the other side of the door, I go ahead and grant myself entrance.
Nolan is taking a swig from a flask as I walk in, and Andy is grinning ear-to-ear. Sophie’s dad and her mom’s boyfriend are, miraculously, talking among themselves in the corner, and it gives me a chance to grab my friends’ ears.
“You guys look great, and I don’t mean to ruin the mood, but where the fuck is Owen? I’m gonna castrate him when he gets here, I swear to God. No dick. No balls. He’s gonna look like a Ken doll down there.”
“Lia, it’s okay,” Andy says, smile undiminished. “He texted me. Something popped up at the shelter, but he’ll be here any minute.”
“The shelter? What shelter?”
“Casa Myrna.”
I flinch backwards in confusion. “The domestic violence place?”
“Yeah, he does pro bono legal aid stuff there like once a week.”
I look from Andy to Nolan and back again. “We are talking about your brother, right? Owen Walsh?”
“Yeah, look, I know,” Andy says. “I was surprised too. But you know… He’s a good guy.”
He shrugs it off like that’s explanation enough, meanwhile my mind is still whirling. And that’s exactly when the man in question bursts through the door, all smiles and jocularity.
“Andy! Sorry I’m late.” Owen clasps his brother in a bear hug then pulls back, holding him by the shoulders. “You look great. You ready?”
Andy smiles, and it’s big and genuine with both his dimples showing. “Yeah, I am.”
Rows of white silk-backed chairs face the altar set between towering bookshelves of red oak, one hundred of their closest friends and family members waiting in neat rows.
As the officiant, Nolan enters first, dressed sharply in a black suit, white shirt, and hunter green tie, proud as punch as he strides to the front with his remarks binder in hand.
I walk in next, followed by Owen, followed by Andy.
He’s doing an admirable job of keeping his cool, but I know that tiny furrow in his brow too well.
He’s not made for crowds or attention like this.
But that tension on his face only lasts a minute, because his entire expression shifts as Sophie enters the hall.
She is so, so beautiful. And so bridal. The chiffon of her white dress flows with each step down the aisle, accentuating her soft curves and peachy, freckled skin. I’m actually getting a little choked up looking at her, but when my gaze travels back to Andy, that’s when I fully lose it.
The rest of the world has fallen away in his eyes.
There’s only Sophie. His best friend in the world, soon to be his wife.
Ten years of longing and wishing and hoping for her pour from his eyes as the first tears travel down his cheeks, and there’s no self-consciousness there.
Just the tender, small smile of a man sharing a perfect moment with the woman he loves.
When Sophie reaches the makeshift altar, she gives me her bouquet and takes Andy’s hands, then reaches up to wipe a tear from his cheek.
She whispers, “Hey, it’s okay.”
He whispers back, “Yeah, it’s perfect.”
Nolan isn’t oblivious to the moment—how could he be—so he gingerly steps up to the mic, looking between Andy and Sophie for confirmation they’re ready before he begins.
“Good evening everyone. We are gathered here today to celebrate the marriage of Sophia Lindell and Andrew Walsh. But before I talk about them, I want to talk about something even more important: me.”
The crowd laughs with him as he launches into a borderline fictional account of how Sophie and Andy first met in the college dorm room that he and Andy shared, taking a completely nonsensical amount of credit for the two of them getting together.
But then, once the ice is broken and there are smiles on every face in the room—and I’ve pulled my own emotions back into check—the rest of his remarks hold his signature sincerity.
He speaks to our two best friends, the amazing people they’ve become over the last ten years, and all the ways they bring out the best in each other.
I’m emotional by the end of it, and even from behind her I can hear Sophie crying too.
But it’s Andy’s red-rimmed eyes and wobbly smile that send me over the edge again.
He mouths “I love you” to Sophie, and she mouths it back, and no amount of determination can stop the tears that finally slip from my eyes.
Sophie and Andy wrote their own vows, but they shared them in private before the ceremony. So now, before their friends and family, they simply pledge to love each other in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, as long as they both shall live.
I watch Owen swipe something from his own cheek as Andy places the gold band on Sophie’s finger. It’s the most I’ve ever liked him.
Nolan brings the ceremony to a close, declaring, “By the power vested in me by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Andy says, “Finally,” as he reaches up to cup both sides of Sophie’s face and press his lips to hers. It’s tender and passionate and so, so loving.
The crowd is cheering, up on their feet, and they still haven’t broken their kiss as Nolan declares, “For the very first time, it is my honor to present the newly married couple: Andy and Sophie Walsh.”
They finally pull apart, but Andy’s hands are still on her face, eyes locked on his wife’s as he mouths, “Sophie Walsh.”
She nods, and he can’t seem to help it—he leans forward to kiss her once more.
I swear I’m really not a crier in my normal life, but this is simply too much. I’m a sobbing mess by the time Andy lets her go, then reaches down to take her hand and start their recession down the aisle. My two best friends and the happy ending they deserve.
The reception is roaring, the drinks are flowing, and the DJ is sticking to the list of approved songs. My work here is finally done.
I cut away from the party under the guise of fixing my makeup, but really I just needed a little breather.
The library’s upper balcony is secluded—two stories above the main action of the reception and a perfect spot to collect myself without really missing a moment. It’s actually less of a balcony than a long, thin room with one open wall onto the main event space.
Only those of us in the wedding party even learned how to get up here, so I expect to be alone. Instead, I find a hulking figure in a black best man’s suit leaning against the railing. His usually perfect posture is slouched, wooden banister bearing most of his weight, amber liquid in his glass.
I walk up, getting close enough to bump his shoulder with my own as I ask, “You good?”
He doesn’t turn toward me, just keeps looking down at the crowd as he says, “They seem so happy.”
I follow his line of sight to the dancefloor. There’s a good group out there, but right in the center are Sophie and Andy, her cheek pressed to his chest. Andy reaches down to cup her face, then tilts her chin up for a soft kiss. They whisper something to each other, then smile.
They look so in love.
“Do you think it’ll last?” Owen asks, gaze unfaltering.
“Right now? Yeah, I do.”
“And what about not right now?”
I hesitate, but only for a moment. “I hope so. If it can work out for anyone, I figure it’s them. They’re perfect for each other.”
Down below us, Andy lowers Sophie into a dip. She laughs loud enough to be heard all the way across the hall.
“That’s the question then,” Owen says. “If it ever works out.”
“You don’t think so?”
“Maybe in theory. But in practice?” He lifts his glass to his lips, taking a sip before saying, “Evidence looks rough.”
I shrug. “Yeah. I don’t know.”
Owen twists to look at me. “Aren’t your parents still together?”
“They are, but I don’t exactly covet their relationship.”
“It’s bad?”
My head wavers from side to side. “No. I mean, I’m not worried, it’s just nothing I would want for myself.
You know my grandparents set them up on their first date?
Practically an arranged marriage, and it’s all gender roles and Catholicism in that house.
More like a contractual obligation than a partnership. ”
“So you don’t ever want to get married?”
“No,” I say with certainty. “Marriage is just a box people check to make themselves feel like they’re on the right track. Then they’re saddled with a person they slowly grow to resent over the next fifty years. Doesn’t really appeal.”
“You know people can get divorced, right?”
“What? When did that start?”
He knocks my shoulder sideways and I let him, bobbing back into place with a huffed laugh.
“Okay, no, I know,” I say. “But divorce is hard. Either you’re stuck with that person or you pay to get lawyers involved? I almost feel like it’s more meaningful if you don’t get married. Then you know you’re actively choosing each other every day.”
“I think you’re just a commitment-phobe, Commander Mercado.”