Twenty – Two #2
He mimes a dramatic sob. She rolls her eyes at him, and I don’t even try not to smile.
I spot Alexander in the second row, with Grace still asleep in the carrier against his chest and Leo perched on the chair next to him. Leo’s feet don’t reach the floor, so he swings them in time with the music, his head tilted, watching every movement around him.
Just off to my far left, Noah stands with his best man and looks like he’s been given five seconds to defuse a bomb.
His hands are clasped so tightly I wonder if he’s about to snap his own fingers off.
He kept darting glances at the door until he saw Elsie walk in, then his entire face softened.
It is, objectively, adorable. I stop watching him before it gets too tender to witness.
The music swells. The guests all do the thing where they lean slightly for a better view, a synchronized craning of necks that would be funny if it weren’t so sweet.
Elsie moves slowly. Her dress is soft, off-white, with sheer lace sleeves and a bodice that hugs her just enough to look like she was made for it.
The skirt flares out, not too much, just enough to catch the light and the air as she walks.
Her hair is swept back in a loose twist, with a few strands falling around her face.
She looks like she stepped out of a fairy tale, one where the princess has already killed her dragons and is now here to collect the reward.
She’s carrying a bouquet of white ranunculus and eucalyptus, loose and wild and perfectly imperfect.
I have seen Elsie in every possible state, hungover, sleep-deprived, covered in baby vomit, laughing so hard she can’t breathe, but I have never seen her like this.
Glowing, yes, but also more herself than ever.
I feel a surge of pride and something else that I recognize as joy, pure and simple.
The aisle feels a mile long. When Elsie reaches the front, Noah looks like he’s forgotten how to breathe. He says her name, once, softly. Elsie smiles, and the room gets just a little brighter.
The celebrant starts the ceremony. There are a few words about love and patience and building things together.
I am only half-listening, because I am watching the way Noah looks at Elsie, the way Elsie looks back.
They are not nervous or awkward. They are two people who have already had their disasters and are now, finally, at the easy part.
Noah’s vows are up first.
He clears his throat, then does it again. There is a small, supportive laugh from the crowd.
“Um,” he says, “I didn’t really write this down, because, well, you know.” Another ripple of laughter. He glances at Elsie, and she nods, encouraging him to continue.
Noah says, “I spent a lot of my life thinking I’d never really get it right. That I’d always be… alone. Like I wasn’t built for a forever with someone” He stops, and for a moment, I think he might not make it. But he does.
“And then I met you, and you were, are, the most grounded, real, beautiful person I’ve ever known. And I realized it wasn’t about being perfect or even good. It was just about being better, every day. Because you make me want to be better. For you. For us. For the kids.”
He pauses, looks at where Maisie and Milo are sitting in the front row, then back to Elsie.
“So, I promise to show up. I promise to try. I promise to be the person you can always count on, even if I have no idea what I’m doing.” The crowd laughs again, but quieter. “I love you. That’s it. I just… really, really love you.”
He finishes, and the silence that follows is the most honest thing I have ever heard in a wedding.
Then it’s Elsie’s turn.
She doesn’t clear her throat. She doesn’t look away.
She says, “There was a time when I would have written these vows in a notebook and edited them twenty times before saying them. But you already know every version of me. The best ones, the worst ones, the ones who panic and run, and the ones who stay and fight.” She glances at me and Liv and Luca, then back to Noah.
“You never tried to fix any of it. You just let me be. You let me find my own way.”
She smiles, and even Liv makes a quiet sound that sounds suspiciously like a sob beside me.
“So, I promise to be myself, all of me, even the messy bits. I promise to tell you the truth, even when it’s hard. I promise to give you the real me, every single day. Because that’s what you deserve. That’s what we both do.”
She takes his hands.
“I love you,” she says. “And I will always, always show up.”
The crowd is quiet. Even the twins are quiet. For a minute, nobody moves.
Then, from the front row, Maisie starts clapping.
It is an awkward clap, chubby hands slapping together, and it is loud enough to echo around the room. Milo is slumped against Noah’s mum, completely asleep. The guests start to laugh, and soon half the room is clapping too, because what else can you do when a child is leading the charge?
I laugh. I don’t mean to. I try to stifle it, but it comes out anyway. Alexander looks at me, and I see it in his eyes, he likes me best when I forget to control myself.
The celebrant wraps it up. There are rings, exchanged with slightly shaky hands, and then they’re pronounced married, and the crowd lets loose with a cheer.
As Elsie and Noah walk back down the aisle, arm in arm, the guests shower them with petals from little paper cones. Liv, standing beside me, leans in and mutters, “It’s possible that watching that was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. But if you tell anyone I said that I’ll never admit it.”
“Not even under torture?”
“I would die before I admitted it.”
“Noted.”
From the audience, Leo says, in a voice that is definitely not a whisper, “Mum, does this mean Elsie is a princess now?”
Alexander answers, “Basically, yes.”
Leo considers this. “Cool.” Then he returns to swinging his legs.
When the ceremony is over, we linger. The crowd spills out into the foyer, everyone hugging and congratulating, drinks already flowing.
Weddings are the kind of event that exist purely to give people something to talk about for the next ten years. The reception, especially. If the ceremony is the moment everyone pretends to care about, the party is where all the real drama happens.
This one is set in a garden outside the hall, under a mesh of fairy lights and enough eucalyptus garlands to satisfy a koala.
The air is dusk-cool and wet with scent, somewhere between fresh mown lawn and the inside of a flower shop.
There are round tables, each with a centrepiece that looks like it was designed by an extremely enthusiastic Pinterest board and then executed by someone with access to bulk glassware.
Grace is asleep against my shoulder, her fingers curled around the edge of my dress. I can’t remember the last time I held a glass of champagne, but I’m holding one now, and I plan to nurse it until one of us falls over. Probably me.
Children are already running feral around the dance floor.
They’re easy to spot, mostly by the trail of sugar packets and torn napkins they leave in their wake.
Leo has found the pack leader, a seven-year-old in suspenders and a mullet and is currently explaining the social structure of velociraptors using a bread roll as a teaching aid.
Every so often, he yells “Pack order!” and the other kids scatter, only to regroup like a school of fish when he gives them the all-clear.
Luca has planted himself at the head of one of the tables and is currently in a high-stakes negotiation with the venue’s events coordinator about the placement of candles.
They’re both using their hands a lot. At one point, I see the coordinator raise both arms in surrender, and Luca smiles like he’s just settled the Treaty of Versailles.
I am 100% certain he did not pay for this wedding, but he is acting like the President of the Reception.
At the bar, Adrian is talking to Noah’s brother, a man who looks like he once played rugby and is now slowly losing a fight to his own hairline.
Adrian is charming the entire group, making everyone feel listened to, special, a little bit more important than they were five minutes ago.
Every time he glances across the garden and sees Luca, his whole face softens.
If they ever renew their vows, I want to write their vows myself.
Clara is sitting alone at a corner table, a single glass of red wine in front of her.
She has the air of someone who has already seen everything the world can throw at her and is now content to just watch other people have feelings for a change.
When we make eye contact, she raises her glass in a toast so subtle I almost miss it.
I make my rounds, Grace snoring softly, the bubbles in my champagne slowly tickling my nose. I stop at the edge of the garden, where the band is playing something low and jazzy, and find Elsie leaning against a wooden railing. She’s alone for once, her bouquet abandoned on the table beside her.
She sees me, and for a second, neither of us says anything. Then she smiles, small and private.
“You did it,” I say.
She snorts. “We did it. I’m pretty sure Luca just gave a speech about the sanctity of Man of Honor that lasted longer than my actual wedding vows.”
“He’s going to be insufferable for the next six months.”
Elsie tilts her head. “I kind of hope so.”