CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
NORA
Wedding Week
We choose the community rink for the ceremony because every other venue feels like scenery.
The guest list is forty people. Family, close friends, foundation staff, a few teammates, Ingrid, Adrian, and children who campaigned aggressively for inclusion.
No press.
One photographer, selected by me and contractually forbidden from selling images. I leave my own cameras at home.
The documentary company offers a large amount for exclusive access.
We decline before finishing the email.
NorthStar offers a reconciliation campaign with the slogan SECOND CHANCES WIN.
Tessa prints the proposal only to burn it ceremonially in a metal wastebasket.
"Fire code," Maren says.
"Art," Tessa replies.
The night before the wedding, I sleep in my apartment alone.
Our new house is painted but not furnished. The penthouse is under contract. Rhett stays at his mother's.
I open the box containing my dress. Simple ivory silk, long sleeves, no train. Beside it lies the pale blue courthouse dress from our first wedding.
I kept it.
I place both on the bed.
The first bride believed love itself would teach us what to do.
The second knows love requires skills, boundaries, witnesses, documents, apologies, humor, and the willingness to keep becoming visible.
I call Rhett.
"Cold feet?" he asks.
"Cold apartment. The radiator remains judgmental."
"Last night with it."
"Do not insult an appliance during farewell."
We talk for ten minutes.
Before hanging up, he says, "I am not grateful the first marriage failed."
"Neither am I."
"I am grateful we did not make failure the final identity of it."
I look at the two dresses.
"Tomorrow," I say.
"Tomorrow."