Chapter 11: The Stairs Down To The Ballroom
The staircase was narrower than I remembered.
I'd walked it that morning with the photographer, empty-handed, practicing where to put my feet so I wouldn't catch the runner. Now the runner seemed too bright and the brass rod at each step caught the light every time I moved. The air got cooler as we went down, or maybe I was just breathing slower.
Lauren walked on my left, not touching me. She'd left the veil on the upstairs dresser and her dress was simpler without it, the shoulders visible, her hair still pinned but looser now. Her sister was a half-step behind us with the baby against her chest in that pale yellow onesie, and David brought up the rear. Four people in a line, quiet enough that I could hear the bottom of Lauren's dress brushing each step.
Halfway down, the ballroom sound hit us. Not music. Just that low murmur of a full room trying not to be loud. Someone said my name too fast and then cut themselves off. Then someone else whispered it. The murmuring got higher.
My mother was standing in the front row. I saw her before she saw me. She had her program rolled tight in one hand like she'd been squeezing it. Her smile started automatically, the one she used for photos, and then it stopped halfway because Lauren was beside me and not on her father's arm, and because we were already at the front before anyone had cued anything. Next to her, Lauren's mom had both hands on the back of the chair in front of her and her mouth was open a little, like she was checking if she needed to fix something.
The officiant was already at the arch. He had his hands folded and that calm, practiced stillness, but his eyes kept flicking to the side door where Lauren was supposed to enter. When he saw us coming down together, he shifted his weight and took a half step back without being asked. I was grateful for that. I didn't want to have to move him.
We reached the bottom stair and the floor leveled out. The carpet ended and it was just polished wood and then the aisle. Every head turned. I could feel the heat from the overhead lights. I kept my hands still at my sides and then brought my right hand up once to touch the front of my jacket, just to feel the boutonniere there, the white rose against the black lapel. It centered me.
I looked at Lauren. She gave me a small nod. Her sister's hand found hers and held it. The baby made a soft sound, not a cry, and a few people in the second row noticed the pale yellow for the first time and stared and then quickly looked away, unsure what they were seeing.
I stepped forward to the officiant.
"Can I use your mic for a minute?" I asked. My voice was low. I wasn't sure it would carry.
He didn't hesitate. He unclipped the small black pack from his own lapel and handed it to me, then stepped to the side of the arch and folded his hands again. He didn't whisper anything or try to cover. He just gave me the space.
I clipped it on. My hands were steady. I could see them, I could see the white cuff, the edge of the bow tie. I took a breath and heard it go through the speakers, audible in the silence that had fallen over the room. That sound did more than anything else to make everyone go still.
Lauren came to stand beside me, not slightly behind me where she'd been told to stand in rehearsal, but even with me, shoulder to shoulder. Her sister stayed just behind her right shoulder, close enough that their hands stayed linked. The baby was fully visible now, tucked against her aunt's chest, the pale yellow bright against the dark suit. I watched my mother's face as she understood who had been upstairs the whole time. She didn't gasp. She just looked at the baby and then at Lauren and then at me, and her grip on the program loosened.
David moved to the edge of the front row, near my mother, not trying to be at the altar. He kept his hands in front of him. He wasn't going to interrupt.
The room was completely quiet. The mic had a faint hiss. I could hear the old radiator clicking against the far wall and someone's chair creaking as they leaned forward.
May you like
I looked out at the rows, at the people who had driven in from two counties over, at the coworkers and the cousins, at the tables with the white linens waiting behind them. Then I looked back at Lauren.
She squeezed her sister's hand once and nodded at me, and I raised my hand to the mic.
