The wedding was, of course, lovely. There are a million pictures floating around by now, and I’ll find a way to direct you to the official ones at some point, but for now we can just start there: the wedding was lovely.
We had the obligatory mini-crises, of course, because nothing is ever simple, but, for better or worse, they were reserved for the hours before and after the event itself.
“Bruce is on the phone,” Mom called as I was wrapping bridesmaids’ gifts, while Jolie looked serenely on from the corner. “Nick wants to make sure you bring the marriage license.”
I had been calm; I swear. I had pretended to have breakfast, cooed at three-month-old Robbie, and even slipped upstairs for some yoga. But from the moment I stood up and turned toward my writing desk, hand outstretched for the license envelope that both Nick and I knew was right there, the calm was over.
I know that at one point Kate and Beth sifted through every single wedding-related piece of paper we had on my parents’ bed (three times, in fact, is what I hear). And I remember describing the envelope (and then, with increasing desperation, the paper inside of it) about twenty times while trying not to hear my mother whispering about the cleaning lady possibly throwing some things away. But the absolute clearest thought at all times was that I needed to get Nick on the phone, because I just knew that all of this was just because He Had Organized.
Nick, apparently aware of this, put first his father on the phone, then his mother, and then sent Andrea and Mary over with instructions, but declined at all points to respond personally to my increasingly hysterical accusations regarding what he had done with the marriage license, and why.
It was mistakenly sent over to the reception site with the place cards and the favors, in case you’re curious. Kate and Jim took a trip over and came back triumphantly with the news shortly before the photographer (whom we had forgotten to meet at the train station) arrived, and all was well again with the world.
And it stayed that way, for the most part, for the rest of the day. There were some little things–there was a point at which our bridesmaids had to talk me down while I sat in the limo yelling for someone to tell them to start already, and a last-minute “something blue” scare–but the ceremony was touching, the food was plentiful, and the party was great, so no harm done at all.
Imagine our surprise, though, when we got to our adorable country inn and discovered that we didn’t have the key, their courtesy phone wasn’t working, and we had no cell phone reception? And when we realized, almost an hour later (after retrieving the key), that my aunt’s overnight bag had been substituted for my own, leaving me with the prospect of wearing my wedding gown to brunch the next day?
But those are little things, because on Monday morning I heard myself saying, “My husband is just returning the rental car,” and I’d've walked through fire for that. And this was far, far better than walking through fire.