Brent and Terrence have decided to walk down the aisle side by side, preceded by their attendants, who will each walk alone. We’re a few minutes into our first practice round when Max and the vendors arrive.
Max is wearing black chinos and a gray merino V-neck sweater over his button down. There’s no tie to be found. There’s also no way to ignore that he looks damn good, and because I wish I hadn’t noticed, I’m now hyperaware of him.
I speak briefly with the photographer—I suppose he’s wearing clothes, too—and then he shuffles off to examine his eventual workspace, the videographer following closely behind him.
Max stands off to the side, waiting for us to finish. The shades he’s wearing aren’t dark enough to hide that he’s gazing directly at me, and I busy myself instructing everyone on the finer points of walking—yes, walking—to prolong the moment when I’ll be forced to talk to him. I shouldn’t be thrown off by his presence, but I am.
Brent and Terrence, in keeping with their personalities, draw Max into a friendship circle and introduce themselves, while I throw up a weak hand to acknowledge that he’s here. I can’t help noticing that Max is just as tall and broad-shouldered as Brent and Terrence. They’re casually standing around and laughing as though they’re shooting candids for a spread in GQ; it would be nice if I could photoshop Max out of my mental image, but no, he’s there to stay. Ugh.
The photographer emerges from behind a set of bushes, making me yelp in surprise and causing everyone else to search for the source of the sound.
My ears grow hot and I seriously contemplate jumping behind the same bushes the photographer just came from.
“Sorry about that,” he says, camera in hand. “Can we get the happy couple in the exact spot where they’ll be exchanging vows? I want to see where the sun hits and figure out my angles.”
I eagerly take the opportunity to do something other than stare at Max. “They’ll stop at the end of the walkway,” I explain to the photographer, “and then they’ll land here and face each other. The chairs will be set up so that the guests will watch them descend.”
Brent and Terrence take their places—and that’s when Terrence’s pager goes off. He pulls it out and walks off, apologizing but also telling everyone he needs to take the call. After a minute, when it’s clear from Terrence’s apologetic grimace that the call won’t be quick, the photographer sighs and turns to me. “Lina, can you stand in for him? It’ll be only a minute. It’s just . . . I have another engagement after this.”
I don’t think twice about it. Of course I’ll help my clients get the best photographs possible. That’s in my job description. “Sure. Tell me what you need.”
The photographer points at my hands. “May I?”
I nod.
He arranges Brent and me so that we’re facing each other and holding hands. “Okay, this should work out fine.”
The videographer walks up to us. “Can you two maybe say something so I can check the sound?”
“I can recite my vows,” Brent says. “I know them by heart.”
The videographer nods as he adjusts the camera’s tripod. “Perfect. Just keep talking. And Lina”—he points at me—“don’t be afraid to talk as well. I’ll need to hear you both.”
Brent fixes his face into a serious expression, then gazes at me adoringly. “So this is it. The big day. We’re finally getting married. I’d begun to think this day would never come, but then I met you. I never imagined I’d find the perfect person for me, but that’s exactly what I found in you. I never dreamed anyone would want me as much as I want them, but you do.”
My client’s speaking from the heart, his words simple but wonderfully impactful, and I can’t help remembering the vows I’d written for my own wedding—the ones I never shared because the groom decided I wasn’t what he wanted. It’s not that I’m still pining for Andrew. Getting over him was extraordinarily easy. It’s not even about a wedding. Or marriage. Those aren’t necessary precursors to fulfillment. But I want companionship, the security of knowing someone has my back, the ability to comfort and be comforted. Friendship. Vacations. Maybe even kids one day. Someone solid. Predictable. A person who doesn’t need passion and sparks to build a lasting relationship. I don’t know that I’ll ever find that individual—and that makes me extraordinarily sad.
I can feel the tears welling up, and to my horror, I realize it’s too late to will them away. If only I were stronger than this. If only my stupid emotions didn’t get the best of me every damn time.
A hand holding a handkerchief appears in front of my face. I look up to find Max staring at me. There’s empathy in his gaze as he waves the cloth.
“Allergies?” he asks. “It’s a brutal time of the year. I can hardly keep the tears out of my eyes, too.”
I take the handkerchief and dab at my eyes. “Yeah. I’m always a mess in the spring.”
He nods. “That’s what I thought.”
We stare at each other. He knows. Somehow he knew I was overcome with emotion and stepped in to help me save face. I really don’t want to like the man, but he’s giving me no other choice.
Max turns to the photographer. “I think she needs a second to collect herself. How about I take her place? You just need me to hold Brent’s hands and pretend to be smitten, right? I can do that. Easily.”
I’m floored by his offer. He’s here to shadow me, yet he’s willing to jump in so I don’t embarrass myself. I don’t want to appreciate the gesture, but I do. More than I could ever tell him.
The photographer nods enthusiastically. “That’d be even better. You’re the perfect height.”
“Let’s do it, then,” Brent says.
I shuffle off to the side as Max and Brent turn to each other and hold hands. They’re grinning as though they’re in on a secret, and Brent and Terrence’s attendants are goofing around as they watch them.
Brent gives Max a smoldering look that makes Max double over.
“Children . . .” the photographer says with a good-natured smile.
Max cracks his neck. “Okay, okay. I can do this.” He clears his face and stares at Brent.
“I knew you were the one the day I was sick and you came over with soup,” Brent tells Max, staring into his eyes. “You said you couldn’t imagine not checking on me.”
Max bats his eyes. “Aww, that’s sweet.”
The videographer asked them both to talk, but I suspect he didn’t have this in mind. It’s entertaining nonetheless, and I’m smiling into my hand as I watch them.
“I’d never been in love, so I didn’t know what to look for, what to expect, how to accept it,” Brent continues.
Max takes a long breath. “Me, neither. I’ve only had one long-term relationship, and that was several years ago.”
“Why’d you break up?” Brent asks.
Max shrugs. “She met my brother and told me she realized there were bigger and better fish in the sea. Wasn’t crass enough to drop me for him, but she made it clear he was the superior alternative.”
Oh no. She said this to his face? What kind of person would do that? I couldn’t imagine being told that I didn’t measure up to my sibling. It’d be even worse if the comment came from someone I thought cared for me. Does he resent Andrew because of it? Is that the source of their rivalry?