One
Aya
“Do you, Shawn, take Aya to be your lawfully wedded wife…”
I look into Shawn’s eyes. He squeezes my hand.
“I do,” he says, without hesitation.
He tries to sound solemn, but a goofy grin creeps across his face as he says it. His smile reaches his eyes as the pastor moves on to the next part of the vows. To have and to hold. For richer or poorer. In sickness and in health. All that.
“Do you, Aya…”
“I do,” I say, cutting him off. “I definitely do.”
The guests laugh and I smile back at Shawn, who is trying to keep from laughing. Looking back at him, I have no doubts about marrying Shawn today. He’s everything I could ever want in a husband. And he’s mine.
But as I look around the church decorated with lilies, I see scores of people, some of which I haven’t encountered in years. I look down at the almost blindingly white dress with the long train that mother picked out. All the while, I can’t help but think… this isn’t how I wanted to do this.
Every part of today was chosen by someone else. Or came to be at their request. My mother got her way with my dress. I wanted something simple, but she wanted big and puffy. I wanted an outdoor wedding, but instead, we’re getting married in a church and having a reception at a catering hall. I wanted fifty people, maximum. But she went ahead and invited her siblings, their children, their children’s children, and pretty much everyone I’ve known since childhood.
Not to mention that Shawn has more extended family than I thought, and his stepmother insisted on inviting ‘a few people,’ which turned into about a few dozen. Combine that with our friends and coworkers, our guest list is well over two hundred.
I hate to sound ungrateful, but this isn’t the wedding I dreamed about.
Not even close.
The pastor keeps talking, and I try to keep my stupid thoughts off of my face. I’m marrying Shawn. I’m marrying the love of my life. That’s more than enough. That’s everything.
“You may now kiss the bride.”
Shawn leans in and kisses me, wrapping his arms around me in that sweet, protective way that makes me feel warm and safe and loved. I feel his kiss with my whole body, and I feel better. But, when he pulls back, Shawn looks concerned.
The congregation is too wrapped up in cheers and preparing for the recessional that they don’t notice Shawn whispering in my ear.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?”
I nod. I am okay. I’m more than okay.
But it doesn’t stop a tear from forming in the corner of my eye.
“I love you,” I whisper.
“I love you too,” he says. “But I’m worried something’s not right.”
“I’m fine. Just kiss me again.”
Shawn presses his lips to mine one more time before we head back down the aisle, smiling and waving to family and friends as we reach the back of the church.
Then there’s the exhausting hour of professional photography with the bridal party. Then cocktail hour. Then dancing, then dinner, then more dancing, then the cutting of the cake, then the eating of the cake, then more dancing.
And then, finally, Shawn and I are done for the night.
I have literally never been more excited to leave a party. We get into the town car and we’re off to the honeymoon suite at a nice hotel where we’re finally alone for the first time all day.
Dress and all, I throw myself on the enormous bed and let out a heavy sigh. My eyes are on Shawn. He undoes his tie and tosses his jacket on a chair.
“You finally going to tell me what’s wrong?” he asks, unbuttoning his dress shirt.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I reply. “Everything was perfect.”
He cocks an eyebrow. He stops undressing.
“Well… It was someone’s version of perfect, I suppose,” I clarify.
Shawn gets on the bed with me and turns me around so we’re face to face while he’s holding me.
“Come on, Aya…”
“I mean… ugh,” I start. “I’ll sound like such a spoiled brat.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Fine. Everything was beautiful…”
“But…”
“But it didn’t feel like us,” I confess. “I know I should feel on top of the world right now. We’re married. I’m just wrestling with the wedding. You know… the church and the big dress and all that… But I guess it made a lot of people happy that we got married that way.”
Shawn pulls me closer, and I let out a breath against his chest. Just being around him calms me down when I feel anxiety start to set in. I’m always glad that I can tell him how I’m feeling, even when it seems petty.
“How would you have done it?” he asks. “The wedding, I mean.”
“I don’t even know.”
“Come on,” he goads. “You never pictured your wedding day as a kid.”
“I did. When I was a kid, I imagined the big, fairy princess dress and a huge cake and a million people there. But it changed as I got older and didn’t want to be Cinderella when I grew up. But now, I don’t know,” I muse. “I just know I wanted something smaller. And less… Just less.”
“Hm…”
Shawn looks like he’s lost in thought.
“Well, what about you?” I ask. “This is as much about you as it is about me. Did you picture your dream wedding as a kid?”
“Dream wedding? No,” he answers. “Dream girl… yes.”
I laugh.
“But, I don’t know… Maybe I would have liked something outside,” he muses.
“Yeah. I want that too.”
“Something in the spring. So we wouldn’t have to wear heavy clothes,” he says.
I picture myself in something light and flowing that I could have moved in easily and danced the way I wanted to.
“Aya,” Shawn says gently. “Tell me what would make you happy.”
“You make me happy.”
It’s the truth. At the end of it all, Shawn and I became husband and wife. The wedding is just one day. The fact that he and I are married was worth handing over the wedding planning reigns to my mother.
“You make me happy too,” he says. “But I want you to tell me exactly what you wanted today to feel like.”
Shawn starts unzipping the back of my gown and helps me wiggle out of it. It’s quite a chore. When I’m at last free of the white taffeta, I feel a little more free.
“I wanted something small. Something intimate,” I admit. “Outside. In the springtime.”
He smiles as I incorporate his input.
“I wanted a pink dress,” I say softly. “Like, blush pink. My mom wasn’t having it.”
“Okay, so… small, intimate, outside, pink dress…”
“I wanted our friends there,” I say.
“Our friends were there.”
“Yeah, but they were at their own tables and there were so many people that we barely got to spend time with anyone.”
“True,” he concedes.
“And I wanted the party to go on all night,” I say. “Not just some abrupt end because the catering hall was shutting down.”