The Perfect Day

Nerves. They coursed through her body from the top of her immaculately coiffured hair to the tips of her white gloved fingers and down the hem of her seamless, flawless white gown. She gently wrung her fingers, careful not to crush the delicate flowers in her hands as a bead of sweat gathered at the nape of her neck, threatening to roll down through the bunches of gathered fabric.

She stood there for what felt like an eon, pointlessly and untimely early for a sequence she had played so many times in her head – she was supposed to be late, that’s how it had always gone. All too soon and agonisingly late she heard the gentle strings of the quartet she had booked months before. Pachelbel’s March twanged its way through the doors, making her heart skip a beat.

The doors flung themselves open at their climax and the light of the scene blinded her for a moment. Dazed, she took one step forward, awkward on her feet in unfamiliar shoes and anxious to the point of intoxication. The smell of a thousand lilies hit her full on and she felt sick all of a sudden, wishing she had chosen a less fragrant bloom with which to solemnise this occasion.

Each step felt like a marathon, each breath and blink a task upon which myth could be built. Her fathers arm entwined with hers but she could not feel it – numbness had washed over her in an effort to shield her psyche from the oncoming storm that was attention, at the point she felt most exposed and vulnerable.

The crowd was faceless, gasps and sobs and tears and smiles all blurring into one hazy peach and brown smear, colours not registering anymore as she waltzed out of time between the faux-wood pews, the rose petals beneath her feet causing more obstacle than she would have thought possible.

Then her vision came back and her eyes met his, the one who had given his heart and taken hers despite all of her failings and falsehoods. The room blazed with light and colour and heat hit her like it had never done before. She felt chills down her spine and she was all too hot, her face on fire behind the lashes of make-up meant to make her look natural and beautiful and real but oh so fake.

His smile said it all – he felt just the same. This show was for everyone else; they would have their time later. But for now, they must please the crowd, give them the party and the tears and the pride in their daughter and their son, uniting as one against the oncoming storm of life, rearing a home and a family and a bond so strong it could weather any weather.

Too soon she was before the altar, but the song finished just in time. Any witness still standing was sat firm and bolt upright now, demanding the vows she held so dear. Silence fell like dew on the room, clinging to her skin and making it all the more warm.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here…”

It tuned itself out as she stared. The suit she had chosen cut with him a silhouette she would remember for many years to come – maybe for all of her years. The lily in his breast pocket shone starkly against the black like the promise of a new day, like a sunset after a starless night. His smile cut through the thick air as he mouthed ‘I love you’ beneath the priests sweet nothings, taking her hand from her father and clutching it like a child clutches a blanket, like a lifeline or a reason to live or to believe.

“Wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

But it was nothing compared to his eyes. The love swimming blissfully in them was her only reason for agreeing to this nonsense. She’d always wanted simple but he needed to please and so she had donned the white dress for him, she’d undertaken the religious ceremony for him despite a rampant atheism. His happiness was more important to her than oxygen, so his next words set her on fire with joy.

“I will.”

She stumbled through her own phrases with the grace of an experimental toddler, working her way around the sofas trying to find her feet, but he didn’t seem bothered by her obvious clumsiness. She was delirious with affection, clouded by his adoration as she stared, dumbfounded by her own luck at stumbling into a relationship that fulfilled her in every way imaginable.

She vaguely felt a ring being pushed onto the forth finger of her left hand and heard the words as if in a dream, or like she was underwater.

“With this Ring I thee wed: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

Blindly she followed suit, her eyes fixed on his as if anything else would be a blasphemy that would kill her. When her hand was let go her gaze remained for she could not look away – her breath caught in her throat at the realisation of what she had done and elation swelled in her heart in such a way that she could hardly breathe. He was hers and she was his for all of time, until death would they be together and beyond, into a heaven she would gladly believe in if it meant an eternity with this one man, forever and ever.

The prayers washed over her like a breeze on a summers day, inconsequential but still present, a vague something that may have mattered but in the long run meant nothing now because she would always be warm with him by her side. He was her everything and this was the culmination, the beginning of an entire life together spent building – she felt the envy of every bridesmaid, because she had found that someone after what felt like too long. She’d go through it all again just to be with him, all of those years of searching and loneliness.

“You may kiss the bride.”

It shook her from her haze, startling her at first before she embraced it. A kiss she had experienced a thousand times before, but felt so different now that it was entrenched. This was doctrine, an undeniable bond that history would transcribe for generations to come. His lips were somehow softer, his touch gentler, his love more radiant than it had ever been in the light of this paltry church in the middle of nowhere, in front of almost strangers and the closest of friends.

It was gone too soon and they were all of a sudden hand in hand, running in between throngs of their families and friends and people she had never met and probably never would again, confetti raining down in slow motion and getting stuck in her hair and down the front of her dress. But none of it mattered because they were together and married. He was her forever after and he’d proved it by taking her up the aisle.

When they reached the black Rolls she had had her heart set on from the start, he smuggled her inside and slammed the door behind him, taking her into his arms like a fragile ornament worth more than the earth.

“I love you,” she heard him say amidst the confetti, flowers and tulle. “Wife.”