It’s Alby’s wedding day, and Jen’s so nervous for her she’s up at the crack of dawn, nursing a coffee on the back porch. Both Jace and Chris are still in bed. The weeks have flown by, and while she’s enjoying the excitement of getting the studio ready, she’s also enjoying this rare, quiet moment, with nothing to do until Mikolaj picks her up to help Alby get ready.

The dawn is unfurling low ribbons of dusty orange across the lawn, through the trees, sending bands of soft light to catch the ripples of the river. The indigo sky is slowly fading with smudges of light, as if a giant is wiping away the night. The birds welcome the show with sweet, enthusiastic arias. It’s a precious, beautiful day. Jen remembers that she used to always feel this way in the morning, and doesn’t know how that ever got away from her.

She picks up Saint’s tome and pages through it randomly. Saint’s handwriting is so small, so inward, as if the thoughts will run away from her if she let’s them loose. Jen remembers getting her letters in school. Provocative. Funny. She was a good friend back then, a kindred spirit. For all her amends, she still doesn’t know what the fuck happened.
Maybe they became themselves.

She pulls a Manila envelope out of the steel file cabinet, and grabs a sticky note and a pen.

“Thanks for the read,” she scrawls. She adds a smiley face as an afterthought. There’s nothing more she feels like saying. So she bundles it up and seals the envelope. She is almost surprised that she still remembers the address on Bertrand. It’s been seven years since she lived there, and she’d only stayed a while.
She slides the package into her bag, and pads back into the kitchen. Life is stirring.

Alby floats to the door to let Jen in, sporting a gorgeous teal kimono that parts slightly with the baby bump. Up close, she looks tired, as if she hasn’t slept a wink.

“Sweetie, what’s up,” Jen asks as Alby throws her arms around her and just holds tight in a hug.

“George never came home from his stag,” she says, lips trembling, face struggling for composure.

Jen gasps, then realizes neither of them should be surprised. Who the hell has a stag the night before the wedding? Don’t those guys watch the movies? Everybody knows it’s a recipe for trouble. These are the thoughts running through Jen’s head while she puts on a brave face and decides to instead distract the bride with makeup and curls.

Rosemary shows up half an hour later, and half an hour late, which is uncharacteristic enough to cause Alby further distress. Finally, Jen opens a bottle of champagne and makes mimosas. What the hell, she thinks, this could be a wild day, with or without the groom. Little did she know then that some would say it would have been a better day sans groom.
At 1 p.m., Rosemary pulled Jen aside while Alby was having a word with the officiator.

“Does Paul have any fucking clue where George is?” she asks.

“Paul was home by 3 a.m. But he said the rest of the guys were going to get something to eat, and that Alby’s PR girl had shown up at Comfy’s,” Rosemary says, sotto so Alby can’t hear.

“You mean Alice? Holy shit, not good,” Jen says. There was a little history over Alice. They never understood why Alby didn’t fire her.

“You don’t think the jackass spent his last free night at her place, do you?” Rosemary asks.

“They don’t call him Georgie Porgy for nothin’. Call Paul and ask him to swing by her place. We’re t-minus one hour.”

Rosemary disappears to make the call and Mikolaj slides in the back door. He’s been the point man (her “man of honor” as Alby’s taken to calling him) for the florist, the tent people, the musicians and the caterers. He looks it too, hair disheveled and still in sweatpants.

“Hey there, you look like you could use a mimosa,” Jen says, pouring him one.

“Thanks, but what I really need is five minutes to go home and shower,” he says, gulping it down anyway.

He gasps and then leans in and whispers “Any ignsay of the roomgay?”

Jen tells him Rosemary is following a lead. He looks at his watch and makes a face, walking backward toward the door. Elsa, the officiant, gives Alby a hug and glides over toward Jen. Jen doesn’t know a lot about hand-fasting rituals and has never been to a Wiccan wedding, but Alby has already explained the ceremony to her. Jen has the honor of holding the rope and passing it to Elsa when instructed to do so. At the moment, she’d rather wrap the rope around George’s neck and sully the sacred circle. But she doesn’t say this to Elsa, who is flooding her with minutiae about the ceremony, most of which she can’t quite absorb because she is preoccupied with wondering whether or not Rosemary has reached Paul and whether or not someone will locate the errant groom. The minutes are flying by, and soon enough, sixty will have passed and people will be showing up to be seated in the makeshift garden cathedral.

Jen thanks Elsa and takes the rope and wanders over to Alby, convinced she needs to get the bride out of the plane of increasing action.

“Darling, shall we retire to your chambers and enjoy some beverages,” Jen says, doing her best to lighten the mood.

Alby, for all her trademark poise and strength, looks like a little girl about to cry. She’s quite beautiful in her luscious cream gown, flowers woven into her raven hair, blending with the glittering net of the veil. Jen has tried to hide the dark circles under her eyes with concealer. If she cries now, they’ll need to start over, but if she doesn’t cry, Jen’s afraid shell explode. Gently, Jen leads her back to her bedroom, where they’ve made a makeshift salon.

“Why is he doing this to me,” she wails once Jen closes the door.

Jen pulls her into her arms and the floodgates open Alby’s warm tears are rolling down Jen’s neck and onto the damned bridesmaid dress. Better mine than hers, Jen thinks.

“Because he’s a scared little boy, Alby. They all are, and it sucks. But he’ll show up,” Jen says, not entirely certain that’s the truth of it.

Just then Alby’s cell rings. She takes a deep breath and wipes her eyes. The phone keeps on ringing, so Jen knows it is George, who has decided to grace them with his presence.

“Thank god you’re alive, I am so going to kill you,” Alby answers.

Jen decides this is a good time to leave the room. On her way out, she sees Rosemary coming up the stairs, resplendent in her hot-pink-goth-maiden gown. It becomes her.

“She’s talking to him now” Jen whispers.

“I know. Paul called me back. He was passed out at Alice’s and the idiot slut didn’t know what to do or who to call,” Rosemary whispers back, voice thick with disdain.

“Is he coming?” Jen asks.

“Of course, if she lets him.”

They sigh. She’ll let him. And not because all her friends and clients will be standing around eating hors d’ouevres on her dime, but because love is a sickness for which there’s no cure, except to step back outside the logic of love, disoriented and wondering where the hell you’ve been.

Even now, Jen has to admit the ceremony was a lovely blur, dulcimer music and wafting petals and a wave of smiling faces as the camera slid by, sun dogs cast as the afternoon glow struck the blown-glass Zen gardens adorning the tables.

There are things on the video she doesn’t recall seeing, that now make her sad, fill her with apprehension, as if this is a movie someone could rewrite. There’s Jace in his single-breasted black suit, attractive and smiling for the camera, but still looking ill at ease, like a loose end that doesn’t belong, someone who doesn’t know where to put himself. Ten feet behind him are Alice and her idiot date, Peter. Yes, that’s right, Peter, the jackass school-teacher wanna-be philanderer who can’t sail worth shit and who had no business setting foot inside this sacred tent on this sacred day. He’s looking smug and mischievous, touching Alice’s back where her dress doesn’t cover, nuzzling Alice every time he cracks a joke. Alice isn’t paying him much attention—it’s George she has fixed in her sites, with a wistful look that does not escape Alby.

“Jen, stop the tape!” Alby shouts. Jen stops the tape. They are gathered in the soft candlelit glow of her studio on this moonless night to celebrate, and possibly grieve, the events of last year. They’ve all had a good share of wine at the opening, which was a smash success. So they’re a little boisterous and punchy.

“I propose a toast and a hex to the bitchslut Alice,” says Alby. She raises her glass high and downs a healthy draft of wine.

Everyone follows suit, and shouts: “Hex upon bitchslut Alice!”

Even Mikolaj and Paul join in. Alice, as it turned out, had an unseemly network of gossip. Alby throws her head back and laughs. Rosemary and Jen exchange glances. In their hearts, they hope she means it. Paul notices their exchange, and gives Rosemary a little squeeze, pulling her in closer.

“Okay, roll tape,” Alby commands.

Jen presses play and fast-forwards through the crowd shots again, hoping to skim past the ceremony a second time. She is beginning to think their little anniversary party wasn’t such a good idea. It sounded right at the time, like a good way to cap the opening – just the five of them who are now knit tightly by past events. But she realizes it was all real, not just a story they tell. They were the people inside those different lives then, and even if it was for the better, it hurt when those lives were ripped apart.

“Please, let’s watch this part. It was beautiful for a moment,” Alby says when the camera zooms in on the officiant binding their wrists.

The camera pans past Rosemary and Jen, eyes bright and glittering with welling tears. In Jen’s case, she was remembering her own broken vows at that moment. And Rosemary was likely remembering Rob.

And then there’s Alby, resplendent and glowing, earnest despite George’s MIA stunt and late, disheveled arrival. She’s looking right at George, smiling. That was likely the last time she looked deeply into his eyes. The celebrant waves a wand over their heads and has them exchange rings.

She then says the most beautiful words they’ve heard on the topic of marriage:

“As the grass of the fields and the trees of the woods bend together under the pressures of the storm, so too must you both bend when the wind blows strong. But know that as quickly as the storm comes, so equally quickly may it leave. Yet will you both stand strong in each others’ strength? As you give love, so you will receive it. As you give strength, so will you receive strength.”

“There will be times when it will seem hard to give and to love. But see then your reflection as in a woodland pool, when the image you see looks sad and angered, then know it is the time for you to smile and to love. It is not fire that puts out fire. In return, the image in the pool will smile and love. So change your anger for love and your tears for joy. It is no weakness to admit a wrong: more is it a strength and a sign of eternal growth.”

“Forever love, help, and respect each other. The constant circle of love you share is symbolized in these rings. Let them be a token of your friendship and the partnership you have come to celebrate on this day. When the waters are rough, let these rings remind you of the ebb and flow of life. Let them remind you of the happiness you feel at this moment, and let your memory soothe your spirit.”

Jen stops the tape and looks over at Alby. Tears are streaming down her face, as they are Jen’s. They are all seated cross-legged on the floor of the studio, but Rosemary and Jen scuttle over to hug Alby in an awkward tangle. They have a good cry, for all the love that wasn’t, for love taken from them too soon, or in Jen’s case, for love that was squandered. After a while, they’re spent, yet ready to watch the carnage once more, lest they forget it.
Jen fast forwards to the groom’s drunken toast and pauses it, taking a deep breath. Mikolaj reaches over and takes the remote from her hand.

“Ladies,” he says, “We were all there. Do you really need to watch this again? Can’t we just move forward?”

It’s Alby who speaks up. “We just want to see it from the outside.”

Mikolaj casts Jen a glance. The love and concern in his eyes, the protection, makes her feel safe. She nods at him.

There they are, lined up along the head table like a queen’s court. Jen is sitting next to Alby and Jace is next to her. Mikolaj is three seats left of George, after his best man and girlfriend. Rosemary and Paul are on the other side of Jace. George pours another shot from the bottle of Ardmore single malt his best man produced earlier in the meal, and stands, wavering, to take the microphone. Alby looks at him, slightly bemused. She knows scotch makes him ugly.

“I propose a toast to my lovely, crazy, witch of a wife,” he begins. Clinking and shouts of approval rise from the room.
“You know, I almost didn’t make it to this fine event, but I heard the food would be excellent,” he shouts. Everyone laughs, ready to be entertained. Only a few of among them know how close to the truth this is, and they’re not amused.

“Then again, where else could a guy partake in public bondage with his lover but at a Wiccan wedding,” George continues, fueled by his receptive audience.
“The cool thing about a hand-fasting ceremony is that in the old days, it was a marriage on approval. After a year, you could trade her in for a new model if she didn’t pleasure you well.” More laughter rings out, but the queen’s court begins to tense up.

“Today, it’s not quite as simple. So I came to this day with mixed emotions. Because women are the devil, you know. They bewitch you, and if you survive that, if you don’t drive yourself through someone’s house on a suicide mission, they toss you aside when you don’t take out the garbage.” George looks around the room intently, reveling, we suspect, in the increasingly uncomfortable chuckles and gasps. Rosemary hangs her head and Paul places his arm protectively around her. Mikolaj starts to rise.

“For example, tonight I am flanked by the naughty school marm AND the philandering artist, though who can blame Jen when it turns out her husband has impregnated her arch-rival…”

Jen watches the realization dawning across her own crumbling, then furious, face. The silence is followed by murmurs and gasps. Mikolaj is behind George now, reaching for the microphone. George attempts to push him away, so Mikolaj hauls off and lands a right hook square on his jaw. The groom collapses behind the table. Pan right and there they are, Jace’s hands up in defense, Jen’s hand slapping his face as hard as it knows how. His glasses flying. Paul reaching out to hold him back as he jumps to his feet; Rosemary coming to put her arms around Jen. George is staggering back to his feet while his best man slides between him and Mikolaj. Alby’s hands are covering her face. But she takes a breath and rises gracefully, picking up the microphone, which has fallen to the table.
A hush falls over the room. She clears her throat.

“First, I’d like to apologize to my guests. I would like you to stay and enjoy the evening, and to celebrate your own lives. Secondly, I’d like you to take your gifts when you leave because this is the very last time I’ll be apologizing for George’s behavior. As many of you know, I will soon have one child to raise, and have no need for a second.”

She turns off the microphone and marches out of the tent. The court follows. The camera shows an empty table, two overturned chairs, spilled wine soaking into the white cloth like a bloodstain. Gasps and rumbles rise; someone finally has the mercy to shut the camera off and the scene fades to black.

Jen can see Mikolaj from her window in Alby’s house. He’s holding the smoker above the beehives, luring the occupants from within to dance their figure 8s above his masked head. To the right, she sees a puff of dust in the lane way that means Jace is almost there.

“Okay, Pumpkin, Daddy’s here, let’s get your backpack,” Jen says, standing up from the window seat and gently helping Chris to the ground.

“Going to daddy’s house?” Chris says. “I want doggie to come.” He toddles over to his bed and picks up his favorite friend. They head downstairs so Chris can say goodbye to Alby, who is nursing Annalise. Chris climbs up into her lap and gives her a hug and a kiss goodbye while Alby adjusts Annalise to make room.

Jace is knocking on the back door, and Jen can see him looking at his watch. She goes to the door and hands him a bag of clothes and Chris’s backpack.

“Give this to Saint, they should fit Jason,” she says.

“Thanks,” Jace says, and flushes a little. Chris runs up to him and he swoops him up into his arms.

“Wave goodbye to mommy,” he says, and Chris reaches out for a goodbye kiss.

“Say ‘see you Sunday, mommy!”

Chris repeats the promise.

Jen blows him a kiss, then watches through the screen door as they walk toward the car, where Saint awaits them. She watches them buckle Chris into the toddler seat next to the infant car seat. Saint looks tired and flabby, like she’s been up all night and never gets to the gym anymore. Jen never imagined this outcome, but there is a peace about it, an almost pre-destined feel. She could never have imagined it, but now that it is this way, it feels right. Saint always wanted her life. Now she has it. Jen picks up her yoga bag and keys and thinks to herself ‘Be careful what you ask for, Saint,’ but it’s more from pity than malice.
She’s looking forward to a quiet afternoon. After yoga, she has new work to begin.