Torches blaze. Halos of illuminated warmth cast a celestial glow against the twilit backdrop, flames licking high into the night. The last of the string lights have been strung, and a ring of seashells and family heirlooms has been laid out, setting the stage. The crash of waves our soundtrack, the sand beneath our feet our runway.
My nerves flutter to life in my belly, and I grip my bouquet with the force necessary to strangle.
“You’re going to squeeze that poor calla lily’s head right off.”
“Oh.” I immediately loosen my grip and the bouquet slips from my hands. “Crap.”
Mel laughs and attempts to bend to pick it up, but she gets stuck halfway. She grabs her back with one hand, her thigh with the other, bracketing in her enormous belly. “Okay, a little help here.”
Laughing, Sam rights Mel, and Becca sighs and grabs the bouquet. “It wasn’t bad enough you chose not to have a church wedding, you had to insist on a maid of honor who’s about to go into labor?” Becca scolds.
“Hey,” Mel says, resting her forearms over the top of her rounded stomach. “I threw one hell of a shower.” She winks at me. “And this kid will stay put. I still have a few more months to go.”
Becca raises her perfectly groomed eyebrows and says, “What have you been eating?”
Mel doesn’t even hesitate. “Everything.”
Sam, Vee, and I burst into laughter. It’s just the tension breaker I need. “She handles my mom so much better than I do,” I whisper to Sam and Vee.
When Becca turns her attention on us, Sam feigns a serious expression. Becca only shakes her head and resumes applying makeup to Sam’s shoulder tattoo. Becca was mortified when I announced my bridesmaids would wear beachy, strapless dresses…and go barefoot. But she’s been mortified with every decision I’ve made concerning the wedding—that’s just her. I’ve learned to accept most of her criticism for what she intends it to be: her way of showing her love.
Becca can put on the best of airs, but I glimpse the shimmer of tears in her eyes. She’s been waiting for this moment since I was a little girl, and finally, it’s here. I did allow her to pick the reception venue, and handle all the arrangements—but the ceremony is ours.
I hear the small string ensemble start up, and my hands slick with sweat. Just on the other side of the high sand dune is my fiancé—my husband to be. Very, very soon—and a large enough gathering of our friends and family to make my head start to spin.
“Breathe,” Sam says. “It’s just people. They’re only here for the food and alcohol.”
I smile. “Thank you.” She nods, then bats Becca away, making me laugh again.
After I was released from the hospital, I did follow up on doctor’s orders for aftercare treatment. And it was through Mel that I discovered an ideal therapist who did video sessions online; Sam’s therapist.
My father and Becca were interviewing local counselors like it was their profession, and all the attention (even though I understood it was
their way of offering support) was adding to the anxiety. So when Mel suggested I speak with her friend Sam, I did, and I welcomed the idea of working with a professional from the comfort of my dorm room. And when Mel, Vee, and I took a trip to stay at my parents’ brownstone in NYC, I met Sam for the first time. These women have become an extension of my family.
To think, I used to feel like I had no one. Now, I’m surrounded by my friends and my family, and I’m marrying the most amazing man. A girl could die of happiness.
“I just got the text,” Vee announces. “She’s here. The ceremony is about to start.” She glances over at me, green eyes bright. “Ready?”
Shoring up my courage, I nod. “Absolutely.” And I mean it. Nothing could keep me from him.
Becca gives the train of my dress a fluff and stretches it out behind me as I move forward to meet my father. He offers me the crook of his arm. “You’re the most beautiful bride, Ari,” he says, and I blink hard at the moisture gathering in my eyes.
I sneak a peak behind me once to see my bridesmaids lined up with their escorts. Mel and Jake. Sam and Coach Carson. Vee and Gavin. Offering a sympathetic smile to Vee, I mouth, “Thank you.”
She rolls her eyes, but gives me a genuine smile.
Then we’re off. The rising music guiding my steps.
As we approach the ceremony—torches blazing, the light-filled canopy twinkling, chairs filled with bodies on either side, heads all turned my way—a small niggle of doubt worms its way into my head. Maybe I should have jumped at the offer to elope.
We stayed engaged for years…me always making excuses in order to postpone the actual wedding. There was never any reservation about marrying him—just this part of it. The crowd. Attention. Stress.
I’ve been able to overcome much of my illness, but the threat always harbors just beneath. A current of awareness, inviting me to purge my anxiety away, or skip a meal to feel in control over a social situation. I understand my disorder better after working with Dr. Hartman, but even she admits it’s ever-changing; more being discovered about the link between anxiety and eating disorders all the time.
I suddenly regret not taking Becca up on her offer to get my prescription refilled. The one I was so sure I no longer needed.
My feet sink into the loose sand, then I watch as I step onto the satiny white runway. My grip on my father’s arm tightens, and he cups my hand encouragingly as we move alongside the crowd. My heart knocks painfully against my breastbone, my pulse beating in my ears.