even exist? I might not be where I am now. I know for sure she doesn’t regret her decisions.
And that gives me some peace.
“This song is about dancing,” Mom says, her eyes alight. “I like it.”
“I’m glad. Iris picked it out.”
Mom’s gaze finds my bride. Iris waves to us. Mom waves back. “That’s her,” she says. It’s not a question. She’s sure.
“That’s her,” I say.
“I like her,” Mom says.
“I like her too.”
Mom aims her gaze at me, looking about as stern as she did in her most advanced ballet classes. “Remember that. Always.”
I beam. “I will, Mom.” And I’ll definitely remember this.
I lead her through a reverse but steady her when she gets a little off balance.
“Oh my,” she says, startled.
“I’ve got you.”
She pats my shoulder. “I know you do.” Mom sighs contentedly. “I like this song.”
“Me too, Mom.”
The dancing carries on well into the night. I dance with Val and Aunt Lorraine and Sally and my old boss Paula. Iris dances with Nonc, and Sally’s dad Jeff, and my brother-in-law Will, and each of my nephews, Jack and Jesse, and River and Skye, my two students.
About the time Val and Will take Mom back to Camelia Court, the party morphs from wedding reception to dance club. Champagne flows. The floor is packed with bodies, but I keep mine pressed to Iris’s.
Sally and Ramon hand out foam glow sticks, and we all scream the lyrics to “Mr. Brightside” while the lights strobe. Under the flashing LEDs, Iris’s dress turns pink, blue, green. Clutching the layers of her skirts in one hand and brandishing her blinking wand in another, she bounces with wild abandon, barefoot and beautiful.
I can’t take my eyes off her.
“DESTINY IS CALLING ME…” The world around us shouts, “OPEN UP MY EAGER EYES…”
I grab Iris and tug her to me. Our smiling lips meet. She catches my face in her hands, the foam glow stick pressing against my temple. Rainbow flashes fall on our heads. I kiss my funny, fierce, fabulous wife.
In a few hours, we’ll cross the grounds here on Jefferson Island, and I’ll carry Iris over the threshold of the Cook’s Cottage, our lodgings for the night. Tomorrow evening, we’ll start the first leg of our journey to New Zealand.
After three flights, when we land in Christchurch on the South Island, we’ll spend a few days getting over jet lag and resting up—or not resting since it’s our honeymoon—before setting off to Lake Matheson for a few days of hiking and camping on our own. Then we’ve scheduled a multi-day guided hike of the Fox and Franz Josef Glaciers. And from there, we’ll head to Haast Pass to see the Blue Pools. We’ll wrap up our trip on the coastal city of Timaru and trade our tent for a rental house on Caroline Bay. Eat in restaurants. Go to the Botanical Gardens. Enjoy the view and the brew at Hill Brewery. Make love in a real bed. Take it easy before we head back.
I deepen our kiss, knowing that loving Iris is the greatest adventure of my life.
“This is going to be fun,” I tell her when we break the kiss.
“What is?” she shouts over the music, but her eyes are already smiling.
“All of it.”
“I know, right?” Iris squeals before looping her arms over my shoulders. The band trades The Killers for “The Mamou Two-Step.” Half our guests have no idea what to do with the musical one-eighty.
“Dance with me,” Iris commands.
I run my hands down the alluring curve of her waist and settle them on her hips. We’ll show them how it’s done.
I lean down and whisper in her ear:
“Always.”
THE END
Acknowledgments
I really have to start by thanking my husband John for this one. After writing Kind of Cursed, I was struggling with the manuscript I was working on. I wrote the first five chapters twice and still hated it, and I knew I needed to work on something else.
On a bike ride back from our favorite downtown brunch spot on a Saturday in February (aah, the days before the pandemic), I told him my woes and asked him what he thought I should write about. He didn’t hesitate:
“I don’t know if it should be him or her,” he said, “but one of them should be a Cajun dance instructor and the other one needs to learn how to—”
“Stop talking,” I said (because I’m the charming one). “I’ve got it.”
End of story.
Much like Iris Adams, I am rhythmically challenged, but I did have the good fortune