end of the table and sure enough, Beau is staring at me with puppy-dog eyes, which would be a little annoying if it weren’t so cute. We’ve had to slow things down more than a little now that our parents know there’s something to be looking out for.
He smiles, and I smile before turning back to Becky. “Yeah, well.”
“Good for you, girlfriend.”
“My mom freaked when she found out.”
“Parents,” Becky says. “They just don’t get what it’s like to be young and in love.”
“Tell me about it.”
I look at Beau, who is still looking at me, then back at my parents, who seem to only have eyes for each other. I wonder if I’ll ever feel that way about someone. If I do, I won’t wait until it’s almost too late to get married.
I can feel Beau’s eyes on me.
Maybe we can share one slow dance without it feeling too weird.
Dancing at my parents’ wedding with the guy my mom doesn’t want me to date—now, that’ll be good to have in my emotional arsenal. Since I started reading the book Monica gave me, I’m trying really hard to absorb every moment. Because the more I live, the more experiences I’ll have to borrow from.
The song ends, and everyone claps.
“Ceese,” Dad says. I get up and grab his wheelchair, but he stops me. “Not yet, just come here.”
Aunt Becky seems to know what’s going on, because she stands off to the side with her camera taking a video. My stomach drops and I’m suddenly nervous. I walk closer to him and look up into his eyes, one blue and one brown, which are the only part of him that still looks like him. But then I see his smile and I realize no matter what he looks like, he’s still my dad.
“May I have this dance?” he asks.
I hiccup back a sob and nod. A song I recognize starts playing. I think it’s called “Isn’t She Lovely,” but I don’t remember who sings it. My dad reaches for my hand and pulls me close. With my face buried in his chest, I breathe in his scent and try to memorize this moment so I can think about it on my wedding day.
It hits me then: that’s probably what he had in mind the whole time. That’s why Becky is filming this. A tear slips from my eye and it’s like my dad knows. He kisses the top of my head as we keep swaying back and forth.
When the song is over, he kisses my cheek and thanks me. I move my lips to thank him, too, but no words come out.
ONCE I’VE COLLECTED myself and everyone is sitting back around the table, I raise my glass and clink my fork against it like people do in the movies. Everyone stops talking and looks at me.
“Most kids don’t get to be at their parents’ wedding, much less be their mom’s maid of honor,” I say. “But since I’m here, I want to say a few words.”
I push my glasses up and take the folded piece of paper out from under my plate, where I tucked it earlier. “My whole life, I wondered why my parents weren’t married. It wasn’t normal. But then I realized, what they have isn’t normal. It’s better than that.” My voice starts to crack, but I don’t stop. “Thank you for loving each other and for loving me and for finally making our family official. To the bride and groom, my mom and dad.”
I lift my glass toward them and take a sip of the champagne they let us all have to celebrate.
“Time for the cake!” Aunt Jill says.
Aunt Jill sets the cake down in front of my parents and their eyes get all wide like they can’t believe it. I can’t blame them—it is pretty amazing. Lou helped me a lot, obviously, but she let me decide what it should look like. Since there weren’t that many people going to be here, we used a ten-inch cake as the base. There’s an eight-inch cake on top of that, and a four-inch one at the very top.
Lou told me it’s tradition for brides and grooms to freeze the top tier so they can eat it again on their one-year anniversary. I know enough to know that won’t be happening, but we might save it anyway. In case of a miracle or something.
There’s a miniature bride and groom on top of the cake—Lou had a whole collection of them, like