The Magic of (Other People’s) Weddings

by John Meils

“We tried,” she said. “But Kevin didn’t want the minister to use the word ‘God’ in the service, so we did it outdoors with a justice of the peace.”

For the record, I’ve always liked Kevin. He’s a physicist, a practical man.

Lorri emerged ahead of the bride and looked even more striking than before. She was nervous, walking carefully in that stilted gait insisted on by wedding planners. I swallowed hard and caught myself welling up. As the bride appeared, I glanced in the opposite direction, towards the groom. He wore an easy smile. Maybe that’s when you get married, I thought, when you’re not afraid anymore.

The reception was—again, you guessed it—at a country club. The sun came out for the first time all day and laced the dining room in light. More cocktails, a table tiered in cheese and crudités and fruit. Lorri appeared at my side, held my hand. I relaxed. It felt wrong to be at a wedding both with and without her. And she was so happy—for her friend, for herself, for us being a part of it all.

We boogied, a lot. I played the fool on the dance floor, as I should. There was more food, more toasts and alas, cake. My worries had all been for naught. I’d had fun, as I always do at weddings.