Chapter 3 - THE EIGHTEEN MINUTES
A traditional wedding ceremony at the Bellmore Grand took approximately eighteen minutes.
Processional.
Opening words.
Reading.
Vows.
Rings.
Pronouncement.
Recessional.
Eighteen minutes.
Dorothy became obsessed with that number.
Not flowers.
Not cake.
Not photographs.
Eighteen uninterrupted minutes.
She mentioned it at rehearsal dinner.
“I am asking this family for eighteen minutes where nobody leaves, nobody takes a business call, nobody announces an emergency that can wait.”
Samuel smiled.
“Actual emergencies may interrupt.”
Everyone laughed.
Dorothy did not.
Ethan reached across and squeezed her hand.
“Nothing is ruining this one, Mom.”
She looked at him.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
I remember that exchange now with painful clarity.
At the time it seemed sweet.
A son telling his widowed mother she would finally get her wedding.
Then Dorothy looked at me.
My stomach was huge.
She said:
“You especially.”
I laughed.
“What?”
“No labor during the vows.”
“I’ll speak to management.”
Samuel laughed.
Ethan laughed.
Dorothy smiled.
The table moved on.
Later, in the car, I said:
“She wasn’t entirely joking.”
Ethan kissed my knuckles.
“She’s nervous.”
“Your mother is always nervous. She just calls it planning.”
“She spent half her life having plans canceled.”
“I know.”
“Let her have this.”
I looked out the window.
“I am.”
He squeezed my hand.
That became his favorite phrase.
Let her have this.
One seating preference.
One guest-list addition.
One schedule change.
One rehearsal dinner that started at five because Dorothy disliked evening traffic.
May you like
Each harmless.
Then the requests began involving me.
