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06.01.17
It's officially my wedding day: take two.
Months of work all set to culminate in a single grand performance; one take that will serve as the crown jewel in a beautiful, yet incomplete setting of moments highlighting a relationship that is far from its end.
I think about the other jewels in my life with Jesse as I tip around the home that isn't my own, grateful for his mother's hospitality but unable to sleep hours before the day that will be almost completely mine. I don't see other frames like the one we're hours from capturing. Unlike the single moment our wedding will be, the other jewels are montages, glinting through my mind in flickering shimmers...
The way that my hand has been finding his and his finding mine for the last ten years, twining our fingers on walks or drives, in crowds, at dinners, events, and banquets, while we're thoughtfully tangled on the couch or recklessly tangled in bed...
The way that we swim deeply in the pools of each other's talents and traits, appreciating efforts on stage and screen--behind and in front of the camera, reveling greedily in sleepy lullabies and soft affirmations, delivering unending praise to egos that can't grow any larger...
The way that we've pried one another apart and wedged into the gaps we created, accepting that he would became the one who feeds me on those days where I still don't think about food and I would became the one who never lets him construct walls around the things he's feeling...
Ten years feels like a lifetime for two people who seemed to have settled on one another long ago. We could have married right after high school, at some point in college, prior to moving in together, before having a child, or at any point throughout the years when our bond showed no signs of breaking. We'd already imagined a lifetime together--not in those exact terms the whole time, but we couldn't see an end in sight. We promised not to give one another up at 17 and 18 and embraced being selfish with each other even back then. To me, a wedding has been little more than a giant party with both of our families to confirm what we already knew.
I walk past windows overlooking a city that doesn't hold still. I've brought as much of Los Angeles here that I could. I've sprinkled LA around our home in Tribeca in the form of warm colors, seashells, sunlight, and California poppies, all of which have worked their way into the details of our ceremony. I've also invited as much of my family as I could to witness my nuptials, a wave from the west that has comfortably blanketed the days and evenings leading up to today.
Aunts and uncles and cousins abound; the Mottas are here in full force, descending on the city many of them view as the cold, cluttered, constricting opposite of the stretching valleys and depths of land along the California coast they're used to. I felt the same way about New York once upon time. I saw it as this lingering creature, one that I knew would always call to Jesse in one way or another and force me to make peace with the locale. Now we've come to an agreement, New York City and I. We don't see eye to eye about the underground deathtrap, the street meat, the snow-covered winters, the constant noise, the almost mythical beaches, yards, and outdoor pools, the suffocatingly close living quarters, or the stunning lack of visible stars at night... However, there's more here to love than there is to hate and the things I love here are things I refuse to live without.
I only argued a bit when everyone insisted I sleep alone so that I could rest, but I still seek out my daughter and find her blissfully asleep and cuddled against her aunt.
Although I prefer Vivi to sleep on her own so that Jess and I don't lose our bed, I don't even think to pry her from Pepper's arms and I hope that their connection soothes that part of my big sister that wrinkles when she talks about her attempts to have a child of her own. Madeline has been...surprising in those conversations that lob between my still feeling my way around as a mother and Pepper's unyielding desire to become one as the three of us string together a system of support knotted tighter by our shared love of each other and the little girl who has found a way to change all of our lives without trying at all.
In a few hours, I know Vivi will run to my mother when she arrives to get ready for the day, having chosen to stay in her hotel suite to ensure that my father wouldn't spend the entire night working, and I will see that softness I never recognized in Madeline until Vivi existed. I promised my mother that she could help get Vivi ready and I am glad to not worry about the task of chasing around my very curious and very mobile almost sixteen-month-old to get her into the "ball of fluff" dress my younger brother so lovingly dubbed her outfit for the big day. ...Basil's snark is another thing I am glad to be momentarily rid of as he has promised me a full 24 hours where he won't push any of the well-worn buttons he's created over the years.
Back in my temporary bedroom, I eye the garment bag protecting the most perfect thing I have ever designed and will ever wear. I don't need to part the zipper to know what's housed inside. The handmade dress isn't white. Not quite. Audrey and I spent hours on the color, choosing an exact shade that would suit my skintone, complement my eyes, and pair well with--while simultaneously standing out against--a million little details I've spent far more hours pouring over. Both Audrey and I have always understood the importance of little things, registered that something being understated wasn't the same as it being nonexistent. Her eye for detail has always been admirable and it was easily the first thing I noticed about my other half's mother upon meeting her many years ago.
We both notice the way her son will always attempt to mask his sentimentality, though we're both well aware of its existence. I know it will be on full display during our celebration, communicated loudly through shared vows and toasts, quietly through whispered exchanges in any semi-private moment we can grasp, and silently through each gaze and touch I'll share with him throughout the day.
I find my way back to bed and I am fully settled with the fact that I no longer enjoy sleeping alone. I accept that I am spoiled beyond belief by someone who has already vowed to spend the rest of his life keeping me that way. And as my fingers ghost the empty half of the mattress I lie atop, I smile knowing without a doubt that my current state is one that I'll rarely experience ever again.