My cell phone chirped far too early on Saturday morning. I rolled over carefully since Sofi had fallen asleep next to me after an early morning breakfast. "Hello?" my voice was still raspy and half asleep.
"This sucks." Morelli was not a happy camper this morning. Remembering his usual morning state, I wasn't surprised.
I chuckled at his obvious distress. "What time is it?" My brain was starting to wake up, and I suddenly remembered we had a lot of things to do today, starting awfully early.
"6:30."
"Shit! I'm supposed to be at Mr. Alexander's at 7:00." I clutched Sofi to me and stood bolt upright in the middle of my old bedroom in my parents' house. I looked around wildly, like a deer caught in a pair of headlights, no clue which way to go first.
Joe chuckled at me. "That's about what I figured. See you at the church, Cupcake." Click.
Joe's timing was superb. I hit the hallway just as my father was stumbling out of the master bedroom. I shoved Sofi into the middle of his chest, and his arms reflexively caught his youngest granddaughter. Thank God his fatherly and grandfatherly skills had been well-honed over the years. "What…" he started, but I just pushed past him and slammed the bathroom door shut in his face, clicking the lock for good measure.
Fifteen minutes later, I was showered with my wet hair shoved up into a towel, and my makeup bag slung under my arm. I threw on a pair of jeans and a big button-up shirt of Joe's that I'd commandeered just for the occasion. I had needed something that wouldn't disarrange whatever Mr. Alexander decided to do to my hair. I could hear my mother clanking around in the kitchen as I thundered down the stairs. "Sofi nursed at five, and there's breastmilk in the fridge!" I called out over my shoulder as I hit the front door at full speed. I didn't wait for an answer, figuring mom would manage just fine without me this morning.
Sally had taken over our house yesterday to put up decorations and get everything set up for the open house tonight, and Joe and I had been summarily kicked out on the street. Joe had lobbied long and hard for a motel room, but I had liked the idea of being married from our parents' homes. I had spent the night in my childhood bedroom for the last time, and Joe had stayed with his mother and Grandma Bella. From the sound of things this morning, Joe had been underwhelmed with sleeping alone at his mother's house. I smiled in anticipation. Tonight would be my wedding night with Joe. Considering that had been the focus of my daydreams for more years than I could remember, I decided I was entitled to a little early morning gloat.
I pulled up to the emergency exit of the mall to find Mr. Alexander waiting for me with the door propped open. I was only slightly late, but Lula was already there ahead of me. After a lot of thought and discussion, I had decided on Lula as my only attendant, and asked MaryLou to serve as Sofi's godmother this afternoon. Joe had asked Mooch to be his best man, with Remy as godfather to Sofi.
Lula's head was already half-covered with foil strips. Obviously, she'd decided yet another new color was needed to celebrate the day. I purposely bit the inside of my cheek and refused to ask what color she'd picked. Reaching a compromise on a maid of honor dress had taken negotiations that rivaled peace talks in the middle east. We'd finally settled on a two-piece number. The top was a strapless red satin that zipped up the back. I had drawn the line at spandex and sequins, and Lula had rebelled at sleeves or any hint of extra fabric over her prodigious boobs. The negotiated truce stipulated that the matching red satin a-line skirt would be worn to the church, and the black leather miniskirt that Lula had chosen would not make an appearance until the open house tonight. Lula had given her famous rhinoceros look at that, so I wasn't holding my breath. I half expected the black leather miniskirt to undulate down the aisle at Sofi's christening.
I resigned myself that there was only so much control one could exert over a woman of Lula's temperament and proportions, and decided to enjoy the pampering. Mr. Alexander and his assistants dried, teased, and curled my mass of hair to a fare-thee-well, then his make up girl started in. In the meantime, Lula and I munched our way through half a box of Boston Creams and laughed until our sides ached. Lula had never been a wedding attendant before, and I think she was hoping seeing her walk down the idea might give Tank some ideas. I know I was. Subtle as a Mack truck, that was me, but when you're dealing with someone named Tank, sometimes drastic measures are necessary.
Finally, Mr. Alexander whirled my chair around and ceremoniously uncovered the mirror. I just stared for a few minutes, then my face slowly lit in a smile. My hair looked like casual curls had been randomly pulled up on top of my head and threaded with pearls and white roses, while riotous tendrils curled randomly around my ears, over the nap of my neck, and spilled over the tops of my shoulders. Men might be fooled into thinking this was a nonchalant hairstyle, but all the women would know of the hours it took to achieve this gently tousled look. My makeup was pure perfection, making my skin look milkier, my lips more red and pouty, and the blue of my eyes seemed deeper and more intense. "Thank you," I murmured to Mr. Alexander, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, careful not to smudge the artful application of lipstick.
Lula looked spectacular with her dark brown curls pulled on top of her head with just the barest kiss of deep auburn foil highlights. "You look beautiful, Lula," I told her sincerely.
Lula smiled at me, then said, "So do you, girl. Officer Hottie gonna have to beat them off with a stick."
I laughed. "You think so? You ever seen Officer Hottie in a black tuxedo? I think I'm going to need a big stick of my own."
"Hot flash!" cried Lula, frantically waving her hands in front of her face. Hot flash, indeed.
Lula and I motored over to the church and managed to escape into the back entrance with no one the wiser. I have to admit we both looked pretty silly with our elaborate hair and makeup matched with worn jeans and the groom's discarded shirt in my case, and a front-snap sports bra in Lula's case. Seems she'd forgotten about the whole "fit over the hair thing" this morning, and was stuck sneaking into church wearing her bra. We giggled our way down the hallway, and locked ourselves in the bathroom with our gowns to finish getting ready. MaryLou was there to meet us. She may not have been my maid of honor in name, but there was no way she was going to miss out on anything. She and Lula understood each other. Lula wasn't Catholic and couldn't stand as godmother to Sofi, but couldn't wait to march down the aisle in front of me and have a front row view of the Burg's wedding of the decade.
MaryLou and Lula helped me into my dress, and it was every bit as gorgeous as I remembered. I was grateful for the forgiving nature of the a-line skirt, since I didn't remember the waist being quite this tight when I'd tried it on two weeks ago. When I faced the cheval mirror, though, I was more than pleased. Let's be honest. I wanted to knock Joe's socks off, and I was completely and totally confident that this would do it. If I managed the proper sway to my hips and come-hither look in my eyes, I might actually get an audible indrawn breath from him as I walked up the aisle.
My father knocked on the door. "Stephanie? You ready."
"Yes."
MaryLou hugged me, with tears standing in her eyes. Of all my friends, she had been there the longest and knew just how much this day meant to me. She hugged me, careful not to crush my dress, and whispered, "Be happy."
"I am," I answered, my smile dazzling.
Lula, on the other hand, looked ready to bolt. Her eyes were bugging out of her head, and she was starting to hyperventilate. As MaryLou left to take her place on the bride's side of the church, I looked deep into Lula's panicked eyes. "Breathe, Lula. Everything is going to be okay."
Lula nodded her head jerkily, then sketched the sign of the cross. I rolled my eyes. When she got stressed, sometimes Lula forgot she wasn't Catholic. "Remember, slow steps. Just keep your eye on the priest or on Joe if you get nervous, okay? You'll do great."
Lula tottered out the door, then seemed to recover herself. I watched her start down the aisle, then my father came up and took my arm.
"I feel underdressed. I shoulda worn my post office uniform." I stared at him like monkeys were flying out of his mouth. What the hell did that mean.
He gestured with his head for me to peek through the archway.
There, in a neat row on the groom's side of the church were a straight line of dress navy whites in the fourth row. Remy, Tex and Tyrone sure cleaned up well, and my eyes started to water at the idea they had donned their dress uniforms to honor Joe on his wedding day. Then I looked over to the bride's side. A line of men in Rangeman black hulked over row four. The black uniforms were shooting looks at the guys in the white uniforms, and it looked like a gang war might break out at any minute. The Rangeman guys seemed unhappy that the Navy guys got to wear their dress whites, and were quietly giving Ranger and Tank hell for not having them wear their OWN military uniforms instead of the plain Rangeman uniforms. The Navy guys were not happy that the Rangeman uniforms outbulked and outnumbered them, but seemed to take solace in the fact that their chests were more spectacularly decorated.
"Let's make it fast, Dad, before all hell breaks loose out there," I muttered as I took my place at my father's side and the organ music swelled. Taking a deep breath, we stepped out into the aisle.
Sally had outdone himself. The church was a study in simple elegance. Simple tulle bows adorned the ends of the pews, each studded with a single red rose. I smiled at my father's understatement. Every third seat was occupied by one of Trenton's finest in their best dress blues. Uniforms seemed to be the order of the day. The front of the church shone with an array of white candles and an enormous spray of red roses. Father DiMarco was resplendent in his green silk vestments, standing next to Joe and Mooch in elegant black tuxedoes.
I felt my breath catch in my throat as Joe turned slowly to face me, and our eyes locked. He had never been more handsome. I studied the beloved face that I knew so well, and realized with every step that this was the culmination of every hope and dream I'd had since I was six years old. The rest of the church seemed empty around me, because I could see no one but Joe. I knew from that first glance that the church was packed full of well-wishers, family, and frankly, probably a smattering of prurient voyeurs as well, who didn't want to miss anything in case the roof collapsed, or there was a shootout over the sacramental wine.
But for me, in that moment, time stood still. I would frame that picture of Joe standing in the sunlight next to the priest, waiting to make me his wife, for all time and tuck it away in my heart. I would savor this moment with every new child born, every gray hair, every anniversary. With every step forward that I took, I could hear Joe's voice whispering in my ear. "Mother of my children," "I will love you all the days of my life." "You are my heart." In a connection that defied the bounds of science, I saw Joe draw in a shuddering breath as his eyes teared up, and he reached out his hand toward me.
Without a second thought or backward glance, I left my father standing in the middle of the aisle and threw myself full tilt into Joe's arms. He caught me up in his arms like I knew he would, and we unselfconsciously wiped away each other's tears, my poor tattered roses crushed between our bodies. Father DiMarco ostentatiously cleared his throat, and I realized then that our guests were laughing, but most were laughing through tears of their own.
"Sorry, Father," said Joe.
"You two seem to be in a bit of a hurry," teased Father DiMarco.
"Well, the christening's at two," said Joe. Smartass.
"We need to have a talk, Joseph." Father DiMarco shook his head, but he was having a hard time keeping a straight face. The crowd roared. I could see the Dress Whites nudging each other. Score one for the Navy. The Rangemen scowled.
When things were quiet, Father DiMarco began the service. Once the priest began to speak, I could see nothing but Joe's beloved face.
"Almighty God, hear our prayers for Joseph and Stephanie, who have come here to be united in the sacrament of marriage. Give them your blessing, and strengthen their love for each other. We ask this through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever."
The "amen" echoed through the building.
"Joseph and Stephanie, have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?
Will you love and honor each other as husband and wife for the rest of your lives?
Will you accept children lovingly from God and bring them up according to the Law of Love and Compassion?
Since it is your intention to enter into marriage, with your hands joined and declare your consent before God and his Church, this community of your family and friends."
With each affirmation my heart grew lighter. Our hands were gripping each other so tightly I wasn't sure either of us would have any feeling left. Then Father DiMarco turned to Joe expectantly.
Without pause, and with perfect calm, Joe proclaimed, "I, Joseph, take you, Stephanie, to be my wife, to be the mother of our children, to be the companion of my heart. I promise to love you and to be true to you in good times and in bad all the days of my life."
God, please don't let me mess up. I want this to be perfect for Joe. For us. Please. I was in church, right? And prayers count double in church. My voice quavered a bit, because I was still teary-eyed, "I, Stephanie take you, Joseph, to be my husband, to be the father of our children, to be the companion of my heart. I promise to love you and to be true to you in good times and in bad all the days of my life."
Whew. Father DiMarco intoned, "You have declared your consent before the Church and this community of your family and friends. May the Lord in his goodness strengthen your consent and fill you with His blessings. What God has joined together, let no one separate."
Again, the "Amen" thundered throughout the church. Say what you will about Catholics, but we've had lots of practice picking up on our cues, starting from an early age. Nobody wanted rulers on the knuckles from not paying attention, and therefore we were very vocal, and very timely, in church.
"Lord, bless and consecrate Joseph and Stephanie in their love and compassion for each other. May these rings be a symbol of true faith they share in each other and always remind them of their love and compassion. We ask this through Christ our Lord."
Like clockwork, another hearty Amen.
Oh, geez. The rings. I'd never make it through the rings without bawling like a baby. I sneaked a look at Joe, and realized he was fighting back tears of his own.
"Stephanie, take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity, in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit." Joe slid the solid gold band onto my finger. Deceptively simple in brushed gold, our wedding rings had delicate rope designs running along each outer edge. Mine slid into place to nestle next to my engagement ring, and I fancifully wondered if the rings had missed being together as much as I had missed Joe during our time apart. Joe raised my hand to his lips, and pressed a gentle kiss on top of his rings that I was finally wearing. I could hear someone audibly sobbing in the background, then couldn't decide if it was Allie or me.
My throat was closed with pure emotion, and it was painful and almost impossible to force any sounds past the lump that lodged there. I had carried Joe's ring up the aisle with me, not trusting anyone else to carry it. It was my talisman that true love really can conquer all. It was my ring, and Joe's ring, and I didn't want anyone else's hands to touch it. "Joseph," I sobbed. "Take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity," I drew a shaky breath as my tears continued to flow, "In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit."
The general intercessions and nuptial blessing washed over me without impact. I smiled up at Joe. Married. We were finally married. He reached up and brushed away the tears that were still drying on my cheek, and I turned my head and lightly kissed the palm of his hand. The priest continued to drone, but the important words had already been said.
The Lord's Prayer recited, the Solemn Blessing was pronounced, and Joe and I were finally presented to the assembled company as Mr. And Mrs. Joseph Morelli.
The priest intoned one last time, "Go in peace to love and serve the Lord, this marriage ceremony is complete."
A heartfelt "Thanks be to God," answered the congregation.
Joe took me in his arms, and devoured my mouth with his own. "Mine, finally mine," we both seemed to be breathing. Without a backward glance, Joe picked me up in his arms and strode back down the aisle and out the front door of the church, with Mooch and Lula hard pressed to keep up.
Joe lowered my feet to the church steps, and I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him with everything I had in me. He crushed me to him, and for a few stolen moments, we just stood there, locked in an embrace that was completely timeless. I felt the even ridge of his teeth as he smiled against my lips as our gathered friends and family began cheering and pelting us with rice, cameras clicking like crickets on a hot night. We shook hands and kissed papery cheeks, and accepted well wishes for fifteen or twenty minutes, then Sally whisked us off to the Explorer for the short drive to Rossini's for our family lunch. Sally was resplendent in a red satin dress of his own and dangly rhinestone earrings. "Go, before this mob riots, and I'll see you both back at the house after the christening. Last minute things to do, you know." With that, Sally blew a kiss. I wasn't sure if it was aimed at me or Joe.
Rossini's back banquet room was elegantly decked out with a single red rosebud in the center of each snow white tablecloth, and soft candle light from the tables softened the gray overcast shadows coming in from the November etched windows. We had wanted to keep lunch small and intimate, but with families the size of those in the Burg, intimate was a relative term. My parents, Grandma Mazur and her date, along with Valerie and Albert and the three girls represented the Plums. As my mother had once remarked, though, there had to be a hundred Morellis. We were limited this time to Joe's mom, Angie, and Grandma Bella, along with Joe's brothers, Tony and Paulie, and their wives and kids, and Joe's sisters Mary and Catherine, with their respective husbands and kids. I was pretty sure I could place the right spouse with the right Morelli, but the kids had me stumped. Add in the Naval contingent and things were starting to get crowded. We couldn't leave out the maid of honor or best man, so Lula and Tank were there along with Mooch and Shirley, and MaryLou and Lenny and their three kids rounded out everybody. Forty-five people constituted immediate family. I've known third world invasions that were more restrained.
The food was exquisite, and everyone was ebullient, buoyed up by the beautiful ceremony we had just finished. I alternated between playing with my rings under the table, and reaching for Joe's hand. I needed reassurance that all of this was finally real. Angie approached me between courses. "Aunt Stephanie, what were your things?"
My things? I must have looked as blank as I felt, because I totally had no idea what she was talking about. "Your something old and something new, something borrowed and something blue. You know. Your wedding things."
Ah. So typically Angie. She was eleven now, and I knew Valerie had taken her shopping for her first training bra a few months before. Sounded like hormones were starting to kick in, and Angie being the little manager she was wanted to make sure that every 'I' had been dotted and every 'T' crossed. "Well," I answered. My something borrowed were these pearl earrings from Grandma Mazur." I showed her the pearl and diamond studs that had been my grandmother's gift from her parents on her own wedding day. "My something new was this pearl necklace that Uncle Joe gave me last night at dinner. We'll give them to Sofi on her wedding day." Angie was nodding encouragement. It wasn't enough that I just have the four essential things, but I had to have reasons for having each of them that met with Angie's eleven year old, starry-eyed approval. "My something blue was this sapphire friendship ring Uncle Joe gave me a few years ago, and my something old was my engagement ring. Uncle Joe bought it for me a very long time ago, before I married for the first time." Angie closely examined my rings.
"But Aunt Stephanie," she said, "your rings are just alike—the blue one and the engagement ring. Except for the color."
"Yep," I agreed. "That's why I like them. Once your Uncle Joe finds something he likes, he sticks with it forever."
I turned to Joe and whispered, "Lucky me." I guess I didn't whisper quietly enough, because I heard Angie sigh audibly.
I looked over and Angie was looking at Joe like he hung the moon. "Good God," he muttered, as she skipped away, her head obviously still in the clouds.
"Hey," I said. "Angie could do a lot worse than to hold out for a guy as wonderful as her Uncle Joe."
"Yeah?" Joe looked pleased.
"Yeah." I leaned over and gave him what must be the three-hundredth kiss just today. He kissed me back, then stood and raised his glass. Joe smiled as the calls for a speech jokingly came at him from all over the room.
"I would like to thank you all for joining Stephanie and me on our wonderful day. It was a long time coming, but well worth the wait." Chuckles arose, and I felt myself blushing. Joe turned to me, with this glass still raised. "And thank you, Stephanie for becoming my wife, and for our beautiful daughter. Ti amo."
Assorted invasion wagons disgorged our collective army of invaders at the steps of the church on the dot of two o'clock. The entire Rossini contingent was there, of course, plus assorted aunts, uncles and cousins from both sides and including several removes. While not as packed as the wedding that morning, Sofi's christening was very well attended.
To be honest, I hadn't been particularly nervous about the wedding. Anxious and excited, yes, but not scared or nervous. Nervous I had reserved for the Sofi's christening. Not that anyone expected much of a baby at a baptism. You said some prayers, the priest did his priest thing, the godparents did their godparent thing, the baby got wet and howled. Everybody laughed.
Everybody.
It was this last part that was worrying me. Oh, I knew Sofi would survive just fine. To my knowledge, no baby has ever died from being baptized. Joe, I wasn't so sure about. Sofi was firmly convinced, in all her two and a half month old stubbornness, that her Daddy was the only reason the evil water monster didn't come and devour her every single night. Unfortunately, I was equally firmly convinced that she absorbed this so-called reasoning from Joe. On the few occasions when I'd had to bathe Sofi without him because he hadn't been home, he would look accusingly from me to her tearstained little face, then croon consolingly in her ear while he shot me daggers with his eyes. I was generally only forgiven when mealtime rolled around, and then it was Sofi who caved, not Joe. If he could have figured out how to lactate on demand, I don't think he would relinquish his poor little picked-upon daughter to her Mean Momma even then, but Sofi could be pretty insistent.
My mother came up behind me and put an arm around my shoulder in a one-armed hug. "He dotes on her," motioning to Joe who was swaying gently with Sofi in his arms, the lace edge of her christening dress arranged just so over the arm of his tuxedo, courtesy of Joe's mom.
"Yeah, I know." I didn't sound as pleased as I knew I should by the prospect, I could tell from the strange look my mother shot me. I tried to smile, but it came out lopsided. My mom didn't have to worry about trying to keep Joe from shooting Father DiMarco when said priest made Princess Sofi cry by pouring water on her head, or worse, physically restrain him from jumping into the baptismal font along with her. I let out a nervous giggle at the thought of a naked Joe in the baptismal font, then quickly crossed myself before God struck me dead for thinking carnal thoughts in church.
We moved into place around the font, and I wrapped both arms around Joe's waist as tight as I could while Remy took charge of Sofi. I "accidentally" stood with both of my feet on his right foot, hoping to give Father DiMarco a running start if things got ugly. I had also clued in the "dress whites". Remy had muttered something that started out French and ended up with "fucking bullet proof vest". Tex and Tyrone had laughed till their sides hurt, then agreed to stand just behind Joe, one stationed on either side of him to stop him if he started taking off his clothes. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was the best I could do.
Father DiMarco moved into position, and MaryLou and Remy supported Sofi's small body over the basin. Father DiMarco lifted the silver chalice, and I heard Joe draw in his breath sharply.
"Breathe, honey. It will be over in a minute. She'll be fine." Joe's face got pale, and he turned huge, panic-stricken eyes on his baby girl. Remy tried to smile at him reassuringly while holding on to a squirmy Sofi. She could probably smell the water. Joe swiveled his head, and looked at me like I had lost my mind. "Breathe, Joe."
"Sofia Josette Morelli, I baptize thee in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost." Thank God Albert Kloughn had hand carried all the necessary papers from one legal department to the next over this past week. We had completely forgotten that Sofi's birth certificate didn't match the name we wanted her christened by until it was almost too late to get the birth certificate amended. Albert had received our effusive thanks, and Valerie had preened and beamed with pride that her own Albert had saved the day.
Father DiMarco made the sign of the cross three times on Sofi's forehead. Then he tipped the silver chalice and the holy water began to slowly trickle over Sofi's head. Sofi drew in her breath to let out a yowl, and I felt Joe's muscles tense under my hands. "Joe, you take off so much as a shoe and head toward that font and I'll nail your nuts to the church door and make you a Lutheran." I guess I spoke louder than I meant to, because there were several audible guffaws in the audience and Remy's shoulders began to shake.
Father DiMarco paused and looked over at me. I tried to smile reassuringly and gave him a little finger wave. The corners of Joe's mouth were starting to turn up just the slightest bit. Thank God. After what seemed like an eternity, Father DiMarco placed the white veil on Sofi's head. "Receive this white garment, which may thou carry without stain before the judgment seat of Our Lord Jesus Christ that thou may have eternal life. Amen."
Remy held a single lighted candle, leaving MaryLou to deal with a truly irate Sofi all by herself. Luckily MaryLou has good mom instincts and years of practice, because Sofi was decidedly unhappy. In her little mind, her Daddy had deserted her in her hour of need, and now she had a wet head and it was all somebody's fault. Her volume level led us to believe she would hunt down the miscreant and deal harshly with him. Well, except she was starting to get tired. And Aunt MaryLou really knew how to do this rocking, cuddling thing. Well, okay, maybe the world wasn't going to end right this very minute, but she reserved the right to restart the siren at any time. Just because she was snuffling now and going to sleep didn't mean this was over….
"Receive this burning light, and keep thy baptism so as to be without blame. Observe the commandments of God; that, when Our Lord shall come to His nuptials, thou may meet Him together with all the Saints and may have life ever lasting, and live forever and ever. Amen."
I don't think I had ever said a more heartfelt amen in my life. I slowly removed my shoes from Joe's feet and he dared to send me an innocent look like I was overreacting. Yeah, right. I had firsthand knowledge of just how fast he could get himself naked and into the water with Sofi. While Grandma Mazur would have undoubtedly enjoyed the show, I wasn't so sure about the rest of the family.
I breathed a big sigh of relief. Okay. Joe and I were man and wife in the eyes of God and the Holy Mother Church, and Sofi was officially Catholic. Stick a fork in me, because I am done. Time to party!
