Saturday, March 1, 2003 — 4:45 p.m.
As a child, I envisioned my wedding as one of those fairytale types: Prince Charming and I at the front of a huge cathedral surrounded by hundreds of our friends and family. The whole Princess Diana thing except my prince would be a doctor or some other respected professional.
I am fifteen minutes from walking down the aisle of my family's church on my father's arm and getting married to the man whose present occupation can be listed as professional antagonist.'
Not exactly what I envisioned when I was twelve.
After Josh proposed, I thought about it and decided I wanted to get married in the church I was baptized in, the church I was confirmed in. I didn't want a huge fancy reception with food nobody would eat and an orchestra my family wouldn't want to dance to. I didn't want to be the D.C. spectacle of the week.
Josh wanted to run away to Vegas and elope.
I think he had the right idea.
"Daddy, I think I'm going to be sick."
***
Donna's grandmother, Marjorie, smells like Vick's Vapor-Rub.
Why do I know this? She kissed me after I escorted her down the aisle. Her grandfather, Nathan, settled for shaking my hand.
I might look good, but I'm sweltering in this damn tux; Mom tied my tie too tight; I haven't been allowed to see Donna at all today, which was a tradition neither of us was interested in observing; I need to pee.
The last thing I might want to take care of before the ceremony.
"Ready?" Abbey Bartlet smiles at me when I offer her my arm. She and the President are sitting with my mother, filling the role of my family.
"I wanted to elope, you know." I mutter.
"Yeah, we had this conversation already, Josh." President Bartlet says from behind me. "Get the show on the road."
Get the show on the road? I'm still trying to figure out where the last three days went. Especially Thursday, could somebody please tell me what happened to Thursday?
Not that Thursday was horrible; it really wasn't for the most part. Thursday was just huge in a lot of different ways.
Thursday, February 27, 2003.
"What time is your mom's flight in?"
"8:30," I call from the shower.
"And then you're picking up the stuff from the dry cleaners?"
"Yes."
"Then you're doing what?"
"Donna?" I stick my head out of the shower and look at her.
"What?"
She's sitting on the vanity, waiting for me to finish so she can have her turn.
"Stop."
I leave the shower running for her, but climb out and start toweling off my hair. "Tell me again why Gerry isn't coming at all."
Pat's husband Gerry is boycotting the wedding.
"I don't know. Why do you care? You don't like him anyway. You need to get going." She slaps me on the butt when she squeezes past.
It's 7:30. I need to get dressed, find my way from Paul and Deb's house to the airport, pick up Mom and make it downtown for a meeting by 9:15.
In Madison — I doubt traffic will be an issue.
"Okay, I'm going." I holler from the bedroom. "I love you."
"Take Timmy with you!"
"What?" I stick my head back in the bathroom.
"Pat, Kelly and I are doing a girls thing this morning. Can you take Timmy? His car seat is already in Dad's Blazer. What are you staring at?"
"You," I answer. She's more beautiful every day.
"Go or you'll be late."
"You're pushy, you know that?" I smirk at her.
"I'm pregnant and I'm getting married in less than three days. I'm entitled."
I let her have the last word and head downstairs to collect Timmy.
***
"Who dat?" Timmy points at Mom as she makes her way towards us.
"My Mamme."
"Oh. Down?"
I've been carrying him since we got out of the car. Mostly because I'm afraid he'll get away from me.
"Not yet."
"Unca Joss! Down!"
He manages to wiggle out of my arms just as Mom reaches us. She snags him right before he smacks his head on the floor.
"Nice catch." I tell her as she gives the two-year-old back to me.
"I had plenty of practice with squirming little boys," she laughs. "Do you have a name?"
Timmy buries his face in my neck and shakes his whole body.
"No, you don't have a name? Well, we had better give you one then."
We collect Mom's luggage and get to the car without a major incident. I let Tim down in the parking lot but insist he hold my hand. It's still a little icy despite the warm weather of the past week. Mom keeps giving me this weird look while I strap my nephew into his car seat.
"What?" I ask on our way out of the parking lot.
"Nothing." She shakes her head to emphasize her words.
With no small amount of luck, I manage to navigate my way from the airport to my next destination.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Mom questions.
"Which this?" There are 97 separate things she could be referring to.
"This morning's this."
"Yeah. I want to do this." I pull into a parking spot at the law office of Daniel Kohls.
This morning's this requires my mother's presence. I haul Tim out of his car seat and we head inside.
Entering the lobby of Kohls' office, I assume the baby-faced, associate-type is from the firm my attorney in D.C. retained to represent me here.
"Mr. Lyman?" The guy stands up and offers me his hand. "Chris Proles."
"Josh. This is my mother, Elisa and my nephew, Tim."
"Pleasure to meet you."
Nice kid, I'd be slightly more comfortable if he were old enough to vote.
"Mr. Proles, when did you graduate from law school?" Mom is straight to the point. She ran Dad's office for years before he gave up his private practice and joined a New York firm.
"Last May," the kid admits.
"You like real estate and probate?" I ask, something about this kid clicks with me.
"I hate it, but I aced it on the bar exam so"
"They stuck you there," Mom finishes for him.
The receptionist takes us back to a conference room. We haggle over a couple of things in the contract I want changed and while they're retyping it, I ask my young attorney what he wants to be doing.
"Con law," he replies simply.
"You're kidding." Constitutional Law was frequently considered the biggest pain in the ass class at Yale Law.
I, of course, loved it.
It was the only part of law school I liked.
"Nope. I'm fascinated by the Constitution."
We're interrupted when they return with the contract. I sign it, hand over the check and accept the keys in return.
Mom and I round Timmy up and head for the dry cleaners to pick up my tux and Donna's dress.
"Unca Joss? Cheeseburger?" Tim calls from the backseat.
It's 10:30 in the morning and he wants McDonald's. I've eaten at McDonald's every day this week, because I've had Tim every day this week.
"Nope. We're going to Grandma's."
My mother is finding this far too amusing.
"Please?"
"Sorry. Grandma told me to starve you this morning." Donna, Pat, me, Fred, even Grandpa, we are all fair game for a temper tantrum. Deb, however, is a different story.
Grandma is a scared cow.
"Why?"
"So you'd be extra hungry for lunch."
I argue with legislators for a living, I can argue with a two-year-old until he falls asleep.
"Why?"
"She's making something special for lunch."
Three more blocks and I'm home free.
"What?"
"Can't tell you."
"Why?"
"It's a surprise." On that note, I park the Blazer and set him free to watch TV until lunch.
"So what's for lunch?" Mom asks, following me into the kitchen.
"Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches," I reply with a smirk.
Deb and my mother have spent far too much time on the phone since Christmas and greet each other like old friends. Feeling an exchange of baby pictures coming on, I join Tim in the living room.
Not long after we finish our PB&J's with the crusts cut off, Donna and Pat get home.
"Come with me," Donna sways a shopping bag at me.
"How much money did I spend today?" I ask, following her up the stairs to our room.
"You bought your nephew the world's cutest tux. It matches yours, by the way. And you bought your niece the most adorable green velvet flower girl's dress. And you got me some shoes."
"More shoes?"
Donna owns more shoes than Imelda Marcos.
"Excuse me? Whose feet have swollen to twice their normal size?" She sits on the bed and lifts a foot up as a visual aid. It is slightly swollen, but not twice its normal size.
"Back hurt?" I ask. She's always snarky when her back hurts.
"Yes." Donna pouts and reaches around to rub her lower back.
I can take a hint. Surveying the room, I note the neon pink beanbag chair.
She's big enough now that it's uncomfortable for her to lie on her stomach. Giving her massages has become an exercise in creativity the past couple of weeks.
"Come over here," I gesture to the squishy vinyl.
"Josh, I'm tired," she whines, clearly in no mood for games.
"I know, Donna. Come over here and I'll rub your back."
With a groan, she gets up, before considering my offer and the relic of her teenage years. "I'm never going to be able to get back up."
"I promise, I'll get you up."
"You got me in this condition, " she complains, but kneels down and, pulling her shirt off, settles on the beanbag.
I straddle her waist and begin to massage the tension out of her muscles.
"God, you're good at this," she groans as I work on her lower back. I should be, I get enough practice.
She falls silent as I continue the massage, the odd grunt escaping when I hit an especially sore spot. Gathering her long, blonde hair, I move it aside and lean forward to kiss her shoulders.
"Josh?" Donna murmurs.
"Yes?"
"Is that a Spongebob in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"
When I leaned over her it became pretty obvious while she's been relaxing, I've been getting a bit tense.
"I'm just happy to see you?" I guess, my voice an octave lower than normal.
"Wrong answer," Donna informs me.
I press my lips to her shoulder again.
"Right answer," she tells me, sinking herself deeper into the beanbag.
"Are you okay?" I whisper in her ear, meaning is she comfortable.
Her reply is to groan when I suck her earlobe into my mouth.
***
"Get me out of this thing."
I crawl to my feet and stand over her, trying to figure out how I'm going to do this. With little ceremony, I decide on just dumping her over on to her back, beanbag chair and all.
"Josh!" she screams.
Pulling the beanbag chair off her, I reach down and lift her up.
"It worked, didn't it?" I offer in my own defense when she glares at me.
An "are you two decent?" follows a tap at the door.
"At least it's your mother." Donna giggles before we chorus back. "NO!"
"Get dressed. We need to leave in twenty minutes to meet the plane."
Donna's parents are overly nervous about meeting the President in a social situation and decided they didn't want to go the airport. My mom goes with us.
And Tim.
I think Mom just wants to see Leo.
***
"Josh?" Sam and CJ have fallen into step with me as we head towards the cars.
I keep casting a glance over to where my mother and Leo are getting way too cozy.
"Yeah, CJ?"
"Why is there a small child wrapped around your neck?"
Pat put Tim down for a nap before we left the house. Evidently, he wasn't asleep. He crawled into his car seat while I was holding the door open for Donna. Then he wanted a piggyback ride from the car to the plane. Now, he won't get down.
The President wanted to know if we needed to get a security clearance for him. The First Lady hasn't stopped giggling since she laid eyes on us. Toby keeps making Mini-Me cracks and the West Wing Senior Assistants Association is taking far more photographs than necessary.
Most of which will be used for blackmail, I'm sure.
"I'm the coolest uncle known to man?" I offer in response to CJ's question. I'm trying very hard not to bad-mouth the boy's father in front of him, especially using language I know he'll repeat. Although hearing Tim try to say cocksucker could be funny.
"Whatever, but he's not coming to the party tonight. What do you keep looking at?" Sam follows my eyes. "Oh. That has to be disturbing on a lot of levels."
CJ looks over and shakes her head. "You two are reading way too much into that."
"CJ, my boss has his hand on my mother's hip!" If they kiss on the tarmac, I'll have the heart attack Abbey Bartlet's been threatening me with for the past year.
"Josh, your voice just got really squeaky right there." Donna comes up behind me and picks Tim off my back and setting him on the ground.
"Do you have to point that out every time it happens?" I grouse at her. I actually need to work today; Donna's walking me to the motorcade.
"Timmy," I squat down in front of him when we reach the limo. "You need to stay with Aunt Donna, okay? I've got to go work."
"No." It's sort of cute the way he scrunches his face up and shakes his head.
"I'll see you later."
"No!" The temper tantrum he throws is not at all cute.
"Josh?" The President calls from inside the limo.
"Yes, sir?"
"Bring the kid."
"I'm killing Pat as soon as the wedding is over." Kissing Donna quickly, I grab Tim and climb into the car.
Leo hands me a file as soon as the door is shut. "How's your knowledge of nuclear physics?"
"About to expand dramatically?" I guess warily, settling Tim on the seat next to me.
Opening the file, I look up and glance between the two men sitting across from me. Leo silently hands me a plastic card.
"Leo" I stare at the NSC card like it's going to bite me.
"I know you don't want it, but we can't afford four more years of you sitting on the sidelines. Our foreign policy is a disaster. We're going to have Donna front more of the domestic stuff; she's fully capable of handling it. You're going to split your time between domestic policy and planting your foot up Tom Colburn's ass." Leo doesn't give me a chance to object. It is a well-known fact our Office of Homeland Security is suffering tremendously under Colburn's mismanagement.
"Josh, I need you to do this and I need to know you'll be there when the shit hits the fan." President Bartlet gestures to the file in my hands. "Everything in there is from the agency directors reporting to Colburn. What they consider to be the biggest stumbling blocks. Read it, analyze it and come up with a plan to fix it."
"When?" I know better than to argue.
"By the time you get back to Washington on Wednesday." Leo checks his watch.
"Wednesday? We're out until next Monday." I'm a half an octave from whining.
"Wednesday." Leo says again.
Guess it's a good thing I didn't book the trip to Hawaii for our honeymoon.
Arriving at the hotel, I realize I don't have anything for Tim to do while I work. Margaret hands me a stack of binders and phone messages. The next four hours are going to suck, monumentally suck.
***
"Here." Toby is standing over me with a package.
"What is it?" It's heavy.
He sits next to my sleeping shadow and me. Luckily, Timmy crashed before I finished my first phone call.
"Open it."
It's wrapped in the Sunday comics. Pulling back Dilbert, I discover a yellowed piece of parchment mounted on an ornately carved oak plaque. The wording, done in black calligraphy, surrounds a picture of Donna and I from the first campaign.
"Toby, how Thank you. You didn't need to do this, but thank you."
"Your mother was kind enough to send me the text from hers. We both thought you would agree with your dad's sentiments." Toby fidgets a bit, unnerved by the emotion he's displaying.
"You don't know how much I appreciate this. I tried to work on one in London, but I just couldn't get it right." My fingers trace the Hebrew of the ketubah, the marriage covenant I promised my mother I would write and asked Toby to help me with.
"Hey, everybody's ready to go down to dinner." Sam bounces up. Looking me up and down, he grins. "Lots of carbs tonight, Josh. Lots of carbs."
"Donna will have your ass if I die of alcohol poisoning."
Saturday, March 1, 2003 — 4:55 p.m.
I'm petrified.
I'm standing up here, alone save for the clergyman, looking out at our guests and I have no idea what my own name is.
My mother is sitting in the front pew with Leo, who is standing in for my father. The President and Dr. Bartlet are seated in the row behind them. Donna's mother is on the opposite side, crying already.
Fred, Ed, Larry and Chris are standing at the doors. All of them refuse to make eye contact with me. I get the impression they think I'm going to make a break for it.
Donna decided on white ties and tails for the entire wedding party to go with the bridesmaids' dark green dresses. She made me promise to wear the damn cummerbund, but it was driving me insane. I ditched it in favor of my usual suspenders.
Great, now my mother is starting to cry.
Have I mentioned I can't keep a coherent thought in my head?
***
CJ, Zoey and Margaret have gone to hook up with Sam, Matt and Toby, leaving me alone with Dad and Ginger.
"Josh isn't wearing his cummerbund," Bonnie reports, coming back into the room after checking with the minister. She and Ginger nominated themselves for the role of my personal assistant. "Otherwise, I think we're ready."
I'm not ready.
We should have eloped.
"Donna, if you don't breathe, you're going to hyperventilate." Ginger grabs me by both shoulders and looks me in the eye. "You can do this. Josh is waiting for you at the front of the church and if you don't make it there, he's going to make the rest of our lives a living hell."
Daddy, who has been looking suspiciously teary, smiles at me and nods his agreement.
I can do this.
I can do this without bursting into tears.
"If you don't marry him, Donna, Matt Skinner will." Bonnie throws out.
Well, that ends my urge to break down and cry.
"Do you think he'll remember his name or will I have to slip him an index card?" I giggle.
"Remember it like he did yesterday at rehearsal?" Ginger and Bonnie start laughing with me.
It wasn't entirely Josh's fault he couldn't remember his middle name. Friday was a pretty long day.
Friday, February 28, 2003.
Unable to get comfortable in bed, I'm still awake when the men get home at 2:15 a.m. They closed the bar. That does not bode well for Joshua's condition.
I can hear Dad in the driveway. "Fred, get the wheelbarrow out of the garage."
Oh no.
Grabbing my robe, I head downstairs to see what they did to the father of my unborn child.
"Hi, honey!" Dad calls when I step onto the driveway.
I don't see Josh anywhere. "Please tell me he's still alive."
"Who?"
"Josh, Daddy. What did you guys do to him?"
"Surprisingly, very little." Fred appears with the rusty old wheelbarrow.
"Where is he?"
Dad pops the hatch on the Blazer and sticks his head in the back.
"He went upstairs to bed. I don't know what he did this afternoon, but he looks like death on a triscuit," Dad answers, pulling a case of beer out of the truck and setting it in the wheel barrow. "We didn't drink it all, so I figured we could finish it tomorrow night."
I go back upstairs and find Josh sitting on the edge of the bed, in his boxers, fiddling with a plastic card.
"You do look like hell." I sit next to him.
He silently hands me the card with National Security Council emblazoned on the front. Reading it, I see it contains instructions for him in the event of a nuclear, biological or chemical attack. He is to either go up on Air Force One with the President or to a secret underground shelter as directed by the NSC.
"What's this?"
"I had one before, four years ago. I was the only one of us who got one. I gave it back. I couldn't look anybody in the eye, knowing if something horrible happened, I'd live and the rest of you wouldn't." He won't look at me now either.
"They want you to start doing intelligence estimates or something?" I guess.
"Homeland Security. I'm Tom Colburn's new worst enemy."
"Good." Tom is a nice guy, but he's not seeing the bigger picture like Josh can. To quote my mother he can't see the forest for the trees.'
"Good?" Josh turns to look at me, confusion prevalent in his eyes.
"Yes. You listen to people who know what they're talking about, Josh. Colburn doesn't." I give him the card back.
My support doesn't do much to ease his discontent.
"I just, I don't know."
"You know what I know?" I slide my hand along his inner thigh.
"Hmm?" He cocks an eyebrow in expectation.
My lips make contact with his, parting them slightly. Our tongues meet and dance slowly, to a song only we can hear.
Still kissing him, I gently push him back on the bed, propping myself up on one elbow. My free hand roams his naked chest.
He sighs against my kiss, a sigh of contentment from his soul. Josh brings his hand up to brush a hair from my face. He lingers, tracing my cheeks with his fingernails.
I pull my lips from his and meander down his neck, taking my time, trying to defuse some of his anxiety.
"Promise me something?" Josh asks suddenly, his voice barely audible.
I stop and bring my face level with his again, waiting for him to go on.
"Promise me you'll always be there for me. I can't live if you're not with me." Brown eyes betray his insecurity with what Leo and the President are asking of him.
"Always, Joshua. I'll always be there."
***
"Aunt Donna!" Sticky hands prod my exposed arm. The rest of me is burrowed under the blankets in Josh's arms.
Pulling the covers from my head, I see Kelly's big blue eyes and syrup covered face staring at me.
"Mamme made waffles!" she tells me.
At least I think that's what she tried to say. She and Tim have both been mangling Josh's Yiddish term of endearment for his mother.
"I see." I try to smile at her, but the light coming through the windows is the pink of early morning. I refuse to be cheerful with only four hours of sleep. "Why don't you go wash your face? I'll meet you in the kitchen."
"Uncle Josh needs to come too!" Kelly doesn't have it quite as bad as Timmy, but they both worship the ground Josh walks on.
Obviously, they don't know him like I do.
"He will," I promise her. In three or four hours, judging from the faint snoring and line of drool coming from the corner of his mouth.
Crawling out of Josh's arms, I slip on his boxers and sweatshirt from last night before heading down to the kitchen where Elisa and Mom are wrangling a herd of boisterous children.
"Tina and Mike showed up?" I accept the glass of orange juice Mom hands me and take a seat at the table.
"An hour ago, with your grandparents. Carl and Katie just go here. They're all in the living room."
Tina is Mom's older sister. Her family moved to Arizona last fall to be closer to my grandparents, who moved to Scottsdale the fall before I left for New Hampshire.
"Where's Joshua?" Elisa sets a plate of waffles in front of me.
"Drooling."
"Snoring as well, I bet," she laughs knowingly.
Josh only snores when he's drunk or sleeping very hard.
"He was sober when they got home last night."
"Then his friends obviously didn't know what they were doing," Grandpa announces, kissing the top of my head while shooing my cousin Peter out of the chair next to me.
"He was pretty upset last night." The scent of someone thinking about cooking food attracts Fred like a moth to light.
"And why were you there?" Grandpa looks my seventeen-year-old brother up and down.
Fred, mouth full of waffles, looks to me for help.
"Because they asked him to be," I supply.
"I wasn't drinking." Fred throws out after he swallows.
"I have a question," I decide to rescue Fred and satisfy my curiosity at the same time. "What's with you and Leo, Elisa?"
From the smirk spreading across her face, I already know the answer.
"I've known Leo McGarry forever. He was Noah's best man when we got married in 1957. They were fraternity brothers at Harvard."
"Leo's messing with Josh like he did with Sam and Mallory." I can't help but snicker.
"Let him have his fun, dear."
***
Rehearsal starts promptly at 4 o'clock. Josh had to work most of the day again, leaving me to deal with my great-aunts and uncles and various other older relatives. All of who felt it necessary to express their disappointment in my being pregnant before the wedding.
I'm neurotic as hell by the time I get to the church.
CJ, Zoey, Margaret and my sister Pat are my attendants; Sam, Charlie, Toby and Matt Skinner are standing up with Josh. We spend the first ten minutes trying to pair them up. CJ and Sam, along with Charlie and Zoey are easy. Toby agrees to escort Margaret on the condition she not speak to him, leaving Pat with Matt.
Fred, Ed, Larry and Chris Wick are serving as ushers. They're in a corner squabbling over whether to button their jackets or not.
The rest of us are gathered in the first couple of pews going over details before we practice.
"Josh, you'll be escorting Donna's grandmother and both your mothers to their seats," Pastor Johnson explains.
"Along with the First Lady," Josh interjects. "After Marjorie and before my mother. Deb is last, right?"
"Right. Then I'll bring you back through the prep room and you'll enter the sanctuary from the front. The groomsmen will escort the bridesmaids up the aisle in reverse order."
"Toby and Margaret, Charlie and Zoey, Matt and Pat then finally Sam and CJ," I provide the order we haggled out.
"Then the flower girl and ring-bearer, correct?" Pastor Johnson glances between Mom and I.
Mom nods. "With any luck, they'll make it all the way."
"Paul will then escort Donna to the altar. Josh, you'll step down to meet them when they reach the first pews."
We go through the rest of the ceremony. There are a few changes we want made to the standard prayers and vows to accommodate Josh's beliefs. Once everything is settled, we practice.
And practice.
And practice.
Josh is completely clueless.
The Lutheran wedding service has very little in common with the Jewish traditions he's accustomed too.
On take five, he screws up his own name.
"Index cards, Donna," he calls when Dad and I start down the aisle again. "Would it have killed you to give me index cards?"
CJ steps over and smacks the back of his head for me, effectively ending rehearsal since it's 6:30 and dinner is at 7.
***
The only member of my family entirely comfortable at dinner with the President is Timmy. Even Kelly is sitting between Pat and Mom casting covetous glances at her little brother, who is happily parked on Josh's lap.
None of them are sure how to act. Which is probably the only thing preventing my parents from sharing stories about my high school band camp days.
When we're all down to picking at our desserts, Sam stands and waits for everyone's attention.
Raising his beer, he starts his toast. "I had the most eloquent speech written"
He pauses for CJ, Josh, Leo and Toby to stop laughing.
"Seriously," Sam continues, slightly indignant. "It was fabulous. It was all about how Josh and I have been friends for years and the endless parade of losers I've seen him date: Jessica, Barb, Heather, Daphne, Marilyn, Carolyn, Jennifer, Jackie, Selma, Mandy"
"Sam, one word buddy, Rachelle." Josh interrupts.
"She's sorry she couldn't make it, by the way," Sam flips back.
"Give the speech, Sam," Toby calls.
"Anyway, I know many of us here tonight are fundamentally disturbed at the thought of Josh Lyman getting married and having," Sam stops to gulp, "children.
"But when I disembarked the plane yesterday and Josh was standing there with Donna and"
"Timmy," Josh supplies when it becomes apparent Sam can't remember my nephew's name.
"Right. Thanks. Standing there with Donna and Timmy. I decided God is in his heaven, all is right with the world and," he gestures to Josh and I, "this is meant to be."
CJ stands up, a bit wobbly from too much wine. "Sit, Spanky," she orders before turning to Josh and I.
"Thank God you dumped the gomer boyfriend and drove halfway across the country to join the not-a-chance-in-hell Presidential campaign of a bleeding heart liberal, academic egghead New England governor. I was this close" she holds her fingers up a hairs' breadth apart, "to strangling the elitest Harvard fascist missed-the-Dean's-list-two-semesters-in-a-row Yankee jackass."
President Bartlet and Leo are both laughing so hard tears are running down their faces.
Saturday, March 1, 2003 — 5 p.m.
The beginning of the processional snaps me from my reverie.
"Still nervous?" Dad asks as we watch Sam and CJ start down the aisle.
I'm afraid that if I speak I'll start crying, so I just nod.
"Donna, your friend Sam was right last night. This is meant to be. Despite his apparent reputation, Josh is a good man and all he wants is to make you happy."
"He told you that?" I'm going to bawl it's inevitable.
"Believe it or not he did. When we were in Washington, before he proposed to you. He said he wasn't asking our permission, just advising us of his intentions."
I swear, if Dad starts crying I'm going to lose it.
***
Toby couldn't look any more uncomfortable if Mary Marsh were on his arm. I try to control my fidgeting as he turns and walks past me. His scowl, while in place, isn't as intense as normal, telling me he's happy for us.
Charlie and Zoey look perfect together. Seeing them devoted to one another after everything they've been through almost makes it worth getting shot.
There's not much to say about Matt and Pat. Matt is my rock-solid, dependable, friendly opposition. Pat is fast becoming a confidante. She and I had an interesting discussion last night over a couple of beers. Gerry, I learned, didn't come to the wedding because Gerry skipped town last week. She didn't want to ruin our day, so she's waiting to tell everyone until Sunday.
Sam guides CJ towards me with grace. Two of my best friends, they both stop to hug me before taking their places.
I can't help but grin at the sight of Kelly and Tim decked out in formalwear. They are absolutely adorable. Both of them make it to the front of the church, which was a serious concern. They kept stopping half way during rehearsal yesterday.
Donna didn't want to walk down the aisle to the traditional wedding march. She picked out something called Cavatina. The first strains of which begin to fill the sanctuary.
Oh. My. God.
"Breathe, Josh." Sam whispers.
***
The music starts and without another word, Dad offers me his arm.
I studiously avoid eye contact with anyone and focus solely on Joshua. He steps down and meets Dad and I at the first pew.
So far, so good.
Dad offers Josh his hand and pulls him into an embrace.
***
"Make her happy," Paul tells me, in a voice only I can hear.
"It's my goal in life," I promise him.
Giving Donna my arm, I guide her the rest of the way to the altar.
Pastor Johnson smiles and motions for everyone to be seated.
"The grace of our Lord be with us all," he begins.
***
I have a death grip on Josh's hand. I'm paying no attention to the scripture readings or the sermon; I am simply trying to not freak out.
Before I know it, Pastor Johnson is addressing Josh.
"Will you have this woman to be your wife? To live together, after God's ordinances, in the holiest state of matrimony? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health and forsaking all others, keep yourself only unto her so long as you both shall live?"
Josh's voice is strong and clear as he answers, "I will."
"Will you have this man to be your husband? To live together, after God's ordinances, in the holiest state of matrimony? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health and forsaking all others, keep yourself only unto him so long as you both shall live?"
I start nodding, my voice croaking out, "I will."
Giving my bouquet to CJ, Josh and I turn to face each another for our vows, joining hands to affirm our oaths.
We wanted to do the vows without prompting from the pastor, but this is the part Josh was having so much trouble with yesterday.
***
I can do this. I can remember my own damn name.
"I, Joshua Elijah Lyman, take you, Donnatella Natalie Moss, to be my wife. To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish til death us do part."
I think the whoop came from CJ.
Donna's smile is the sweetest thing I have ever seen in my life.
***
Oh God, it's my turn.
Josh nailed his; I can do mine.
"I, Donnatella Natalie Moss, take you, Joshua Elijah Lyman, to be my husband. To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish til death us do part."
Okay, so I choked up on the death part a little bit. I'm entitled.
Oh, Josh, tell me I am not seeing tears in your eyes. If you start, I'm finished.
Sam, just give him the ring. Please, Sam, give him the ring.
***
Sam gives me the ring and I take Donna's hand.
"I give you this ring as a sign of my love and my faithfulness," I pledge, sliding it on to her finger.
***
Taking Josh's band from Sam, I slip it half way on his finger before I start.
"I give you this ring as a sign of my love and faithfulness."
In all the years I've known Josh, I've never seen the green flecks in his eyes before today and they mesmerize me. We're supposed to turn and look at Pastor Johnson, but it just feels wrong to break eye contact.
"Those who God has joined together, let no one tear asunder."
***
We stand there, lost in one another's souls while our parents, Leo accompanying my mother, light a pair of candles.
"Josh," Sam hisses, not so subtly poking me in the kidney and breaking the trance.
We're supposed to do something here, aren't we?
The candle thing. Yeah, we're supposed to light the unity candle.
***
Somehow we manage to get the candle lit without setting ourselves on fire.
I chalk it up to the same divine intervention that got Josh to remember his vows.
We step back to our places for yet another blessing or prayer. I'm honestly lost as to what is next.
***
My mind is a complete blank as I stand there, waiting for whatever comes next. Hoping I don't have to remember anything else.
"You may kiss the bride."
That I can handle.
When we finally come up for air, I hear a scattering of applause and a great deal of laughter.
Pastor Johnson is one of those laughing as he nods for us to face the congregation.
"Ladies and gentleman, Mr. and Mrs. Joshua Lyman."