If Only There Was A Word Called Adulting

by Kalee2332

A modern Persuasion "what-if", with Anne and Frederick deciding to remain engaged the first time around, instead of breaking up, while coping with all the challenges that broke them in canon - war-induced separation, a starter income, and family disapproval. Yet, in accordance with the song "Both Sides Now", they find bliss amidst all the struggles.

10. Part III - Chapter 9 (Anne)

March 2005, Maricopa County, Arizona

Before even a year was up, we had to strike camp; Fred got offered a position at Luke AFB, and so we packed up everything in that first little home to move here. While I feel a little sad saying goodbye to the apartment so soon after we'd taken such pains to set everything up, everything about this move is good news: he's now an instructor pilot which means he won't be away so much, and we applied for military family housing so they give us a two-bedroom ranch-style community housing unit with its own carport, twice the size of our previous apartment, and all for free.

We learn that not all IKEA furniture necessarily moves well; we can't dismantle the bulkier units to get them through the doorway and into the elevator, so some of our furniture has to be written off entirely, and the rest of the fibreboard pieces that we do manage to bring along get scuffed enough that we have to do touch-up work with glue, paint and duct tape. Still, the military pays for movers to help us with most of the heavy lifting, so that takes a lot of stress off our plate, and we figure we can slowly furnish our new pad over time.

Not long after we settle into our new home, I get an urgent text from Elise in all caps, which reads, "CALL ME ASAP."

"What's the matter?" I ask. "I hope everyone in your family – and William's – are OK."

"Everyone's alive, thank goodness," Elise confirms in a shaky voice. "For the moment, at least. But I can't guarantee that there won't be casualties when World War III has broken out in my family. Lanie's pregnant."

"Lanie? At seventeen?" I used to be well acquainted with Elise's sisters during the years when I drove her to and from campus at every college break, staying over at her parents' home whenever I picked her up or dropped her off. But that was years ago; the last time I saw Lanie, she was a boisterous twelve-year-old just out of sixth grade. That summer, she was obsessed with makeup, push-up bras and boys, but I never thought much of it since a fair number of the girls in my class were that way too when I was that age.

"Yep." Elise's voice falls flat. "She's still got a year of high school left. Daddy and Mom are at their wits' end, and they want me to go back to talk to her, because whatever they say isn't getting through – she wants to keep the baby, and they don't believe she should, so they want me to come in and mediate. And I don't feel like I can handle this without reinforcements, so, Anne, will you please come with me? She always used to listen to you so much better than to me, or Jenna."

"If you think I'd be useful instead of intruding, then of course," I say. "How about William? Did you tell him about it?"

"I did, and he was very sympathetic to me when I told the story, but after that he got into a serious funk and hasn't left his laptop in days. I practically have to pry him away from the computer physically to make him eat his meals. If only I knew what was going on in his mind, but I wonder if he'll be scared off me because of the stigma."

I wish I could tell her, "Of course not," and know I was telling the truth, but I can't. From everything Elise has shared with me about William and his upbringing, as well as what I've seen of William first-hand, I know he hasn't assimilated into hook-up culture at all, and in fact it would be anathema to him for his own sister to participate in it. Even though I'd want to think he's mature enough – and deeply enough in love with Elise – to support her through this and show some grace to Lanie, the fact is, I really have no idea.

Elise could do with some moral support on the journey, I figure, so I fly into Boston and take the wheel for the three-hour drive to Albany County. She doesn't cry, but she spends most of the ride nervously winding her hair around her index finger or chewing her nails.

"She didn't tell us until her bump started to show," she says. "So, I'm guessing, she's probably around twenty, twenty-one weeks along by now. Which leaves a very narrow time window for an abortion if she were to choose one, though that's what I meant about not having any casualties yet, because I hope we can find some other option that doesn't involve taking a life."

"Is that what your parents are trying to do?" I ask. "To talk her into getting an abortion?"

"No, not exactly. They've laid it out as one of the options, though. The main thing is, we all know there's no way she can raise a kid at her age, especially on her own, without it being Daddy and Mom doing practically all the work for her. And they don't want to encourage her irresponsibility by letting her have her cake and eat it without any consequences."

The Barnett house, a generous McMansion in a suburb bordering the City of Albany, is just as I remember it from my last sleepover there with the five sisters, curled up in their family room watching rom-coms and feasting on popcorn till the wee hours of the night. All the furniture is a tad faded, scratched and worn, having seen five girls from babyhood to adulthood. Yet, unlike Father's house where everything seemed to be tacitly labelled "Do Not Touch", in Elise's home every single piece of décor, no matter how lacking in aesthetic appeal, exists solely for the inhabitants' comfort.

Jenna, Elise's elder sister, is the one who greets us at the door, grabbing Elise in an affectionate hug.

"Any new developments?" asks Elise, a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

"Not yet," replies Jenna. "Anne, welcome, it's been so long since we last saw you; I couldn't thank you enough for accompanying Elise here at such short notice. Did she fill you in?"

"Thanks, Jenna. And yes, she told me everything. How are your parents holding up?" I ask.

"They're not doing so great," Jenna admits. "Mom had a panic attack when she heard, and she hasn't come out of her room ever since. That's why I had to come back to take care of her. And Daddy won't talk to her because he says none of this would've happened if she'd been a better influence on Lanie. He's been spending day and night in his study, which means I've been delivering trays to two different rooms three times a day for breakfast, lunch and dinner. And in the meantime, Kaitlyn's been acting as if nothing ever happened. She flounces in and out all the time, hanging out with her friends and partying when she isn't at class, and won't speak two words to either Daddy or Mom."

Elise dutifully goes straight upstairs to check on her mom, leaving Jenna and me alone in the large, empty front room.

"I still hope everything's going to turn out fine," says Jenna. "After all, Lanie's been seeing the same boyfriend for six months now, and you know when a couple stays together for that long in high school, it's practically like saying they want to grow old with each other. I know they're still very young, but maybe with a little support from our parents and his, George and Lanie might have a chance at making it."

"You mean, you're suggesting they get married?" I ask. "How old is he?"

"He's a senior, so he'll be graduating this spring. I have no idea whether he plans to go to college or not, but it's not that long before he could get a job and help Lanie and the baby out financially. I'd like to think that it's what he'd want to do, if he had a decent conscience."

Unlike ruthlessly pragmatic Elise, Jenna has always wanted to think the best of everyone; even at twenty-eight, she's more idealistic than I was at eighteen. I've been to college before, and I know at least ninety percent of college boys (actually, it's probably more like ninety-nine percent, but I'd rather err on the side of generosity) aren't thinking beyond their next keg when they're not in class or studying for exams. Is there a chance he'll agree to marry her? Maybe. But do I think they have a shot at creating and maintaining a stable family environment for their child at that age? I certainly won't bet any of my money on it, though I won't discount the possibility that it might be a moonshot.

"Mom asked me to make her marry George," says Elise, emerging from the foot of the stairs. "As if anyone could just wave a magic wand and declare them man and wife, just like that! Besides, what do you think the chances are that Lanie would stay married for even a year, at seventeen?"

"Do you think your dad will let us talk to him?" I suggest. "Surely there might be some other way to help Lanie raise her child on her own, even if they choose not to get married."

"Daddy was going to be my next stop anyway, so why don't you come with me to say hi to him? He'll be so glad to see you, he's always been asking about you all these years."

We knock gently on the study door and then, without waiting for a reply, Elise opens it a crack and sticks her head into the gap, calling, "Daddy?"

"Come in," Mr. Barnett says in a weary voice. "Anne, is that you? Elise's sister from a different mister?"

"Yep, I'm here," I say. "I hope you don't mind me butting in at this time, it must be a tough time for all of you, but Elise asked me to come."

"Not at all," he says. "After all, maybe you might be able to get it into Lanie's head that she's in no way capable of being anyone's mom. She always used to like talking to you when she was little."

"Daddy, maybe Lanie does have a point after all," says Elise. "I don't fault her for not choosing abortion – that's cruel – and surely it isn't wrong for her to want to stay involved in her child's life?"

"Lanie's maternal instincts are not going to override the constraints of my pocketbook," declares Mr. Barnett. "After footing the bill for three college tuitions – four if pigs can fly and Lanie gets accepted into a four-year program – and Marilyn's Master's degree, it'll be a miracle if Francesca and I don't come around begging you girls for alms in our retirement. After having done this parenting gig five times, do you really think I have the energy for another go-around in my dotage?"

We exchange looks, and I bet Elise and I are thinking the same thing: that there ought to be a way to encourage Lanie to take responsibility while helping her finish her education, so she can raise her child independently in several years' time. Except, given her reputation for being nothing other than fun-loving and boy-crazy thus far, none of us are willing to take the chance on that.

"I guess I could help her," Elise finally says. "I'll bring her to live with me in Cambridge, that'll give her free housing, and she could go to community college while I keep an eye on her and foot the bill for day care. That is, if George doesn't marry her. Which, honestly, I doubt he will."

"George? Forget that bugger, he's a gone case," says Mr. Barnett derisively. "Kaitlyn told me the other day that they were in an open relationship. If that isn't code-speak for random promiscuity, I don't know what it is. And to think she kept that information to herself for so long before deigning to share it with us! Well, with such disrespectful daughters, what am I to do? Ground them both for ten years?"

"Well," I take a deep breath, "I guess it's too much to hope for the baby daddy to take responsibility. But we could try talking to Lanie while we're here and see if we can get her to fully understand and appreciate what it takes to be a mom before she decides to sign up for it."

Kaitlyn slouches in through the front door, her backpack slung on one shoulder, just as we exit Mr. Barnett's study. "Hey, Anne," she says. "I haven't seen you for the longest time. What are you doing here?" Belatedly noticing her sister, she quickly tacks on, "Oh, Elise, you came back too?"

"Yes, we did," says Elise caustically. "We couldn't take our eyes off the reality show. What's the deal anyway, about Lanie and George having an open relationship?"

"What's wrong?" counters Kaitlyn defiantly. "It's a Millennial thing. And if I had one, I'd be smarter about it than Lanie is; I know how to use birth control at least."

"Do you know who else Lanie went out with, besides George?" asks Jenna from the couch. "Maybe if she's fallen in love with someone else, there's a chance that boy might still stand by her."

"Nope, no clue. Now that I'm in college, I'm out of the scene. Anyways, I have a date tonight so I gotta change now, bye!" With a toss of her head, Kaitlyn escapes up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time.

Elise and I head up the stairs in her wake, getting to the top just in time to hear Kaitlyn's door slam shut.

"That's Lanie's room," says Elise, pointing to another door at the opposite side of the house from Kaitlyn's. "You probably remember it used to be Jenna's and mine, but she wasted no time snagging the biggest room once we both moved out for good after college."

We find Lanie reclining on the queen size bed that Elise and Jenna used to share, surrounded by stuffed animals and issues of Seventeen magazine. She's flipping idly through one of them, moving her shoulders subtly to the rhythm of the music in her earphones, mumbling the refrain "ain't no Hollaback girl" at intermittent intervals.

Elise marches up to the bed and waves a hand in front of Lanie's face, forcing her to look up and take off her earphones.

"Oh, hey! You guys came just in time to see this," she says, pulling up her T-shirt to show off her bump. "Did you know, I'm going to be a mom?"

"Duh," says Elise. "What do you think we came for? Did you think I'd stand by and let you give Daddy a heart attack?"

"Daddy's just being cruel," whines Lanie. "A good father wouldn't encourage his daughter to commit murder. Or to abandon her poor little baby."

"Who's the father?" I ask. "And does he know about the baby?"

"I don't know," admits Lanie. "George – that's my boyfriend, or maybe I should say he was my boyfriend – used to say I was his one and only. That's why I agreed to sleep with him. And then one day, he sprang it on me that he wanted an open relationship. He said polyamory is the new trend, so as long as I knew I was number one in his heart, we should both have the freedom to have some variety in our lives. I got so mad, I picked up John Thorpe right away because he's the most jacked football player on the team and I wanted George to know I could do better than him. By the time my pregnancy test came back positive, it could've been either of them. I won't know unless I convinced them both to do a DNA test, and I'm not sure I really want to know; I can do just fine being a mom on my own."

"OK," I continue. "Let's fast-forward to this fall, you have your baby, and you'll be starting your senior year at high school. Your baby is going to need milk every couple hours or so, and you'll be changing their diaper just about as often. How are you going to do all of that and go to class at the same time?"

"Oh, I'll leave her at home, and Mom can do it?" says Lanie hopefully. "Actually, I don't know if it'll be a girl or a boy, but I hope it's a girl. That way, I can have fun dressing her up."

"Oh yeah, like real," remarks Elise. "Have you seen Mom at all since her panic attack?"

"She'll come around," says Lanie confidently. "I'm her favourite, remember?"

"Lanie," I say, sitting on the edge of the bed and meeting her at eye level, "it's a good thought to not want to destroy life, and it's also a good thing to want to be a part of your child's life. But you need to think about the things you realistically can and can't do on your own, because your dad is going to retire someday, sooner rather than later, and at that time, there won't be an endless source of housing or money for you and the baby to tap into. What if your parents decided to downsize to a condo at that point, and didn't have space for you to live with them?"

"Then what do you want me to do? Give my baby up for adoption? You're just as heartless as Daddy," says Lanie spitefully.

"Well, what do you expect?" snaps Elise. "How much do you think you'll earn if you got a job to support your child, when you're not even out of high school? And if you're not going to get a job, it isn't fair to expect Daddy to go out of pocket for milk, diapers, and doctor's appointments when he's got your college tuition to pay for. If you're even thinking of going to college, that is."

"I never -" Lanie stops short. "I don't know. I haven't really thought about college, actually. I guess, maybe I could just not go to college, and ask Daddy to give me my college fund for the baby?"

"Isn't that worse?" snorts Elise, and I place one hand on her shoulder, telling her to calm down.

"Look, Lanie," I say. "Let's get online, and we can take a look at all the things you're going to need for the baby. And then, we'll do the math to see how much you need to earn in order to take proper care of your child. That way, you'll know what you need to do if you want to be a mom."

I get Jenna to join me in compiling the baby-shopping list with Lanie, because I'm running out of patience almost as quickly as Elise. Lanie yawns when we walk her through the prices of diapers and baby formula and how much she can save by buying house brands, but when we get to talking about the cost of children's clothing, she gets side-tracked into gushing over cute baby outfits and shoes. Jenna is more tolerant of her distractions than I am, so I let her entertain Lanie on her flights of fancy and slowly bring her back to task, while I pace the room in between the serious stuff. Elise hangs around observing the proceedings while deliberately keeping a strict distance, not bothering to hide the exasperated look on her face.

"I can't imagine why I volunteered to help Lanie raise her child," she remarks when I pass her on one of my laps of the room. "This is hopeless."

"Well, you could still back out and insist she gives the baby up for adoption," I point out. "But I'm sure you had your reasons for offering."

"Of course," she replies. "After all the pain Gianna went through because she was given up for adoption at birth, how could I leave my own niece or nephew to the same fate?"

None of us gets a good night's sleep that day; Jenna, Elise and I are crammed into Marilyn's bedroom, since that's the only unoccupied one with her at grad school, and we all toss, turn and fret with our own frustrations.

"I wish I'd thought of applying for a student loan when I went to college," says Jenna wistfully. "Even though I'm not smart enough to get a scholarship like Elise, I would've done something if I knew Daddy would need help someday."

"Well, it's not like you single-handedly dug Daddy into a financial hole or anything," points out Elise. "You went to SUNY on in-state tuition and lived at home. If we want to blame anybody, we might as well pin the lion's share of the blame on Marilyn, since I have absolutely no idea what she's going to do with a Master's degree in anthropology, unless she spends even more years in school getting her PhD."

"If we're going to worry about anything, we might as well worry about what's going to happen, rather than what's happened already," I say. "Which means, we're probably better off strategizing about how to set boundaries for Lanie to be self-sustaining in the long run, so that even if you decide to chip in and help her out for the first few years, she won't take this as carte blanche to do whatever she wants and saddle you with all the responsibilities."

Elise flips over from her side to her back with a big sigh, and I bury my face in my pillow.

"Good night," says Jenna. "Things will be better in the morning, you'll see."

It turns out that things sometimes do play out according to Jenna's worldview after all, unlikely as it might seem. The next morning, we wake up to find Mr. and Mrs. Barnett having breakfast together at the eat-in kitchen, apparently on talking terms again. In quick succession, Kaitlyn and Lanie pop in to pick up a peanut butter sandwich and a banana each, then head off to their respective campuses with nary a word of complaint.

"Elise, my dear girl," says Mrs. Barnett, "are you sure you'll be happy bringing up Lanie's child? That rich Chinese boyfriend of yours probably isn't going to want to have anything to do with you after this, so you ought to know what you're giving up."

"Mrs. Barnett, in all due respect," I say, "I think you might be underestimating William. Assuming he has a conscience and a decent set of principles, why would he ditch Elise after all this?"

"Anne, dear, how many men do you think are going to be willing to buy one and get one free?" counters Mrs. Barnett. "And babies are far from free, I know that after having five of them."

"I could help out," suggests Jenna. "Elise, I don't suppose you'll need it since you already earn twice as much as I do, but if it helps give William more assurance that he doesn't have to bear any of the burden, I'd be happy to chip in."

"I hate to burst your bubble, my darling girls, but whatever you decide to do, it's all going to naught if Lanie decides she can pop out ten different babies from ten different men because you'll pick up all the slack," says Mr. Barnett. "I hope you managed to impress upon her yesterday that this is the one and only baby she'll be having in the next twenty years."

"Yeah, I think we managed to get it into Lanie's head that babies eat and poop all the time," says Elise. "If she still wants another one after that, she's more than welcome to deal with all the diaper blowouts on her own."

In the afternoon, I volunteer to take Lanie to IHOP one-on-one for a pep talk over waffles and chicken about what it's like to enter a serious relationship in our teens, since I'm the only one of us with that experience. Mr. Barnett has gone back to work, and I let Mrs. Barnett and Jenna know I'll be staying out with Lanie till dinnertime, so Elise can call William and catch him up.

"Lanie, do you know where this is?" I ask her, showing her a pocket-size photograph of my fourteen-year-old self with my cabin mates in our canoe on Raquette Lake.

"Wow, that's such a beautiful place!" Lanie squeals. "Is that you?"

"Yep, that's me, the summer before I started high school and met Elise. And yes, it is a beautiful place; for many years I called it my heaven on earth. It's up in the Adirondacks, not that far from here. It's always been my dream to go back there again, but I never did."

"Why not? You could always drive up there, can't you? It's not like you have anybody telling you what to do all the time, like me."

"You're right," I say carefully, "that technically I have the freedom to do whatever I want. But with every freedom, there comes a lot of responsibility. All through high school, I used to dream about the summers I'd spend going back to Raquette Lake, working as a counsellor at my old camp after I got old enough to qualify. Yet when the time came, I had to give it all up, and even though I miss being there so much I've carried this photo in my wallet for more than ten years, I don't regret making that choice at all."

"Why did you have to give it up? Did your dad stop you from going there?"

"No, not at all. Father didn't like me taking summer jobs, but he probably would've preferred this to the alternative. I gave up that dream because I fell in love; as you know, Frederick and I have been an item since the end of freshman year. At that time, I didn't know if we'd end up getting married, or how long we might last in the end, but I did know Father wasn't going to give us any money if we ended up having a baby before we were ready to support ourselves. And so, I made the choice to procure my own independence. I spent that summer doing summer school so I could squeeze the work of two majors into four years, and then I went around getting internships to land a high-paying job with a big company after graduation. Did I miss out on a lot of fun when I was younger? Maybe. But do I think it's worth it? Well, yes, every single day, even though the Air Force now gets to decide which city I call home."

"You're lucky, though," says Lanie. "Not everyone gets Prince Charming for their first boyfriend; I know that very well, even though everybody thinks I'm stupid. But just because I have to kiss many frogs before getting a prince – if I can get one at all – that isn't going to stop me kissing frogs. I might only be in high school, but I'm a real person with real needs."

"I agree, high school is plenty old enough to fall in love, and not everybody who falls in love will stay that way," I say. "And some of us have to grow up faster than others; the world isn't fair, and sadly, there is some level of randomness to the responsibilities that get thrust upon us, and the age at which that happens. Want to see another photo?"

I whip out my phone, and scroll to a picture from my wedding day, a candid shot taken during the family dances at our reception, with Fred and me in the background, and AJ twirling Sophia in the foreground, her skirts swirling around her in a blur of motion, though the incandescent smiles on both their faces are in perfect focus.

"Lanie, how old do you think they are?" I ask.

"Hmm…" she frowns a little, grabbing my phone and scrutinizing the picture. "They don't seem to be a day over thirty, but I can't really tell. Um, I think they're closer to your age, rather than Mom and Daddy's?"

"You're pretty close," I say with a smile. "AJ is thirty-six this year, and Sophia is thirty-four. They're Fred's sister and brother-in-law. And yet, they were the ones taking the parents of the groom's roles when we got married. He started dating her when she was sixteen, a year younger than you are, and they raised two teenage boys – Fred, and his brother Edward – all on their own while he went to college. Life wasn't easy for them – they lived in a trailer, and Sophia had to drop out of college and work, but they didn't just get by, they thrived. They're living proof that life doesn't have to always be fun and games for it to be happy."

"Wow," says Lanie. "Two teenage boys, that's tough. Much tougher than dealing with just one baby."

"Is that what you've decided then? To spend the next few years focusing on this one baby?"

"If I had a choice," Lanie shrugs. "It's not like I do."

"You do have a choice," I point out. "You have three choices, in fact. The first one, which is probably the one that appeals to you the least, is to have an abortion. Nobody's going to force you to do that, and we'll all respect you if you stand up and say you don't want to snuff out a life before it's even been lived. The second one is to put your baby up for adoption through an agency, and let strangers raise your child while you finish your education and find your way in the world. But if you do that, you might never see your child again; it'll be up to the adoptive parents to decide how much contact you can have with your child, which is fair since they'll be the ones putting in all the time and all the cost, so they deserve to come first in the child's life.

"And then there is a third choice, which is to take advantage of any support your sisters might extend to you to help you get settled and raise the baby yourself. It won't be a bottomless pit, because your mom and dad will need their support after retirement, and Jenna and Elise need to start families of their own too. But they both know you won't be able to stand alone with the baby until you have at least a two-year degree, if not a four-year one, and they're willing to help out with some of the costs while you study and forge a career of your own."

"I don't even know if I want to go to college," says Lanie. "School is boring."

"It doesn't have to be," I reassure her. "Middle school and high school are probably the worst, because you're still being forced to do a bunch of subjects you don't like, but when you start thinking about the things you want to do for a living, you can pick a hands-on job if you think you'll be bored sitting at a desk all the time. Look at Fred, he knows himself and he'd be absolutely bored with desk-bound work, so he chose to become a pilot. You like fashion – how about studying fashion merchandising in college and getting a job in a boutique?"

"Fashion? You really think I can do that?" Lanie finally perks up.

"Why not? If there's one thing you and Jenna and Elise all have in common, it's that each of you know exactly what your sense of style is. When you were a tween, you always seemed to know what to wear to make all the girls in your class want to dress like you, so why wouldn't you be able to pick out the right clothes to put in a shop?"

By the time I bring Lanie back, it's past dinnertime. Elise and Jenna join Lanie in her room for the night to tell her about what they're willing to do for her and the child, leaving me on my own in Marilyn's room. That means I don't get a chance to catch up with Elise about William's reaction, until the drive back to Boston the following morning.

"We're engaged," says Elise flatly. "He said he's going to marry me."

"Well, isn't that what you wanted all along? That's a thing which warrants great congratulations, and I couldn't be happier for you, but why don't you sound happy?"

"Is it a happy thing? Well, I guess it's supposed to be. I know, I've been thinking I'd be in seventh heaven when he proposes to me, but as it turns out, he didn't even propose. He just said, 'We're getting married, and we're going to legally adopt the baby.' And that was that. He didn't even ask me to marry him, he told me he was marrying me."

"And, if he'd asked you instead of telling you, you'd actually say no? Isn't that a technicality?"

"Well…" Elise fiddles nervously with a loose lock of hair. "If he proposed, of course I'd say yes. That's a foregone conclusion. But if he had made a proper proposal, with a candlelight dinner and a ring and all of that, I'd know he'd thought about it, and he really wanted to marry me. What if all of this is out of kindness, and a sense of obligation? It's kind of, like, I was hare-brained enough to jump up and say I'll raise this baby, and now he feels as if he needs to protect me from the stigma, or worse, he thinks I won't be able to do this on my own, without financial aid from him."

I shake my head and let out a fondly exasperated sigh.

"If every thirty-year-old man extended financial aid, as you put it, to random women choosing to raise children on their own, there wouldn't be so many single-parent families in this world," I point out. "Trust me, if he's willing to take on this level of responsibility, it's probably more proof that he really wants to marry you, rather than less."

By the time I touch down at Phoenix Sky Harbour, there's already a happy text from Elise in my phone.

"Guess what? He bought two tickets to Beijing! Chat you when we're back."

Thankfully, I am still in between jobs after the move to Phoenix, because the summer of 2005 ends up becoming the summer of weddings. Upon their return from Beijing at the end of April, Elise and William waste no time dropping in on us over a weekend, so they can deliver their wedding invitation in person.

William wants to talk to Frederick one-on-one, so we drop them off at a sports bar in downtown Phoenix for the afternoon.

"Be good, OK?" I say in jest, smacking a playful kiss on Frederick. "Don't overdo it on the beer."

"Yes, Ma'am," he says with a smile, as William stares at us in semi-horror; apparently his years of living in the US haven't inured him to public displays of affection. Giggling, Elise elbows him gently and tells him to knock it off.

"We have reservations for dinner tonight," William finally says, after he recovers his countenance. "So don't worry about us, I'll make sure we save some capacity for the wine."

With the boys despatched to their own devices, Elise and I hang out in her hotel room, looking through the photos from her trip. During the days when Father used to bring us on overseas vacations, China was never on his list, because he used to call it "a backward country". Well, it's hardly the first time Father was wrong, so I shouldn't be surprised when Beijing turns out to be fascinating and magnificent beyond my imagination.

"This is the Forbidden City, and Tiananmen Square," says Elise, pointing to a giant structure with a tiered roof. "And here's the stadium they're building for the Olympics in 2008. And then, this is the Summer Palace," this last photo being clearly taken from a boat, showing a majestic red pagoda sitting on a hillside, overlooking a glassy lake.

"I expected his parents to be arrogant and stand-offish, but they were actually very nice," she continues. "They live in a traditional compound with a courtyard, but they renovated everything with modern materials, and William said it's one of the few that haven't been split up into multi-family units. Because they're so traditional, I expected them to frown on him marrying a white girl, but they were surprisingly cool about it. In fact, they said, they're really happy that he reconnected with his sister, and thanked me for showing friendship to Gianna."

"That's great," I say. "Sounds like, he was already thinking about marriage for longer than you initially believed, if he planned to introduce you to his parents."

"Yep, more to come," says Elise. "First things first, his aunt. That's the one who kept telling all his extended family he went to the US for high school because he wouldn't be able to make it in the Chinese education system. Well, guess what, that was half a lifetime ago, and she's still rubbing it in that he didn't stay in China. If that wasn't enough, she takes it as a personal offence that he isn't marrying a Chinese girl, and so when his parents invited the entire extended family out for Peking duck, she took a piece of duck's tongue with her own chopsticks – which is a big no-no when there are serving chopsticks to make sure we don't spread each other's germs when sharing food – and put it onto my plate, daring me to eat it. Of course, William took it away and ate it himself. My hero."

"Aww, that's really sweet and gallant of him," I remark. "Not that I expected anything else, of course."

"Well, yeah. But I can hold my own against her, too. You know how my courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me? Well, on the way back to the Deng family home from the restaurant, I stopped the chauffeur at the roadside, and bought two sticks of deep-fried locusts from a street stall. One was for me, and I made sure I showed her just how yummy I thought it was, and the other one, of course, was especially for her."

"Want to know what's my favourite part of Beijing?" she continues.

"Sure, what? I guess, probably some outdoor garden?"

"Well, if I hadn't seen this place, you might be correct, but no, not quite. We went to the Wang Fu Jing bookstore, and William said if I hadn't been there, he could spend a whole day browsing around. It takes up an entire building – five floors – and I was amazed at the variety of English books they have. This time, he picked up a selection of graphic novels for Gianna to read, since she's still learning Chinese but is too old for children's books."

"And then, before I deliver the coup de grace, you might want to open this," she says, handing me a red envelope.

It's an invitation card, bright red with gold printing, a Chinese character on the front with a dragon on one side and a phoenix on the other. When I open it, there's an insert in translucent white paper, printed with red ink.

"Because Lanie is due in August, we had to DIY the invites to get them out in time," explains Elise. "We bought the cards ready-made from Chinatown and printed the insides ourselves, which was why we used red ink instead of gold."

The insert, which has a cute little Precious Moments cartoon of a bride and groom on top, reads:

Mr. Deng Fan and Mrs. Deng Ailing

and

Mr. Tobias Barnett and Mrs. Francesca Barnett

request the honour of your presence

at the wedding of their children

William Deng Fei

and

Elise Barnett

etc.

Within the insert, Elise has also tucked in a photo, a close-up shot of them gazing at each other in joyful adoration, the winding path atop the Great Wall of China faintly visible against the backdrop of blue sky and grassy landscape looming beyond the stone parapet they're leaning on.

"That's where he proposed to me," she explains, "he said he wanted to do it at the Great Wall because that would make it meaningful for both of us. I love a vantage point with a scenic view, as you know, and to him, the Great Wall is the work of several centuries, representing five thousand years of Chinese history."

"Wow… in all honesty, that could only be called superlative," I say reverently, blown away by it all. "Don't you feel like all your dreams came true?"

"Absolutely," replies Elise. "It turned out, he had it all planned long ago for the summer, but before he could surprise me with the tickets, he had to bring the reservations forward because of all of this. That was one of the things he was busy with when he was at his laptop all day."

"And I suppose, the other things would have to do with Lanie and the baby?" I speculate. "Changing the subject, did he ever explain to you why he wants to legally adopt with you?"

"Yes," says Elise, "all this time, his mind was going in the same direction as mine was, except he wanted to do his research first since he was raised as an only child and knew absolutely nothing about babies. That's how he came to the idea that we should adopt our niece – did I mention, Lanie's having a girl - because we get family benefits at work, whereas Lanie won't have anything since she's still in school. That way, we can put her on our health insurance, because otherwise, it'll either mean that Lanie has to get Medicaid, or Daddy has to get her onto his plan. And maybe it's good for Lanie to give up legal parental rights, at least at this point, because it'll keep her mindful that she's only bearing a fraction of the responsibility it takes to raise a child. She'll still have the opportunity to build a relationship with her daughter, and we intend to let our niece choose who she wants to be with when she's older. I just wish he hadn't gotten ahead of himself and blurted it all out to me in his excitement, because I'd gladly agree on the spot if he'd held it in long enough to sit down together and have a civilized conversation instead."

"And," continues Elise, "here's when all of my dreams really came true. William finally complimented my code at last! I told him he must be super relieved we're getting married, since that means he'll never have to look at my code again, and you know what he said? He said, all this while he's still been going through all the code, and he thinks my code is the most elegant of all, after I've done enough revisions to iron out all the kinks."

William is a cultural chameleon; this time, he's made reservations for us at Binkley's, and I gasp audibly when I see the prices. I used to think Father was extravagant, but he's got nothing on this; it's $240 per person just for food, and with the additions of wine and caviar, we will have gone through $500 per head for a three-hour, twenty-course meal.

"You shouldn't have," I tell William. "It's too generous of you."

"Come on Anne, we ought to be gracious since they want to make this a special occasion. And besides, you could take pictures," suggests Fred with an evil grin, "and tag them to your sister on Facebook."

"Not at all," replies William coolly. "I like to try new restaurants in every city I visit, and it's a pleasure to have you all with me."

June becomes my nomadic Month of Weddings; first, I head back to Detroit for a couple weeks to help Mary and Charles prepare for theirs, where I serve as the matron-of-honour, and then I have a couple of stops to make in preparation for Elise's. Fred, of course, swoops in to join me for both of the occasions, but I stay on in Detroit and the Massachusetts area throughout the entire time in between to avoid all the extra hours of flying, since there's plenty of people I can catch up with.

Ironically, Elise doesn't get to style her own gown, because William is particular about labels, and the sheer number of costume changes required mean that all her dresses need to be bought off the rack, since their preparation timeframe allows only for alterations, not for tailoring.

On the morning of the wedding, all the bridesmaids gather at Elise's apartment in Cambridge at 4 AM. Her tiny space is bursting at the seams with the entourage: seven bridesmaids comprising her four sisters and three college flatmates including me; her parents and two sets of aunts and uncles; a professional stylist for her makeup and hair; and a professional photo and video crew as well. Fred is also here with us, because although William didn't invite him to be a groomsman, they've graciously allowed him to join us as a spectator to the morning ceremony as a courtesy to me.

"The reason why William insisted all his groomsmen must be Chinese," Elise had explained, "is because anyone else might find the door games disrespectful. He wouldn't want to put you in the position of ordering Frederick to do push-ups, for example."

Our task, simply put, is to put William and his groomsmen through their paces before they can enter the apartment and pick up Elise, with each of us setting one challenge for them.

Jenna and I go first, serving them four foods to represent the four tastes: sour, sweet, bitter, and spicy. This symbolizes the groom's commitment to go through good and bad times with the bride. Of course, we let Jenna do the easy ones: honey for sweet, and lemonade for sour. I then follow-up with spicy and bitter, which take the form of chilli sauce and a kale smoothie.

Next up is Marilyn, who leads the men through the lyrics of O Sole Mio, making them repeat after her in soppy, dramatic tones.

"Louder!" she urges. "Elise has to be able to hear you!"

Harriet goes after that, ordering everybody through a routine of push-ups and jumping jacks. As the men shed their suit jackets to comply, Fred shoots a grin at me, clearly relieved to be spared from participating.

Emma, our resident matchmaker, then brings out a big box filled with shoes contributed by all of us.

"Only one shoe in this box belongs to Elise," she says. "William, you have to identify which one it is."

"That one's Anne's, for what it's worth," says Fred from the corner.

"Shh! You're not supposed to help, don't make it too easy for him!" says Emma.

William is a software engineer to the core, because he takes out all the shoes from the box, and lines them up in a perfect straight row according to size. He eliminates everything that's too big or too small, then re-arranges them again according to colour. After several minutes of scrutiny, he picks up one of them and waves it at Emma.

"I think it's this one," he says. "Elise likes her heels exactly three inches high, it looks like her size, and she always goes for the boldest colours."

The final and bawdiest challenge falls to Kaitlyn. She brings out a box of oversize lacy bras and panties, which the men put on over their dress shirts and trousers, after which she makes them gyrate to Right Said Fred's I'm Too Sexy, with the professional videographer filming all the hijinks, of course.

With the challenges completed, the men don their suit jackets again, and Lanie haggles with them for the red packet they must give to get past us. They land on a sum of $888 (shh, all of this is choreographed) and after paying us off, William opens the door to Elise's bedroom. Even though it is morning, she's in a luxurious ball gown overlaid with beaded lace, her face shielded by her veil.

After another carefully choreographed moment where William lifts the veil and they share a romantic kiss, we take our leave of Elise's parents and relatives, and get into our convoy of cars to head over to the groom's house. Elise has rented a minivan for the bridesmaids, and Fred makes himself useful by driving it, opening the front passenger door for me as everyone else piles into the back.

In preparation for the new arrivals to the family, William has moved, and we pull up to a brownstone building overlooking the Charles River, a stone's throw away from the route where Fred and I used to run. Even though William and Elise are earning a handsome salary at Google, I know this area is still more expensive than they can afford on their own, so I can only surmise that his parents must have helped them out. With the tight timeline for the wedding, their spacious apartment looks sparsely furnished; they haven't had time to do anything except move all the things he already had over to the new place. Gianna opens the door to our party, and in addition to William's parents and Gianna's adoptive family, Harville and his family have also made an unexpected appearance.

William and Elise pay their respects to the elders, getting on their knees to serve tea in tiny cups to his parents and Gianna's adoptive parents in turn. After that, the party proceeds to their bedroom, where the marital bed is dressed in shiny red silk sheets. And that's when I know what Harville is here for.

"C'mon, Mikey," he says, picking up Michael and lifting him onto the bed. "Here you go."

"But you won't let me jump on the bed at home!" protests Michael. "Why? I want Mia to come play with me!"

"Sorry, honey," coaxes Elinor. "Just two minutes, OK? Just let this nice man take a photo, and then you can go play with Mia."

Mia scrambles over to get up the bed with Michael, only for her dad to grab hold of her. Seeing that Harville doesn't quite have the heart to pry her away, Fred goes over to help out.

"Mimi, wanna get on an airplane?" he says, crouching down and letting her climb onto his shoulders. "Let's go, let's fly away." He heads out of the room and down the hallway.

At the sight of Harville and Fred whisking Mia away, Gianna bursts into tears and runs out of the room, and I follow her. She slips into an adjacent bedroom, which is presumably hers, and closes the door.

"Gianna," I say, knocking lightly. "Gianna, it's me. Will you let me in?"

She opens the door a crack, then admits me, bowing her head slightly in an attempt for her hair to hide her tear-stained face. Gently, I fold her into my arms for a hug, silently waiting for her to unburden herself.

"That ceremony," Gianna explains between sobs, "they need a little boy to jump on the bed, because it's supposed to bless the couple with a son. That's why we had to borrow Michael, and Mia isn't allowed up there with him, because girls just won't do."

"Gianna," I stroke her back gently, "listen to me. We already know the gender of the first child that William and Elise will call their own, and that's not stopping them from going completely baby crazy. Honestly, I don't know who's been more excited about that baby lately, between them and Lanie. This is just a ritual, and once they've checked the box and gone through the motions, it won't change a thing about whether they treasure that girl child as much as any of the others who might follow. As much as they treasure you, in fact."

After Gianna cries out all her tears, I straighten up and put my hands on each of her shoulders.

"It's time for you to get Elise's next dress to her now," I remind her. "Want me to help fix your makeup?"

We pop into Gianna's ensuite to give her face a wash and redo her makeup, before returning to the master bedroom where everyone is still gathered around the bed waiting for us, with Michael and Mia happily playing on the floor now that the bed-jumping ritual is over. Gianna opens the closet and takes out a floral print Oscar de la Renta day dress, and Marilyn chases everyone except Jenna and me out of the room. Elise has to change before she can go back to her apartment, because in the old days, brides used to stay three days at the groom's house before they could pay their respects to their family, so the change of clothing is supposed to simulate her staying overnight. This complicates things because her hairstyle needs to withstand the change of dress, which is why it takes two of us to whisk the first dress away after she steps out of it to prevent it from sagging on the floor and getting wrinkled, and then we pull the second one over her head carefully, making sure it won't muss up her hair.

Back at Elise's apartment, the tea ceremony gets repeated all over again with her parents and her two sets of uncles and aunts: Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, and Mr. and Mrs. Philips. With the addition of the elder members of the family, we have two more vehicles in our convoy heading over to the courthouse.

Due to the difference in their religious backgrounds, Elise and William decided to have a secular exchange of vows instead of a church service, which means only the immediate family members are able to witness their courthouse ceremony. The rest of us congregate outside the building waiting for them to emerge, after which the procession of cars goes to the Boston Public Garden where a catered buffet lunch awaits us, complete with those fancy party plates that have notches to hold our champagne flutes. It's an extremely picturesque setting, but I'm starting to feel exhausted standing up for so many hours without any respite, and I can hardly imagine how much stamina Elise and William need to get through the rest of the day.

In the evening, I'm not needed to get Elise ready for the Chinese wedding banquet at the Mandarin Oriental; Kaitlyn and Lanie are manning the front desk, so Fred and I can join the guests milling at the cocktail hour and catch up with all our old friends from college. Although Benwick and Francis weren't part of the morning celebrations, they join us for the evening party, clad in matching jacquard silk blazers in tune with the atmosphere. As far as Chinese wedding dinners go, this one is relatively small with five tables of ten; Elise told me if they were having the banquet in China, they'd probably be expected to host fifty to a hundred tables.

Jenna and Chase, who are the maid-of-honour and best man, are our emcees for the night, repeating the announcements in English and Mandarin respectively. They ask us to rise for the grand entrance of the bridal couple, and the double doors to the banquet room open to the sound of Mendelssohn's Wedding March. Arm in arm, Elise and William march in together with ramrod straight posture, wearing the same gown and suit from the very beginning of the day, her massive train trailing behind her.

The bridal couple taking their seats at the head table is the cue for us to get seated too, so the first course of the dinner can be served. All the lights are dimmed, and then a line of serving staff marches in to the rhythm of peppy background music, each of them balancing a plate of food on one upturned palm. They fan out in formation until each one of them is standing beside a table, and then they place the plates on the lazy Susan in the middle of each table. It's an assortment of delicately sliced Chinese cold cuts, and this is only the appetizer course; the menu cards on our tables say there will be nine courses all in all.

We've barely finished the third course when Elise and William sneak out again; they've hardly had a chance to touch any of their food tonight. At the end of the fourth course, Jenna and Chase get back on the stage, to announce the second grand entrance of the wedding couple.

Elise has changed into a floor-length red silk qipao with plenty of brightly coloured flowers embroidered on it, a red peony hairpiece pinned into the spot where her ivory one had been. To match, William wears a traditional silk pant suit with a Mandarin collared jacket. This time, they stroll in rather than marching, with a slightly more relaxed bearing, to the background of Palchelbel's Canon in D Major.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to introduce a special musical item in honour of the bride and groom," says Jenna, with Chase translating her words into Mandarin immediately after. "Please put your hands together for Miss Gianna Doherty, who also goes by the name of Deng Jia, and Mrs. Anne Wentworth!"

This was the thing that kept me so busy in between the two weddings; after Gianna and William had been so kind to play at my wedding, I couldn't possibly say no when Gianna asked me to accompany her for William's.

"Gianna, I need to warn you, I'm terribly out of practice," I'd said. "Remember, I haven't gone anywhere near a piano since eighth grade."

"Playing the piano is like riding a bike," she'd told me. "And you can trust me to choose a piece that you'll feel comfortable to play."

Fred didn't hesitate to go out with me to buy an electronic keyboard to practice on, and then I continued on the old upright piano in Grandma's house before Mary's wedding, followed by an entire week with Gianna at her adoptive parents' home in Cape Cod rehearsing together to get our parts in sync. The result is tonight – the first time in my life I've ever attempted to play in front of anyone except my family.

"Ladies and gentlemen," I begin, "Elise grew up in Albany, in the shadow of the Adirondack Mountains. It is no wonder that her first love was the countryside; when we were in boarding school together, we never passed up any opportunities we were given to explore and enjoy the natural treasures of upstate New York."

"And so," Gianna picks up the narrative, "to combine Elise's love of nature and William's love of classical music, we would like to present The Lark Ascending by Ralph Vaughan-Williams. This piece is inspired by a poem extolling the beauty of the English countryside, and some of you may have heard it in orchestra performances. But even before the orchestra version was conceived, it was initially written for violin and piano, which is how we will be performing it."

As we take up our respective positions on the stage, I realize it's the first time I've ever sat at a grand piano, but I steel myself not to be intimidated by resolutely fooling myself that every piano is the same. Gianna turns her head back and gives me a nod, which is my cue to start, playing two bars of chords before taking my hands off the keyboard as she picks up the melody on her violin.

In this song, Gianna is supposed to be the lark, and all I need to do is play chords, providing the background for her to soar against. With the exception of a short fancy part, the tempo is slow enough to be manageable for me, with all the trills and decorations coming from Gianna, showing off her virtuosity. Though this is an instrumental piece with no lyrics, the music was built upon these lines:

He rises and begins to round,

He drops the silver chain of sound,

Of many links without a break,

In chirrup, whistle, slur and shake.

For singing till his heaven fills,

'Tis love of earth that he instils,

And ever winging up and up,

Our valley is his golden cup

And he the wine which overflows

To lift us with him as he goes.

Till lost on his aerial rings

In light, and then the fancy sings.

When Gianna and I get up from our bow at the end of the performance, Mr. Deng is the first person to rise, meeting the eyes of his daughter with a gaze of love and approbation. Mrs. Deng joins him in quick succession, and then Fred is the third person to spring to his feet, before everybody else gradually follows suit. As the sound of applause starts to fade, Gianna shouts into the crowd.

"Baba, mama, wo ai ni," she says. "Papa, Mama, I love you."

"And now," announces Jenna, "we would like to invite our groom, Mr. William Deng, to make his speech."

"Ladies and gentlemen," begins William, "Papa, Mama, Mr. and Mrs. Barnett, and all our family and friends, thank you for gracing us with your presence today. I am not very good with words, so tonight I will express myself with music instead. I am going to serenade my new wife, Mrs. Elise Deng, with a familiar Chinese love song: Yue Liang Dai Biao Wo De Xin, which means, 'The Moon Represents My Heart'.

"Normally, I would ask my sister to accompany me, but on this night, I want to highlight the unity of our two families by having Elise's sister do the honours for a change. On the piano, please welcome Miss Marilyn Barnett!"

William walks to the centre of the stage, and a hotel server brings his violin to him while Marilyn seats herself at the piano. They play the song twice through; on the first time, William plays it cleanly and simply, letting the violin sing the notes. But on the second run around, the two of them embellish the song with a whole bunch of extra notes, both running wild to show off their skills, ending by drawing the final note out in a dramatic flourish.

"Thank you!" says Jenna, taking back the podium, as William hands his violin back to the server to bring off stage. "We would now like to invite the toasting party to join the family members on stage for the champagne toasts."

Two servers roll a pyramid of champagne glasses onto the stage, as William stretches out his hand to help Elise step up. Fred makes his way to the stage, because William asked him, Harville and Benwick to join the toasting party "to add volume". With the entire group assembled, the hotel staff hand William and Elise a bottle of champagne, which they pick up together, pouring the champagne over the pyramid to fill the glasses.

"Now, I know William is from Beijing," says Chase, after the champagne glasses are distributed among the people on the stage, "but nothing is more expressive than the Cantonese toasts which I'm used to. So, when I say 'Yam', you say 'Seng'. That's the Cantonese way of saying 'cheers'. We are going to do this three times, and I want to hear all your voices. Ready? Yam…"

"SENG!" shouts the assembled group heartily.

"One more time!" shouts Chase. "YAAAAMMMMM…."

"SENG!"

"Last time! Yam yam yam yam yam yam YAAAAMMMM….."

"SENG!"

This last round is loud enough to send the building crumbling down, and my ears keep ringing until I wonder if I'm going deaf. If I ever thought Frederick, Harville and Benwick tend to morph into cavemen after one beer too many, well, they've got nothing on William and his groomsmen.

"Anne, I liked your wedding better," says Harriet. "The scale of this is so impressive, and Elise's dresses are all beautiful, but today she's been almost… ornamental, if you know what I mean. She's usually the most outspoken of all of us, but unlike you, she hasn't had the chance to put her unique stamp on the occasion."

"Thanks, Harriet," I say. "I'll bet today was back-breaking for Elise, but I don't doubt it'll still be a day she'll never forget all the same. True, she never had a chance to speak the way I did, but I guess it can't be helped when it's in William's character to stick rigidly to protocol and customs. In any case, I think the way he serenaded her with his violin was very romantic."

It turns out both of us were wrong, and William and Elise get to put their unique stamp on their wedding after all, though they don't get to speak live in person. Before they serve the ninth and final course, a dessert of sweet soup with sago pearls, Jenna announces yet another item.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we would like to present a short video of the bride and groom. As you enjoy your dessert, please allow us to share with you the story of William and Elise."

The video begins with a shot of William and Elise nestled cosily in a loveseat in William's old townhouse, taking the form of an interview with someone off-screen, probably belonging to the film crew.

"Hi, I'm William," says the owner of that name, with an easy smile and a friendly wave. I've never seen him this comfortable with himself before; even though he knows he's going on camera, it seems as if all his usual awkwardness and bashfulness has melted away.

"And I'm Elise," she says. "Together, we're going to tell you about our path to this special day."

A picture of Elise and Jenna eating bananas in their highchairs fills the screen; Elise has broken hers into two, waving a chunk in each hand with her face smeared full of yellow goo, while Jenna nibbles primly on the tip of hers; she must be the daintiest two-year old who ever lived.

"Before I went to college, I hardly ever went out of upstate New York," says Elise in voiceover. "You might call me a small-town girl, but even though my family wasn't rich by any stretch of the imagination, I grew up never feeling as if I lacked anything. Daddy, Mom, thank you for bringing us up in a house full of liveliness and laughter; there might have been too much noise at times, but for the most part, they were happy noises."

As Elise speaks, the slide show flits through various pictures from her childhood, ending with one of all five sisters in their bathing suits in the summertime, piled up laughing on a Slip 'n' Slide in their backyard.

"I've always loved the trees and the mountains, because Daddy used to take me and Jenna camping when we were small. It all changed when we got three more sisters, because five girls are a bit too much for anyone to handle, but after I went away for high school, I was lucky to have so many opportunities to experience the wonders of New England. At Buffalo Seminary, I made some of the best friends of my life."

To my surprise, the slide show lands on a picture of her and me, waving from a treetop ropes course during one of our outings at SEM.

"I see myself as something of a free spirit. Hiking, coding, tinkering, and refashioning – you name it, I've done a little bit of it. It took me so long to settle down, because I wanted to have it all and do it all. Copernicus was a polymath, and I'd hardly call myself worthy of that title, but ever since Daddy told me I could be his reincarnation, I wanted to do all the things, and not necessarily only the practical ones. In essence, I think I'm multi-talented, but William probably thinks I'm just sloppy."

At the end of a series of pictures showing the gamut of her childhood garage projects and fashion experiments, the camera cuts back to her playfully elbowing William with a teasing look.

"I don't think Elise is sloppy," says William, picking up the narrative. "I think she's fascinating and original, because I grew up very differently from her. For most of my childhood, I was a city boy in Beijing, except that one year when I lived with my grandparents on their farm in Heilongjiang. That's me, aged twelve, milking a cow."

"Awww…" sighs Emma at the sight of twelve-year-old William in a red-and-blue patterned sweater, crouching in the dirt beside said cow. "Nobody would've guessed he was so cute when he was young."

"Most twelve-year-olds would have missed their Game Boys. I had one, but I didn't miss it at all. Instead, I missed my violin, because it was the first time that I'd been without it since age three."

If twelve-year-old William was cute, the photo of three-year-old William, with chubby cheeks and crew-cut hair, solemnly drawing his bow across a tiny violin, is even more adorable; Emma sighs and squeals some more, showing me the heart sign with her hands.

"By the time I met Elise, I'd forgotten myself. Even though my violin was my first love, I had cast it aside, because I was so obsessed with success and perfection that I lost touch with everything that matters. But everywhere I went, I was supposed to be a high achiever, so I believed I couldn't ever afford to fail. That's me, graduating from Andover, though I betrayed my alma mater by going to Harvard instead of Yale."

"How did you both meet?" asks the interviewer, the camera cutting back to the loveseat shot.

"I'd like to think it's because Google gives us too much free food," replies Elise. "Our most significant encounters were at the coffee stand and the cafeteria."

"Well, everybody loves free food," says the interviewer. "And now, we're going to share some snippets of William and Elise's special day."

Footage of this very morning's door games starts to play, and I gape in astonishment at how quickly the crew have managed to put this together and make it look professionally seamless.

"Wow," remarks Fred, taking the words out of my mouth. "Those guys must've been cutting this all day. That probably cost a ton of money."

"Do you wish we could've afforded it?" I ask him. "Because I don't; I'm perfectly happy with what we had."

"I'm with you," replies Fred. "I wouldn't want to pay for someone to capture me on film doing stuff like that."

As if on cue, the camera cuts to Kaitlyn yelling to the row of bra- and panty-clad men, "Guys, I want to see you swing your pelvis like Elvis!"

The camera crew must've been amazingly astute, because they cut away from William, who wasn't so much dancing as awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to another, and zoom in on Chase, just in time to catch him hamming it up by ripping the bra off and twirling it over his head. They then cut over to Jenna, capturing the rapturous expression on her face.

"I think we're going to have another couple soon," declares Emma. "Don't you think they were so simpatico with their emcee announcements?"

"Maybe," I reply, "but Elise might not appreciate losing all the men she works with at Google because they've been co-opted into her family."

The camera follows our every move of the morning, including footage of the courthouse vows, right up to our lunch reception at the Boston Public Garden.

"And now, back to the studio," says the interviewer in voice-over, taking us back to the scene with the loveseat. "William, what do you love most about Elise?"

"That's simple," he says. "Before she came into my life, I'd forgotten how to smile. She brought joy into my life and showed me how to have fun again."

"And Elise, what do you love most about William?"

"There are so many things I've grown to love about William, but if I had to name just one, it would be his sense of responsibility. I had a front-row seat to his journey of reconnecting with his sister, and it's really touching to see how he makes sure she knows exactly how much she's loved by her birth family, especially him. He even feels responsible for all our code at work. Well, I never thought I'd say this, but responsibility is sexy."

They end off with a shot of William and Elise getting into their rented Lamborghini and driving away from the Boston Public Garden at the end of the lunch reception, carefully showing the logo at the back of the car and covering the constipated sound of the engine with background music (because how fast can you drive a Lambo in downtown Boston)?

It's nearly midnight by the time they clear up dessert and the guests start to leave; William and Elise are back on their feet again, along with both sets of parents and all the siblings, personally shaking hands and saying goodbye to each and every one of us.

"We didn't have much privacy on our wedding night, but we sure had more energy left over," says Fred on the short walk back to our hotel. "By the time they get to their suite, they'll be way too tired to remember what they want to do in it."

"Yep, I have no idea how Elise stayed upright all this time," I acknowledge. "But if there was anyone who could carry this off, she'd definitely have to be the one."

The Summer of Weddings ends up reminding me that procreation is one of the outcomes of matrimony, for it ends up becoming the Summer of Babies as well. I'm not going to give you all the gory details but suffice it to say that within a fortnight of returning from Boston, my job search got waylaid by a welcome new development. You can probably guess what it is, if I tell you that it not only leaves Fred and me in seventh heaven, but also gives him the bragging rights to be first in the race to parenthood among his siblings, despite being the youngest. Sibling rivalry being the perverse thing that it is, he wastes no time calling them to share the news and playfully gloat, making long-distance calls across two oceans now that Sophia and AJ are based in Japan.

Although expecting a baby is a happy affair, it throws my life off in multiple ways, for it's no point searching for a job now when nobody will employ someone who'll be out on maternity leave before long. And since it's right in the middle of summer, it's too late for me to apply for an online Master's degree to make use of the downtime. With the combination of the oppressive desert heat and morning sickness, anyway, about fifty percent of my waking hours are unproductive. Fred helps where he can, trying to spare me from the smells of the kitchen by making me lunch before he leaves and dinner after he comes back, but his days are long, and sometimes he's off for entire weekends on cross-countries. I try to fill the hours by buying books for self-improvement, reading up about business and management, but still, sometimes I can't help feeling the loneliness of being in a city which is still new to me, with no local friends or family to give us companionship or support.

But apparently, misery loves company; when Mary starts getting into the same plight a month later, I start feeling less alone, and this gives me a perverse lift to my spirits.

"I'm dyiiinnngggg," she whines over the phone; being three hours ahead of us, she wakes us up at 4AM, beating even Frederick's alarm clock to it.

"Mary," I mumble, "I'm in the same boat and being baked alive besides. You'll live." And then I have no idea whether I properly said goodbye before slipping my cell phone under the pillow, rolling over under Frederick's arm and falling asleep again.

Meanwhile, Lanie's baby arrives, and Elise posts the pictures on Facebook. "Welcome to the world, Jocelyn Barnett-Deng!" the caption reads.

"Isn't she just adorable?" gushes Elise over the phone. "Another half a year, give or take, and you'll be joining the club too. You must be so excited!"

"In theory I am," I admit, "but I'm having trouble seeing the light at the end of the tunnel right now. At this point, all I can think of is how awful those first few months must've been for Lanie, having to hide her morning sickness from your parents and her teachers at school. Honestly, she deserves an award for her stoicism and endurance. How is she doing, by the way?"

"She's doing pretty well," says Elise. "We're having her stay with us in Boston for senior year, so she can qualify for in-state tuition when she goes to college. She was the one who named Jocelyn – she said she wanted to honour me in some way, and she thinks I'm like Jo March, so that was her inspiration for choosing the name. I appreciate the sentiment, though I haven't figured out yet if I think it's a compliment or not."

"You've always liked to look on the bright side of things, so why wouldn't it be one?" I reply. "When I was little, I used to like Beth, because I felt I had to be like her for my teachers and family to like me. But nobody can ever be perfectly kind to everyone a hundred percent of the time, so I eventually realized I was setting myself up for failure. If you take the best parts of Jo, like her intelligence, creativity, courage, and loyalty to her family, you have those things in spades, and it's wonderful that Lanie sees all that in you."

The Harvilles are the next to jump on to the baby bandwagon, sending us a photo of their latest family member, a newborn with a shock of jet-black hair.

"Welcome to the family, Trinh Harville!" their email reads.

"It'll still be a long road until we can become her forever family," acknowledges Harville, "but we'll continue to hope, and to pray."

"She's so beautiful," says Elinor. "I've loved her from the very first moment we picked her up from the hospital. Don't you think she's sweet?"

When Christmas comes, it's the first holiday season with nobody visiting Father and Liz in Palm Beach. During the years of Grandma's illness, I'd sent Mary down on her own, and last year, I was pleasantly surprised that an Elliot Christmas could actually be bearable with the additions of Fred and Charles to the party. This year, though, neither Mary nor I are in any shape to travel, so I remain in my little island with Fred, devouring log cake and all the Christmas cards our friends and family send, even the one from Father and Liz.

"Dear Anne, although we shall miss your presence this holiday season, you give us immeasurable pride in adding a new son to the family. We wish you and your unborn child a merry Christmas."

With the spring, our first child arrives. I'm the one who comes up with his name, something to symbolize Fred's journey as a child of inner-city Detroit to realizing his biggest dreams.

"Let's call him Marshall," I suggest, "after all, when Lose Yourself came out, didn't you say it could well be singing about your life?"

"Yes, I did," acknowledges Fred, "and it's true, don't you think? If I screwed up anywhere along the way, we wouldn't be here today; I only had one shot, one opportunity for everything I did, and it's only by all my crazy luck that all those opportunities worked out."

Marshall ends up lighter than we expect, which Father immediately picks up when we share his newborn pictures on Facebook.

"That child is an Elliot by looks indeed, and I hope you will carry on the Elliot tradition in his upbringing," is the comment Father posts. His approval gives me cold comfort, when I was looking forward to Marshall embodying a part of me and a part of Fred; the last thing I want is for our son to be all Elliot and no Wentworth.

"Don't lose heart," Sophia tells us on the phone. "I was seven when Fred was born, so I remember what he looked like, and Marshall looks just like he did, all right. Wait and see, his colour will come in time."

Indeed, Marshall gets darker in the next few weeks, settling in at a shade somewhere in between Fred and me, just as I'd initially expected and hoped. I chuckle to myself thinking how taken aback Father will be the next time he sees his first-born grandson, though I suppose he won't have time to pay us too much attention after Mary gives birth to Charles Musgrove Jr.

"He's been bugging us to fly to Palm Beach so he can meet Charlie in person," Mary complains, "but ugh, I'm so sore, and there's no way I'm getting on a plane with a baby. Keeping up with little Charlie's appetite, which is endless by the way, is killing me already. So, count yourself lucky if Father hasn't been bothering you."

With a baby to occupy me round-the-clock, all talk of going back to work goes to the back burner for the first year. In the meantime, Harville's family continues to grow, adding a group of three siblings to the brood: twelve-year-old DeShaun, seven-year-old Destiny, and three-year-old Darnell.

"Six kids?" I ask Elinor. "How are you holding up?" I already have my hands full taking care of one baby around Fred's punishing schedule, and it floors me how she can keep her head so well with her family size doubling overnight.

"It's gotten better now with our new house," she says calmly. "We have enough space for everyone, and the day care down the street is a godsend."

The Christmas of 2006, we have another good reason to skip the visit to Father, because Fred has yet another big break, getting into the Test Pilot School at Edwards AFB. This means that we'll be in the same town as one of our friends at long last, with Harville working in nearby Palmdale and living in Santa Clarita. Packing up is even harder than the last time with a ton of baby gear, but at least this time it isn't as much of a drive as the previous time. The six-hour drive is the longest road trip we've ever brought nine-month-old Marshall on, but we power on through the day, packing an ample supply of food, water and toys in the car, and making a few rest stops along the way.

When we call the Harvilles the day after we arrive, we learn, to our horror, that Harville's in hospital; Elinor tells us he tore his ACL and meniscus after being tackled on the soccer pitch and will be needing surgery. The contents of our home are still making their way to us and all we have is the carload of items we brought to our hotel, but I repack an overnight bag right away and drive to Santa Clarita, dropping Fred off at the hospital and landing at the Harvilles' home with Marshall in tow.

The "new house" that Elinor mentioned turns out to be a dated '70s bilevel with a popcorn ceiling and worn carpet, but it does have a sizeable daylight basement housing the older kids' bedrooms and the children's playroom. Despite the dingy state of the house, it's situated in a well-kept suburban neighbourhood at the end of a cul-de-sac, perfect for kids to play, and their large, flat backyard looks out to a scenic view of the rolling hills. With the midday sun, the temps are in the mid-sixties even though it's technically in the middle of winter, and DeShaun and Michael, who were shooting hoops out front, run over to greet me as I waddle up their front driveway with Marshall balanced on one hip and my duffel bag slung over the opposite shoulder. Apparently, nobody's gone to school today, which is hardly a surprise since Elinor would need to clone herself three times over to juggle the hospital, school, and day care all on her own.

"Mrs. Wentworth! Can I carry him? Please?" asks seven-year-old Michael enthusiastically.

"Mikey, how about this, can you help me with my bag please, and tell your mommy I'm here? When we're all settled in, then you can play with him."

"You da Captain's wife?" asks thirteen-year-old DeShaun, who's meeting me for the first time. "He with you? I'd really like to say hi to him."

"Yes. You must be DeShaun," I say, wedging Marshall more securely on my hip and giving him a lopsided fist-bump with my free hand. "Fred's at the hospital with your dad today, and I came by to see if your mom needs any help overnight."

"Oh." DeShaun hangs his head. "Yeah, I guess Dad got hurt pretty bad, huh? And it's all my fault."

"Maybe it isn't," I reassure him. "Let's talk about it later, after we go inside, and I say hello to your mom. Could you be so kind as to open the door for me, please?"

I scrape one shoe off each foot in the narrow foyer, toeing them off while trying to keep Marshall balanced on my hip, then make my way up the half-stairs to the upper level in my stocking feet.

"Ow!" I squeal, jerking abruptly as I flinch, promptly eliciting a wail from Marshall.

"Anne? Are you OK?" calls Elinor from the open-plan kitchen. "I'd come, but I'm chained to the stove right now."

"Yeah, I'm fine," I say, patting Marshall on the back to calm him down. "I think I just stepped on a Lego, is all."

Elinor turns down the heat on the pasta sauce that's bubbling on the stovetop, and plops down next to me on the overstuffed living room couch. Toys engulf the whole house, with Destiny and Mia playing with their Barbies in one corner, and Michael and Darnell building a Lego tower in another. Trinh, at eighteen months old, toddles around on her bare feet, skilfully navigating around all the stray Legos on the floor. I am seriously impressed, not only because she doesn't step on any of them, but also because miraculously, she hasn't tried to pop them into her mouth either.

"DeShaun, can you go watch the stove for me?" Elinor requests. "There's a good boy."

"So, how did Tom hurt himself?" I ask. "DeShaun seems to think that he's to blame."

Elinor sighs. "I told him, he's not a teenager anymore. But he insists on playing soccer and basketball with DeShaun and his friends anyway. DeShaun can be pretty physical when he plays, and he got this kid's back up by getting the ball away with a tackle that, honestly, was rougher than it needed to be. Then he passed the ball to Tom, who was heading for the goal when the boy DeShaun tackled ploughed right into him while trying to get the ball back. That's how he ended up landing on his knee, with a two-hundred-pound thirteen-year-old on top of him."

"Ouch," I say. "That has to be the worst of luck."

I swear Elinor has superpowers, for I have no idea how she could possibly have managed her husband's hospital admission, put meals on the table, kept Trinh in fresh diapers, and monitored the exact location of all six kids single-handedly for the last twenty-four hours. With Marshall and me around, we have one more baby in diapers, but another pair of eyes and hands, which hopefully turns the equation in a net positive direction. Fred calls, mid-afternoon, and I put my cell phone on speaker mode so both of us can hear and talk to him at the same time.

"Surgery's done," Fred updates. "He's still out of it, though. They say he can go home after he wakes up – no, don't worry, I can get a cab and bring him back."

Most of our afternoon is about maintaining and restoring order; luckily, Trinh is just starting to transition from a crib to a toddler bed, so there's space for us to put her and Marshall down for their afternoon nap. With me watching the younger children, Elinor can corral everyone else down to the playroom, breaking into her store of contraband (just kidding, I meant cartoons, a.k.a. the ultimate mom contraband) to keep down the constant litany of "I'm bored" from the middle kids. DeShaun, who understandably thinks cartoons are childish at his age, goes out to the backyard with his basketball and I hear a dull, rhythmic thump intermingled with the sounds of Dora The Explorer as he bounces it off the side of the house. After the little ones wake up, I bring them downstairs to have the run of the playroom, so Elinor can start making dinner.

It's past 5 PM when the ground-floor entry door from the garage opens, and Fred helps a limping Harville into the house. One leg is encased in a long black brace, and he'll probably need the crutches he's on for several weeks at least. But what shocks me the most is the sight of his face; he's only turning twenty-nine this year, but his thin, lined face makes him look at least ten years older than that. I never expected him to age so much since we last saw him, but then, I suppose he's taken on more than ten years' additional responsibility in the past year when he adopted DeShaun and his siblings. After all, for most men, twenty-nine would be far too young to be the father of a teen.

"Daddy!" the younger kids squeal, and Elinor and I catch them one by one to keep them from swarming their father. Harville hops over to the long sectional playroom couch, swinging his bad leg up to rest horizontally along one arm of it with a little help from Fred.

"I'm sorry, Dad," says DeShaun contritely, sidling up to the couch.

"You didn't cause my injury, DeShaun," Harville replies. "I don't consider it to be your fault."

"But if we hadn't played rough, Pete and me, you might not have got hurt."

"That's probably true," acknowledges Harville, "and I guess I could say some choice words about being a gentleman on the pitch, but these are the realities of life. Even if you try not to play too rough, the fact is, you can't control what other people do. Still, you gotta remember to always fight fair."

"DeShaun, Mikey," he continues, "can you do something for your old man, please? I'm going to need your room for a while, until I can get up the stairs. Will you bring down all my clothes – don't forget my PJs and underwear – and put them in your room for me? Mikey, you'll need to sleep upstairs with Darnell for a bit, and DeShaun, I hope you don't mind if I bunk in with you."

"OK," says Michael, and DeShaun says, "Yessir," before they scamper off to do his bidding.

Harville scootches down until he's lying completely horizontal on the couch, his tall form occupying its entire length.

"Trinh, Darnell, want to climb onto your daddy?" he says. "Be careful, don't kick my bad leg."

Darnell launches himself at the couch, and Harville pulls him onto his chest, while Elinor carefully puts Trinh onto him after he gets Darnell settled. The two toddlers sprawl face down on top of him, and he wraps one arm around each of them, tickling them until they can't stop laughing. Eager for some of the action too, Destiny and Mia bend over to sprawl on top of the giggling human pile, though they sensibly keep their feet on the ground to make sure they don't crush their father.

Elinor turns to me with a helpless shrug. "They'll be the death of me," she says.

Fred's stifled yawn reminds me that only yesterday he'd spent six and a half hours at the wheel, so I suppose it's time to get him and Marshall back to our hotel now that Harville has been discharged from the hospital.

"Take care, OK?" I say to Elinor. "And if you need anything, just give us a call."

The three years we end up spending in California are the best ones of our lives so far, for I manage to get a job again, taking advantage of excellent day care recommendations from Elinor to get Marshall covered. TPS is intense, but at the end of 48 strenuous weeks, Fred has completed the work of a two-year Master's degree, another thing he'll need for further advancement of his military career. Though his hours are still long and irregular, he still makes time to spend a few hours here and there with the Harvilles, shooting hoops with the boys since their dad has to stay off sports for a year. And in early 2008, our second child comes; this time, it's Fred's turn to choose his name.

"We're calling him Lionel," he says, "in honour of your 2006 World Cup hero."

"How did you know I like Lionel Messi?" I ask him. "Ed's never had any success in getting you interested in soccer at all."

"Benwick," comes Fred's reply. "He never fails to wax lyrical about how you share his passion for poetry in soccer."

Lionel's arrival means we need to postpone our big thirtieth birthday bash by a year; the following summer, we go on a vacation to New York, the first real holiday we've had since the Summer of Weddings. Of course, Benwick is one of the reasons why we choose to go there, since we haven't seen any of our friends on the East Coast in person for more than four years. Who would've known that Fred would end up being witness to one of the worst tragedies in Harville and Benwick's lives, and that we'd end up having a grief-stricken Benwick come back to California with us?

The Harville house gets into disarray for a while as it accommodates its latest new occupant, but over the latter half of the year he begins to recover, and by the time we have to leave, he's back to work and on his own feet again.

Yes, it turns out, all good things do come to an end, though they sometimes give way to even better things in turn. In summer 2010, Fred completes his ten-year service commitment, and that's when he gets his promotion to Major. With the help of Destiny and Mia, Elinor and I bake a giant sheet cake. Even though Sophia and AJ are still in Japan, Edward flies over to celebrate with his new wife Ngozi, reminding Fred how he'd waited for the one with the cake the way Fred had asked him to all those years ago. Surrounded by his family, all his closest friends, and the brother who hasn't lived in the same country as him for a decade and a half, Fred cuts his cake, using, you guessed it, a sabre.

After Fred's promotion, one of our biggest shared dreams comes true: he gets into the Thunderbirds, which means we need to move to their home base at Nellis AFB in Las Vegas. It's immeasurably sad for us to bid the Harvilles and Benwick goodbye, but as with every bittersweet moment in life, we focus on moving forward.

On a clear, sunny morning, Frederick performs in his first air show, and I pick a sunny spot on the grass to watch, with Lionel in his stroller and Marshall sitting beside me. The six F-16 jets soar upwards into the cloudless blue sky, each leaving a trail of white in their wake.

"That's Daddy's plane," I tell our sons, pointing to the aircraft flying by upside down in the Calypso pass, one of a pair of solos. As the planes break out of formation and bank into a turn, the vapor trails they leave become two lines of clouds, just like the ones Mom painted in that sky on my ceiling a lifetime ago.

END OF SECTION I - CLOUDS