I feel buoyant as Ethan and I turn, hand in hand, and face our guests. I see my mother first, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. My dad sits beside her, holding Thomas and John. My parents are thrilled that I found true love, and that I found it with a Stanford-educated novelist, whose book about finding love in unexpected places is an international bestseller. I doubt if my parents will ever change—they will always care a lot about money and material things and image, but I also know that part of our rift was caused by worry and concern for a child. I understand these emotions now.
As Ethan and I walk down the garden path, we smile at our other guests. I see my brother and Lauren, who is newly pregnant… Ethan's mother and father, who by all appearances were rekindling a romance at last night's rehearsal dinner… Annalise, Greg, and sweet, little Hannah, who is about to turn three… Martin and his new girlfriend, Lucy… Phoebe, whom I have grown to appreciate, and almost like after a few cocktails… Charlotte and John with Natalie… Meg, Yossi, and their son, Lucas… Geoffrey and Sondrine, who, much to Ethan's and my amusement, are recently engaged.
Then I spot them in the back row. Rachel and Dex with their baby daughter, Julia, a clone of her mother, but with Dexter's dark, wavy hair. She is wearing the pink smocked dress I sent for her first birthday. As I pass them, I point to the blue silk trim from Thomas and John's worn-out baby blankets, now a ribbon tied around my bouquet of white lilies. Rachel and I don't talk often, but I did tell her about my plan to use the ribbon as my "something blue." I could tell she was touched, pleased to play an indirect role in our day.
"You're gorgeous!" she mouths to me now.
Dex smiles at me, almost fondly, and I acknowledge him with a pleasant nod. It is hard to believe we were together for seven years. He now seems to be nothing more than an acquaintance with exceptionally good hair.
As we come to the end of the path, I turn back to face Ethan. Then we scoop up Thomas and John, who have broken free of my dad and chased after us.
"Are we married yet, Mummy?" they ask in the British accent they did not learn at home.
"Yes!" I laugh.
"Yes! We are married!" Ethan says.
At last.
I think back to that autumn day when Ethan proposed. We were on a weekend trip to Edinburgh, celebrating my new job as a fund—
raiser for the Adopt-A-Minefield organization. After checking into our hotel, we decided to climb Arthur's Seat, a small mountain overlooking the ancient city. As we rested on the hillside and admired the sweeping views below, Ethan presented me with a tiny slip of paper so worn it felt like velvet. Upon closer examination, I could see that it was the note I had given him in the fifth grade. The "Will you go out with me?" note, its yes box checked with a red-colored pencil.
"Where in the world did you find this?" I said, feeling giddy that he had preserved the oldest piece of our history together.
"I found it in a box of old papers," he said, smiling. "I thought I had given it back to you, but I guess I never did?"
"No. You just told me yes at recess. Remember?"
"I guess so." Ethan nodded and then said, "Turn it over."
I did, and on the other side, I could see that he had written a question of his own.
Will you marry me?
I looked up, startled. Then I cried and said yes, yes! Ethan's hands trembled slightly as he removed a small box from his jacket pocket, opened it, and slid a sparkling cushion-cut diamond ring onto my finger.
"It doesn't take vows or genetics to be a family. We are one already," Ethan said. "But I want to make it official. I want to make it forever."
Then, always one to capture a moment on film, he extended his arm and snapped our engagement photo. I knew my hair was messy from the wind and that both of our noses were red and running from the cold, but I didn't care. I had learned to let those surface issues go, to value content over form. I knew that every time I'd look at that picture of us on the mountain in Scotland, I would see no imperfections, and would only think of Ethan's words. I want to make it official I want to make it forever.
So on this joyful June day, below skies so blue they look airbrushed, we are just that: an official family, embarking on our forever.
Later, after we all have moved into the Belvedere for a champagne brunch, the toasts to Ethan and me begin. Some people joke about our fifth-grade romance. Others reference our hectic life as the parents of twins, marveling at how we do it all. Everyone says how happy they are for us.
Then, when I think that the last toast is over, Rachel stands tentatively and clears her throat. She seems nervous, but perhaps I just know how much she hates giving speeches.
"Nothing could make me prouder or happier than being here to witness the marriage of two such close friends," she starts, looking up from an index card and glancing around the room. "I have known Darcy and Ethan for what feels like forever, and so I know what fine people they are. I also know that they are that much better together." She pauses, her eyes meeting Ethan's, then mine. "I guess that's the power of true love and true friendship… I guess that's what it's really all about." She raises her glass, smiles, and says, "So here's to Ethan and Darcy, true love and true friendship."
As everyone applauds and sips champagne, I smile back at Rachel, thinking that she got it just right. Love and friendship. They are what make us who we are, and what can change us, if we let them.