“And Kate?” Ella says.
“Yes?”
“Your mother is looking down on you right now,” Ella says. “I know she’d be so proud.”
I blink back tears, hearing the march start again, the second cue for ‘get the fuck down the aisle’. Ella sniffles, and I realize that all of her over-the-top gestures are her way of showing she cares about Caulter and I.
“Thank you, Ella,” I say, hugging her. “For everything. Even the monkey.”
“Go on,” she says. “Before everyone thinks you’re having second thoughts about this whole thing.”
Choking back tears, I walk slowly down the aisle on my father’s arm, willing my racing heart to slow down. I breathe in, looking ahead at Caulter on the other end of the tent, flanked by the minister, the groomsmen, and my bridesmaids. He’s wearing a tuxedo, and even though I’ve seen him in a tuxedo more times than I can remember by now, he looks more handsome than I've ever seen him.
A feeling of pride surges through me, and the baby must be as excited for the wedding as I am, because she (or he) kicks me hard again, almost enough to make me double over. I swear this kid is sitting so low, pressing against my bladder, that I’m probably going to have to pee at least once during the ceremony.
At the front of the tent, my father pats my arm and smiles at me before taking his seat. Then it's like everything stands still as I look at the man who's going to become my husband, my other half.
My everything.
When Caulter mouths something to me, it takes me a second to realize what he's trying to say:
Sorry about the monkey.
I give Caulter the best death-glare I can muster in the middle of our wedding.
Joe holds the monkey on a leash at the end of the line of groomsmen as if the monkey is another groomsmen, except shorter and hairier. And wearing a top hat.
At least he's behaving.
And he's kind of cute, I guess.
Two seconds later, the monkey is loose from his leash and bounding down the aisle. I spin around to see Ella in the back, wide-eyed and waving her arms in exaggerated gestures to the wedding planner and the monkey's trainer, who skirt up the aisles to try to catch him.
That's followed by snickers and shrieks from the guests, as the monkey has decided he's definitely not being caught.
He bounces into my father's lap, before jumping across several more people and finally landing on the shoulder of an older woman with a hat. She shrieks loudly, completely terrified, as the monkey laughs, mocking everyone who has the audacity to think they're going to catch him.
His trainer stands at the end of the aisle, calling him: "Jake! Jake!"
Jake the monkey responds by picking through the woman's hat like he's trying to find food, resulting in frantic screams as several guests attempt to help her by pulling the hat from her head.
"No, no!" she shouts. "My wig is attached!"
"Oh my God," I hear myself say, and I cover my mouth, not sure whether to cry or laugh.
Of course there's a monkey loose at our wedding.
The old woman stands suddenly, shrieking and trying to pull the monkey off her hat, while another guest yells loudly: "Don't throw the monkey, you monster!"
"Who is that woman?" Caulter asks.
"I don't know," I say. "There's a monkey loose in our ceremony and your biggest question is who the old lady is?"
Then it really becomes pandemonium as two guests break out into a loud argument about which of them better understand monkey behavior.
"God, he's really into that hat," Caulter says, taking out his phone.
"Are you taking a photo? During our wedding?" I ask in disbelief.
"It's kind of amazing, really," Caulter says. "And I'm not taking a photo. I'm recording this for posterity. And also because I'm definitely putting this on the internet."
God, I have to pee.
This might be the best time for a pee break. I mean, really if a monkey is running around my wedding, surely it's not that unseemly for me to slip out and pee.
I whisper to Libby. "I really have to pee."
She raises her eyebrows. "Now?"
"Do you think anyone would notice?" I ask. "The monkey is really distracting."
"Uh, yeah. I think they'll notice."
Then a blonde stands up. I recognize her immediately from the blog articles online.
It's the girl from the Celtics game.
And she's dressed in a body-hugging off-white dress that clings to every over-inflated part of her.
I whirl around to face Carter. "What the fuck is she doing here?"
The minister clears his throat.
"Sorry," I say, not sorry at all.
Caulter reaches out and takes my hand. "I didn't find out until we were walking out here," he says. "Joe –"
I don't even let him finish, mostly because I'm thinking about exactly how much of a scene it would cause if I took off my shoe and beat Joe senseless right here.
Then the bitch speaks. Actually, she yells over the chaos erupting among the guests. "Caulter, don't do it! Don't marry her!"