If you read this column last week, you’ll recall that in honour of our 25th wedding anniversary, I shared the beginning of the story of how the Carpenter and I officially met, walking up the aisle together in someone else’s wedding as bridesmaid and usher. That’s not the best part of the story – this is.
While standing at the altar, me in a shiny red satin bridesmaid dress with matching pumps and my usher lined up with groomsmen in pale grey suits with red bow ties, looking like a row Pee-wee Herman figurines, there was a commotion during the ceremony from the back of the church. A group of young men stumbled in, literally, inebriated, having clearly started the wedding party celebrations before they arrived. One of those idiots was my boyfriend.
I was furious. I’m sure I blushed as deeply red as the hideous dress I was wearing. My boyfriend’s disrespect of the church and the ceremony, including my role in it, was embarrassing. Everyone knew who he was with. Ugh. If lightning was going to strike me in a church, this should have been the moment.
Fortunately, the ceremony went off beautifully. As the ushers paired up with the bridesmaids, my future husband and I were the last to walk the aisle. My anger was palpable, so my usher linked arms with me and gave my hand a gentle squeeze, a reassurance to stay present in the moment and smile. He led me to the banquet hall, where we lined up with the wedding party for a reception line that seemed to go one forever. Smiles. Hugs. Pleasantries and shaking hands with strangers and friends. My usher kept me laughing throughout.
Then came the moment my boyfriend got in the line with his pack of pals, slightly more sober now. As I saw him approach, I felt the anger rise again. My usher sensed it too. He saw them approach and inquired if the tall fellow was mine. I believe I responded with something snappy, like “not for much longer.”
Eventually, my boyfriend made his way to us, greeting me with a stupid grin, and as he moved in to embrace me, my usher stepped between us, arm extended to shake my boyfriend’s hand. I will never forget this as long as I live. He said, “Is Kelly your girlfriend?”
My date, taken aback by the physical interruption, shook his hand and smiled awkwardly, replying yes.
“Well, she is a keeper,” my usher said, turning his back to my date, gently placing his arms around me, and in a motion so swift that he flipped my world upside down, he tipped me over into his arms, leaning me carefully backward and laying a kiss on my lips that was so packed with gentleness and passion that I swear, I felt my knees buckle. So hot. Rom-com hot. True story.
He brought me back up (boy, did he) and as I attempted to regain my balance and catch my breath, I was flushed the colour of my red satin gown. My heart was pounding. My boyfriend just stood there, trying to decide if he should be offended or amused. He laughed awkwardly, but didn’t say a word. The reception line moved on and he moved along with it.
Long before midnight, I got my Cinderella ending.
More on that next time.
