I would think about that look for 17 years.
At the reception, we laughed, danced, and talked about the future until late into the night. Nina kicked off her heels before dinner was even over. I teased her about it, and she lifted her dress just enough to show me her bare feet under the table.
"You married a practical woman," she said.
"I married a beautiful one," I replied.
She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks went pink.
Our friends clinked glasses and shouted for us to kiss every ten minutes. My cousin Winston gave a speech so embarrassing that I still remember half the guests covering their faces. Nina's college friend, Tessa, caught the bouquet and announced she was "deeply unavailable but willing to negotiate."
The whole night felt alive.
Later, when the guests thinned and the music softened, Nina and I stepped outside for air. The parking lot was quiet, silver under the moon. Her hair had come loose from its pins, and she leaned into me as if she were tired down to her bones.
