Free One True Loves by Taylor Jenkins Reid Page A

we’d have our reception. Marie, married to Mike just nine months before us, lent us the place settings and table linens from their wedding.
    Olive flew to Los Angeles from her home in Chicago to host my bachelorette party and my bridal shower. She got rip-roaring drunk at the former and wore a shift dress and an oversized hat to the latter. She was the first to arrive the weekend of the wedding—always proving that Olive didn’t do anything half-assed.
    Our friendship had been a long-distance one since we went off to college. But I never met another woman who meant to me what she did. No one else could make me laugh like she could. So my oldest friend remained my best friend, despite however many miles kept us apart, and it was for that reason that I made her my maid of honor.
    There was a brief moment when my mother and father seemed unsure whether to acknowledge that Marie and I had not chosen each other for that esteemed role. But we were bridesmaids for each other and this seemed to mollify them.
    As for Jesse’s side of the bridal party, those spots went to his two older brothers.
    Jesse’s parents didn’t ever really care for me very much and I always knew that it was because they blamed me for the fact that he stopped swimming. Jesse had confronted them, had told them the full truth: that he hated training, that he was never going to pursue it on his own. But all they saw was the convenient chronology: I showed up and suddenly Jesse didn’t want what they believed he’d always wanted.
    But once Jesse and I became engaged—and once Francine and Joe found out we were willing to have the wedding at their cabin—they opened up a bit more. Maybe they just saw the writing on the wall—Jesse was going to marry me whether they liked me or not. But I like to think that they simply started seeing me clearly. I think they found there was a lot to like about me once they started looking. And that Jesse had grown into an impressive man regardless of whether or not he followed their dream.
    Aside from a few minor breakdowns over my dress and whether we should practice for our first dance, Jesse and I had a relatively painless wedding-planning experience.
    As for the actual day, the truth is I don’t remember it.
    I just remember glimpses.
    I remember my mother pulling the dress up around me.
    I remember pulling the train of it high enough as I walked to avoid getting the edges dirty.
    I remember the flowers smelling more pungent than they had in the store.
    I remember looking at Jesse as I walked down the open aisle—looking at the black sheen on his tux, the perfect wave of his hair—and having a sense of overwhelming peace.
    I remember standing with him as we had our picture taken during the cocktail hour between the ceremony and the reception. I remember he whispered into my ear, “I want to be alone with you,” just as a flash went off on the photographer’s camera.
    I remember saying, “I know, but there’s still so much . . . wedding left.”
    I remember taking his hand and escaping out of sight when the photographer went to change the battery in his camera.
    We rushed back to the cabin when no one was looking. It was there, alone with Jesse, that I could focus again. I could breathe easy. I felt grounded. I felt like myself for the first time all day.
    â€œI can’t believe we just snuck out of our own wedding,” I said.
    â€œWell . . .” Jesse put his arms around me. “It’s our wedding. We’re allowed to.”
    â€œI’m not sure that’s how it works,” I said.
    Jesse had already started unzipping my dress. It would barely budge. So he pushed the slim skirt of it up around my thighs.
    We had not made it past the kitchen. Instead, I hopped up on the kitchen counter. As Jesse pushed up against me, as I pressed my body against his, it felt different from all the other times we’d done