Chapter 17
Mom and Paul married in the garden when she was seventy-seven.
She wore the lavender dress from Bianca’s graduation.
Paul wore a gray suit and leaned proudly on his walker.
The ceremony was tiny.
Just family.
Mom insisted she was too old for a wedding.
Then demanded better flowers.
Bianca walked her down the path.
I stood beside Paul as best man because life had apparently become a circle.
Mom reached him and whispered, “If you shove me, I’ll haunt you.”
Paul laughed so hard he had to sit.
Everyone cried.
Even Martin.
After the ceremony, Mom danced.
Slowly.
One hand in Paul’s.
One hand on her cane.
Not because she had to prove she could.
Because she wanted to.
I watched her and thought of marble.
The fall.
The cane rolling beneath white veils.
That memory still existed.
But it no longer ended with her on the floor.
It continued here.
In sunlight.
With music.
With someone holding her carefully.
Anna slipped her hand into mine.
“She looks happy.”
“She is.”
“Are you?”
I looked at Mom.
At Bianca laughing freely.
At Paul’s children welcoming her.
At the garden full of people who treated tenderness as strength.
May you like
“Yes.”
I was.
