Did I just become a cliché? Standing in front of the altar, decked out in the most perfect white dress, I smile at my fiancé, my groom, my Barney. He smiles back. Then the preacher offers up those words that require no response.
"Should anyone here present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace."
In that moment, a scuffle erupts from the back of the room. The doors bang open and a familiar voice declares. “I object.”
My smile morphs into a snarl as I turn to face the intruder. Dressed in his version of formal wear—wrinkled slacks and an equally wrinkled polo, Tom smiles at me. His toothy grin and desperately hopeful gaze reminds me why our relationship only lasted a week. He holds out his lanky arms toward me as if I will run into them and allow him to whisk me away.
“You can’t marry anyone but me, Jennie. No one loves you like I do.” He calls out as every eye in the room turns from him to me.
After a quick glance at my face, my brothers drop the arms of their respective bridesmaids and start down the aisle toward him. Built like linebackers, they make the aisle appear narrow as they calmly approach their quarry. Tom peers between them to meet my eyes. I frown at him but know any verbal response from me will only encourage him.
Barney reaches over to take my hand. As my attention turns to him, he mouths “Who is that?”
“A guy dated for a week, years ago,” I whisper.
My best friend snickers from her place of honor at my side. The sound gets drowned out by continued assertions that my husband doesn’t deserve me and that I will never be happy without my ex. The more Tom talks, the tighter Barney holds my hand.
Tom breaks off pleading with me to greet my brothers as they reach him. Trying to maintain some semblance of decorum, they whisper to him. He shakes his head and opens his mouth to say something more, but he swallows his words as my brothers each grab an arm and heft him back out the door.
“Jennie, I will always be waiting for you. You’ll come back to me. You’ll see.”
Silence falls as the doors close behind the trio. The rest of the congregation remains fixed on them, waiting for Tom to return and offer another free show. After what seems an eternity, my brothers return without their cargo. They smile at each pew on their way past, offering a thumbs up of reassurance to all our guests. When they reach us in front of the altar, they lean between Barney and I to address the minister.
“Don’t worry, Father, we’re good to go here.” My oldest brother winks as he delivers this reassurance.
The minister regards him with skeptical eyes before whispering timidly. “No one ever objects. What do I do when they object?”
My oldest brother shrugs, “I don’t think it matters in this case…”
My other brother clears his throat and stage whispers, “In case you are wondering how we got rid of Tom so quickly, some nice men from his psychiatric hospital were looking for him. A man who isn’t in his right mind has no right to object.”
Those closest to the altar giggle and then the news washes in a wave of whispered voices until the people in the back know what was said. Then silence reigns again and the minister calls our attention back to him. He acknowledges that an objection was raised but found invalid. Then he picks up the pace and our vows fly by. We kiss briefly before he turns us toward our friends and families and introduces us as husband and wife.
“Husband and wife.” I whisper excitedly as we grab hands and rush down the aisle.
“I lucked out. I gather I had some competition.” He whispers into my ear as our chauffeur opens the door of the limo.
“No one could compete with you.” I lean in to kiss him.
The chauffeur clears his throat to separate us long enough to help us into the car and whisk us away.
~~~
Clearly, I am on a June weddings kick. Pondering whether next year’s posts should all be teaser parts of a whole culminating in a chance to purchase the entire story. What say ye, noble readers, could I earn a few extra dollars for Christmas with my groovy writing? Or does my use of the word groovy prove that can’t happen?
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