Or flowers. No cars or bridesmaids or best man. No mother, or father, of the bride or groom. No guests. No invitations to guests. There was no veil, no shimmering dress train. Nothing borrowed or blue. Neither of us wore a hat. Or socks. There was no music, no witnesses, no confetti.
There was an office where we bought a license for $95, a woman, who looked like Whoopi Goldberg, wearing a ribboned sash printed with 'Jesus Loves Me' who said, 'You guys!!' when we told her we didn't have a camera in a paving slabbed garden where she asked us if we'd be each other's best friends. And we said yes.
|Villa les Marronniers|
Later there was a swim in the Atlantic Ocean on Florida's east coast, a glass of champagne with mango juice. And pancakes with maple syrup.
There was 22 years of togetherness behind us and the bureaucratic procedure of buying a house in France ahead of us that favoured married couples. There was the surprise and disappointment and some annoyance from the people we loved when we phoned and told them. There was us. The only people who really mattered in this decision.
Seven years later. The house in France was bought, made beautiful and enjoyed, then sold. We came home to the Applehouse. Today there is cake. Made with Bramley apples from our farm. Ahead of us is tomorrow. And the next day. How much further can any of us know.
more years behind us
than ahead of us
unrolling fresh turf
Hungry Writing Prompt
Write about a wedding.