Wedding Photo Album

I could hear Clayton laughing, amused by my nerves. “Remember the day we eloped? You were standing in front of the fan. Just like this.” Well, I had to. I was sweating through my wedding dress, a nervous wreck. My hands were trembling so violently, I couldn’t apply mascara. And Clayton was just sitting on the front porch of our little hotel room, eating tacos and reading Newsweek, like it was just another beautiful day in Santa Barbara, hum-de-hum-de-hum. Cool as a cucumber. I couldn’t believe it. It was very un-Clayton behavior. 

Clayton was a sweater. His dad was a sweater. His brother was a sweater. I was NOT a sweater. This was role-reversal at the worst time. It actually worried me. How could he be so blasé? Was it because he’d been married before? Did it mean so little to him that he could just waltz through it? Why was I the only one losing my mind?

Then, we got to Butterfly Beach, stood in front of the officiant and Clayton went full waterfall. Think Albert Brooks in Broadcast News. Wiping at his face, hair soaked, sweat in his eyes. He was mortified but I was so relieved. Grateful to know he was just as scared as me.