Built Different

I never intended to make a scene at my own wedding.

I had planned the day with the same instinct I brought to everything: efficient, deliberate, nothing wasted. A vineyard outside Fayetteville in late October, the light falling at that particular angle that photographers chase and soldiers never get to plan for. Marcus at the altar in his tuxedo, grinning the way he grins when he is happiest, which is often and without apology. My dress blues, pressed and exact, every decoration in its right place. Two hundred guests, a borrowed chaplain, and vows we had written ourselves over two weekends and a lot of bad coffee.