Everything

XLI

Panic seized my chest, and it felt like my airways were closing. How could I get married without my mother? My father to walk me down the aisle? My abuela, who'd cheered me on for every single moment of my life? There was no way. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening.

The floodgates burst, and I doubled over, practically sinking to my knees on the marble floor. What was I going to do? How could I go ahead with the wedding?

"I---I can't!" I sobbed, "Spencer, I can't do it! I can't do it without them here!"

He was at my side in a second flat, sinking to his knees, pulling me into his arms. I tried to count the steady beating of his heart in his chest to ground me, but it felt like I was sinking further and further into an abyss. We'd have to call off the wedding.

"It's not over, baby, I promise." he whispered, kissing my forehead, "I'm going to do absolutely everything in my power to get them here. Even if I have to swim the Atlantic, myself, okay? I know how much this means to you, means to us both, alright? Don't panic, sweetheart, I've got you, always, okay?"

I wiped my nose in a very unladylike gesture, looking up at him with tears still blurring my vision, "Okay."

"Good," he tilted my chin up to kiss my lips softly, "Now please don't cry. You know I can't bear to see you upset. I'll make you a cup of tea, hm?"

I giggled through my tears, wiping my eyes and sniffing, "Spence, you're drinking even more tea since we got here than back in Manhattan. You must be like 80 percent tea by now."

He chuckled, pressing his lips to the top of my head, "I should just get an IV of tea, huh? Come on, you, no more crying. The good pastor will be here in a minute. I just spotted him pulling into the drive."

*

Pastor Andrews sat at Spencer's mother's kitchen table, his hands resting on his portly stomach.

He was a Black British man with a lilting London accent, a smile full of large pearly white teeth, and a well-kept salt and pepper colored beard. As the pastor of Spencer's local church here in Brosgrove, my fiance had known the man growing up, and he was the only logical choice for a wedding here in the UK.

I had immediately taken to him. He had a soft, avuncular temperament, and immediately embraced me in a hug when he'd managed to perceive I'd been crying.

We settled down for tea, and began discussing our plans for the wedding, our whirlwind arrangements, and what we wanted for the day.

It seemed stupid to be planning a wedding that my parents wouldn't be able to make it to. Put simply, there was no way I'd be walking down the aisle without their presence, and I didn't want to go to all this fuss preparing something that might have to be cancelled at the last minute.

Sensing this, all the while, Spencer had held my hand tight, his thumb stroking my knuckles, soothing my frayed nerves.

"Now," Pastor Andrews said, taking a large gulp of tea, "This is the bit couples don't tend to think through until the last minute - the vows. Will you be writing your own?"

I let out a small gasp of surprise, turning to Spencer, "Oh, Spence, I hadn't thought of that! Do you want to write your vows?"

Spencer leaned back in his chair, "Truthfully? I don't think that's necessary," he said, "You know how much you mean to me, and vice versa. I think that's far too...intimate to be sharing with our family."

I looked across to Pastor Andrews for reassurance, and he shrugged, "Perfectly normal - many couples feel the same way and would rather save those words for a time of privacy. Now, of course there are options you have for a more...traditional approach."