Page 2 of The Very First Night

It’s not very often that I venture back to Northeast Ohio. Despite having gone to college just south of Cleveland, I’ve been intentional in my neglect of returning this past year. The anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach is nothing new, but I need to push through it.

This is Jenna and Marcus we’re talking about—two of my best friends since college. I can put aside my own discomfort for a few hours if it means celebrating their love.

With each mile that passes, the sourness in my stomach begins to quell, and I hope it keeps away. However, as I pull up to the valet attendant and exit my car, my eyes lock on the one person I’ve spent all this time trying to forget. All my apprehension comes rushing back, and I can feel my insides tying themselves in knots again.

Elijah Hanas.

His back is turned to me, but I could recognize his familiar stature anywhere. The way he stands, the shape of his body, and his signature dark, wavy hair are all too familiar. My heart aches at the sight. My body aches to move closer to him and feel that sense of home I have grown so accustomed to, but my stomach churns with nausea and holds me back. He is wearing a navy-blue suit jacket that clings to his broad shoulders, and my chest tightens as I remember how I used to rest my head there.

I need to get to my hotel room; he’ll see me soon enough.

TWO

KAT

Green vines cascade over the gazebo, weaving around the intricate columns like living strings of ivy. The grass beneath my stilettos is plush and damp, my heels sinking slightly into the earth, evidence of the shower that passed only an hour ago. White chairs line the aisle, each with a deep cushion of cream, atop which pink roses have been placed. At the end of the aisle, the altar is picturesque, standing out against the lush backdrop.

I attend a lot of weddings, but the decor is exceptional. It’s hard to say if it is more the work of the venue than Jenna and Marcus, but I’d venture to say it is a combination of the two. Jenna, being an interior designer, has impeccable taste, and her soon-to-be-husband Marcus is an architect, so he isn’t exactly without knowledge of what looks good.

They’ve always been a match made in heaven. From the day they met back in college, Jenna was absolutely smitten. I still remember the way her face lit up when she told me the following morning that she met him at a welcome weekend party our junior year at Kent State. They’ve been inseparable ever since, and while I try not to paint any couple as perfect, they’re the closest I’ve ever witnessed in real life.

My gaze roams over the crowd of wedding guests, searching and pausing on the fourth row back. Our usual group of college friends is gathered there, and I smile in anticipation of catching up with them as soon as possible. But in the far-left corner, I spot Elijah, his dark eyes peering out from beneath his brow as he turns toward his girlfriend, Evelyn.

My heart sinks. While I want to talk to everyone, it would be best for me if I could avoid him, at least until the reception starts.

I slip into a seat toward the back, my eyes lingering on where he sits only a few rows in front of me.

Tonight is going to be long, and not in a good way.

In the background, the musicians softly tune their instruments, plucking strings as the quartet falls into harmony. The last few guests quickly make their way to their seats as a gentle tune begins to play, its melody weaving through the space like a whisper.

At first, the idea of not having a bridal party sounded weird to me. However, as we all stand and Jenna glides down the aisle, dressed in a flowing silk gown that looks like a second skin, her golden curls swept up into an elegant bun with a cascade of flowers against her neck, I begin to see her vision. She looks like a picture from another time, and she makes her entrance look effortless.

Tears mar the tops of Marcus’s cheeks as his eyes lock on his bride, the love evident in his expression. His dark eyes are consumed by her, the adoration on his face an emotion that could live on forever.

I wonder what it’s like to be loved so unconditionally, to have someone stand by your side through everything life could throw your way…to know they won’t leave you. I want that, even if I don’t know how to get it.

My dating history is limited and admittedly kind of depressing. I had my high school boyfriend, whom, if we’re being honest, I’m not sure I even loved—it was a suburb of Columbus, and he was one of the few guys in my grade that wasn’t entirely intolerable.

And then there was Elijah. Of course, I had other opportunities over the years, but no one quite compared in my mind. We met in college and he has weaved in and out of my life ever since.

It sounds less tumultuous when you think about it like that—weaving in and out, as opposed to coming into my life and then leaving just as swiftly.

Jenna and Marcus wrote their own vows, something most people opt not to do. As she speaks, I can see the love in her eyes and the effort it costs her not to cry. Marcus looks at her with the same expression of raw emotion, though he must be used to this by now. He has a tenderness that is instantly discernible—he’s just one of those people. I couldn’t take my eyes off of them if I tried.

They exchange vows so intimately that you would think they’re completely alone, causing a smile to spread across my lips.

“You may kiss your bride,” the officiant says, grinning from ear to ear.

Marcus doesn’t hesitate as he cups Jenna’s chin in his hand and pulls her to him. A string arrangement of what I assume to be “Happy” by Pharrell begins to play and my gaze lingers on the couple, following Marcus’s hand as it slides into Jenna’s. They walk back down the aisle, facing each other at the end of the chairs, and I know what is coming next.

It’s their wedding day; they are allowed to kiss again.

As I follow the crowd into the building, I’m faced with the most beautiful reception area I’ve ever seen—and that is saying something, given my profession.

Entering the reception hall, I am enveloped by the warm and sweet aroma of calla lilies. The delicate scent mixes with the faint hint of vanilla from the wedding cake, causing my taste buds to tingle. The warm, pale gray walls suffuse the space with an airy vibe as the candles on the tables flicker against the bright base of the room. Opaque white draping curtains accent the floor-to-ceiling windows, contrasted by the elegant dark-wood chairs at the large circular tables scattered throughout the space.

I catch my reflection in the vintage mirror resting against the wall next to the entrance, where table numbers are written out against the glass. While there are over twenty tables, the room doesn’t look even remotely cluttered.

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