Page 94 of I'm Not Yours
“Now, in keeping with the MacKenzie family wedding tradition, let all married couples stand and face each other. . . .” The minister intoned.
August hugged September and me, then March, who was a groomsman, then went back to Ben, as it should be. September and I stood at the altar. Ben’s best man and two groomsmen motioned for their wives to come up on stage. Other couples, including all married couples in the Stewart and MacKenzie families, stood and faced each other, holding hands.
That’s when the problem started. A blistering problem. A walking problem. A terrible, wrecking ball of a problem.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I was furious to see Grayson. Yes,Grayson.My temper triggered instantly, searing through my shock, as he hopped up beside me on stage.
“I knew August was getting married, and I thought that you and I could renew our vows together, again.” Grayson took my shaking hands in his.
“Get the hell off this stage.” I kept my voice down so as not to cause a distraction.
“So many marriages,” the minister proclaimed, quite jovially. “So much love.”
“Why, June?” Grayson cocked an eyebrow. He was dressed in an expensive gray suit. “I think a renewal of our vows is what we need for a jump start.” He squeezed my hands, then stepped closer.
“To begin again. Reboot. Come on, June. One more chance.”
My jaw dropped as for the first time,the first time, I heard sincerity in his voice. “You’re kidding.”
“No. I miss you. I love you. I’ll always love you. This has been the most miserable time in my whole life. Every day is worse than the day before. I’m in a pit, June. I have fought this divorce to ridiculousness because I don’t want it.”
The minister chirped, “What a blessing it is that all married couples can renew their vows together, as one family . . . eternal love and commitment . . .”
“I don’t care,” I hissed. “I want out.”
“I know. But I want to try again. Once more. I’ll do anything. You can do whatever you want. Make wedding dresses, we can turn the basement into your studio, we can travel more, I’ll work less.”
“No.” I envisioned Reece in the audience, that blond hair, the man who loved lobster, loved talking about my wedding dresses, loved his ranch and songs, seeing this catastrophe, on stage,at my sister’s wedding.
“Couples,” the minister intoned, “hold the hands of your beloved and concentrate, for a moment, only on them, on your lives together, your love. Recapture that passion . . .”
“Go away now, Grayson.” At that moment, I almost hated him.
I ripped my hands from his.
“Please, June. See reason, be reasonable.”
“Let us now,” the minister sing-songed, “repeat our vows to one another, with love and forgiveness, humbleness and pride, grace and compassion, passion and fidelity.”
“Last time, Grayson.” I was trembling. Trembling with pulsating anger at him for invading my sister’s wedding in front of Reece.
“Say the name of your beloved . . .” the minister said.
“Renew the vows, June—”
“Never—”
“I take thee . . .” the minister’s voice rose.
“I take thee, June.”
“Stop it, Grayson.”
“. . . to have and to hold from this day forward . . .”
“I’m not letting go of you, June.”
“You’ll be forced to then, by law.”
