Page 93 of I'm Not Yours
He spoke in a thick Scottish brogue, his voice as loud as Grandpa Stephen’s. “From the Clan Stewart to the Clan MacKenzie, we are united at last. From Scotland to America, I greet you now. This is a glorious day. May Ben and August be blessed with much laughter and many children, and a love for the homeland that never ends.”
He straightened up, back tall, and recited a poem:
May the best you have ever seen
Be the worst you will ever see. May the mouse never leave your grain store
With a teardrop in its eye. May you always stay hale and hearty
Until you are old enough to die. May you still be as happy
As I always wish you to be.
Struck dumb we all were. Struck dumb.
With that, the members of Ben’s family unfolded their packages.
Out came their tartans. Their colors: Red, black, blue, green, white.
They whipped them over their shoulders, covering their proper, expensive suits.
“To America first, then to Scotland!” the old man declared, his fist in the air, and I swear his voice bounced off my parents’ house, off the pine trees, off the mountains in the distance, and off the bubbly flow of the river. Clearly, his ancestors had led the charge on the battlefields, too.
My father stepped down, flicked his tartan over his shoulder, and shouted back, “To America first, then to Scotland!”
We MacKenzies woke up then, loud and hard, cheering and stomping our feet, waving our wands and flower crowns, adjusting tartans and kilts.
“The Clan MacKenzie welcomes the Clan Stewart! Welcome to our castle!”
And with that, members of the Clan MacKenzie and the Clan Stewart greeted one another, arms outstretched, long-lost family members from Scotland finally reuniting at a home in Oregon, near a rushing river, tucked between the hills.
“Ah! To Scottish whisky!” Grandpa Stephen yelled. “To throat burnin’ Scottish whisky for all!”
10
“Do you, August MacKenzie, take Ben Stewart to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
The minister, a cheery sort, had a low voice that carried over the rows of friends and family sitting outside in white chairs, a puff of wind meandering through.
“I sure do,” August said, smiling up at Ben, who was in a kilt and a black tux jacket with a black bow tie. His groomsmen were in the same, as was my father, and many of the men on both sides of the family.
August was stunning, if I can brag a bit. Her wedding dress was exactly what she wanted, it was pure August. The dress was white lace, strapless, the bodice covered in pearls, and form-fitting to the top of her thighs, flaring out into a long train.
But she had asked me to Americanize hers and Ben’s family tartans, and I had done so, combining both into one. The tartan looped over one shoulder, down to her waist, then flowed all the way down her lacy train, discreetly pinned. As is our Scottish tradition for good luck, August sewed the last stitch of her wedding gown with March, September, our parents, and I watching. Afterward, we did a MacKenzie family hug and cheer.
As bridesmaids, September and I wore red, much in the same style as August’s, and we, too, wore the combined tartans. The flower girls’ dresses were made of silky plaid, an exact replica of the colors in the Stewart or MacKenzie tartans. We all wore red heels.
Red heels are another family tradition. MacKenzies, or descendants of MacKenzies, have worn red heels for over one hundred years to symbolize that just because they’re getting married, it doesn’t mean they’re giving up “hell-raisin’ fun.”
The wood stage for the wedding had been built by the river by Buddy. Yards of white silk hung across an arbor, the perfect backdrop to two enormous bouquets of wildflowers, August’s favorite. On one side, a Stewart tartan hung; on the other, a MacKenzie tartan.
During the vows I snuck a peek out of the corner of my eye at Reece. He was staring straight at me, a gentle, sweet, serious expression on his face. I tried to distract myself, I did, and focus on August, but those green eyes held me fast, and I felt my whole body melting, then turning fiery hot, then melting again. I had never been so physically attracted, and so emotionally attracted, to any man in my entire life. I didn’t even know I could be that attracted to anyone . . .
“I now pronounce you man and wife!” the minister said, so cheery.
Oh, the kiss, the cheers, the smiles.
I was so happy for August, I had to wipe my tears.
