Why Two Electric Hair Clippers Appeared on the Dance Floor at Our Reception
Mason did not look away from me as I reached the altar steps. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small linen handkerchief, quickly wiping a stray tear from his cheek before taking my hand.
His hand was warm, but it was shaking.
“You made it,” he whispered.
“We both did,” I said.
The minister cleared his throat, opening his black book, and the congregation fell silent behind us.
“We are gathered here today,” the minister began, his voice echoing in the rafters.
I could hear the soft rustle of paper as someone in the second row turned a program. I kept my eyes on Mason, but in the corner of my vision, I could see the bright blue of Maribel’s scarf. She did not lean back against the cushion; she sat straight, her eyes fixed on us as if she were memorizing every word.
When we exchanged the rings, my hand was steady, but Mason’s fingers were cold.
“With this ring,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.
I slid the gold band onto his finger, feeling the solid weight of it.
