The ballroom.
Flowers.
Catering.
Band.
Photographer.
All the things that had seemed important seventy-two hours earlier suddenly felt absurd.
I asked the hospital chaplain whether he would marry us in Ethan’s room.
Room 407.
He agreed.
A nurse went out during her lunch break and brought back the plastic veil.
Ethan insisted on wearing the black bow tie I had bought for our original ceremony.
It looked ridiculous against his hospital gown.
I told him:
“You look like a sick penguin.”
He smiled.
“Marry me anyway.”
So I did.
OUR TWELVE-MINUTE WEDDING
I stood beside Ethan’s bed and said vows I had believed since childhood.
My voice cracked on nearly every sentence.
A few nurses stood in the doorway wiping their eyes.
When the chaplain finally said:
“You may kiss your bride.”
Ethan pulled me closer.
Pressed his forehead against mine.
Then whispered:
“Best day of my life.”
I smiled through tears.
