 |
| Photo by Shutterstock |
It’s been quite a ride for the Mommy of the Bride.
Almost six months ago, the wedding tick-tocked by with
the precision of a fine Swiss clock. Around the same time, MOTB’s memoir was published;
an event the Brother-of-the-Bride worked unabashedly into his toast .
It was all good.
It was all good.
Through the next month or two the bride and groom settled
in as Mr. and Mrs. There followed a First Thanksgiving, split between two
households. Then a First Christmas, also celebrated here and then there. As hard as they try, even newlyweds cannot be two places at once.
The memoir officially launched in the New Year - at a
local reading packed with family, friends, and interested town folk. The groom, unable to attend the reading, visited
the MOTB with his bride a few days afterward – bearing a bright green gift bag.
He was all
congratulations and apologies.
MOTB was all understanding. She has often wished she could be here and there, simultaneously, too.
But a gift?
“You didn’t have to. Unnecessary, “she insisted, about to
add, “I don’t need anything,” as she
separated sheets of pastel tissue paper from an oddly shaped object. Long. Cylindrical,
Tapered at the top.
A bottle? With a rolled up message!
“No.!” Additional words would not come.
“Yes!” 
The pair was all smiles.
The three were all hugs.
No comments:
Post a Comment