Part 2 — “I Practiced”
Nathan took his responsibility more seriously than any of us expected.
Within days, Uncle Patrick caught him walking up and down the upstairs hallway with one arm extended.
“One, two, three…”
Pause.
Turn around.
“One, two, three…”
Again.
And again.
Nathan wasn’t satisfied with practicing at home either.
Without telling me, he called the church himself.
Father Michael phoned me afterward.
“Your brother is taking this assignment very seriously.”
I smiled.
“That sounds like Nathan.”
“He wanted to know whether he’s supposed to bow before or after he gives you away.”
I laughed.
“What did you tell him?”
“That technically, nobody is giving you away.”
Apparently, Nathan had objected immediately.
“Dad said that’s what it’s called.”
So Father Michael created a plan Nathan could follow.
He would walk me to the altar.
Then he would release my arm, shake Daniel’s hand, hug me, and take his seat beside Mom.
Nathan wrote the entire sequence down.
He practiced that too.
Soon, everyone learned there was one answer Nathan gave whenever someone expressed concern.
Mom wondered whether standing in front of more than a hundred guests might overwhelm him.
“I practiced.”
Uncle Patrick asked whether the music could confuse his timing.
“I practiced.”
Daniel gently offered to have someone nearby in case Nathan forgot where to sit afterward.
Nathan looked personally offended.
“I practiced.”
There was no arguing with that.
Mom cried when I told her the plan.
Daniel loved it immediately.
“It’s perfect,” he said. “Honestly, I can’t imagine anyone else doing it.”
For a while, that was the end of the discussion.
Until three weeks before the wedding.
Daniel’s mother invited us to dinner.
Margaret and I had known each other for five years. We had never been particularly close, but we had always managed to remain polite.
Margaret liked order.
She liked Christmas cards mailed before December.
She liked family photographs with coordinated clothing.
Once, before Thanksgiving dinner, she made Daniel change his navy sweater because, in her words, it was “arguing with the table runner.”
So when she invited us over to discuss the wedding, I expected questions about flowers, seating arrangements, or the reception menu.
Dinner was almost finished when Margaret placed her fork carefully beside her plate.
“I wanted to ask about the processional.”
Daniel looked up.
“What about it?”
She glanced at me.
“Is Nathan still walking Sarah down the aisle?”
“Yes,” I answered.
Her smile was controlled.
Too controlled.
“He can attend, obviously,” she said. “Nobody is suggesting otherwise.”
Daniel’s shoulders tightened.
“Mom…”
“I’m only saying that perhaps he doesn’t have to be part of the ceremony.”
I stared at her.
Margaret continued before either of us could interrupt.
“You need to think practically. This isn’t one photograph. It’s the whole sequence—the walk down the aisle, the formal album, the enlarged prints, the photograph that might hang in our house.”
