I was taking my time with my makeup. On my boudoir sat the invitation to the reception, not the wedding. Chris called to confirm I would attend. That is, attend the reception, but not the wedding, of Sheila and Ryan as Chris’s date. I looked again at the invitation as I applied lipstick. By the time I chose my earrings, I knew I was going. By the time I walked out of the apartment, Chris knew I was going. His text was helpful. He told me where to park, where to meet him, when I could see Ryan, and how much Shelia still despised me. I texted Chris back to confirm a ten minute ETA and off I went.

While driving, I kept telling myself I shouldn’t care for Ryan anymore. I should be lucky Chris still had an interest in me. He was my first and was there when I needed someone to love. But, Ryan was my teacher. He brought me further into the world of love and lust and sex with gentle compassion. His touch was electric and magnificent. He trained me as he wanted me. He was patient and waited until I was ready.  I was Ryan’s project. He made me see deep within. I bared my soul to him and he nurtured it and returned it. We shared the time we spent together as equals. No wonder Sheila is so possessive of him. If Ryan showered her with half the love he provided me, I would …

No time to dwell on the past. I have a choice parking spot (a pull-through to avoid backing out) for an easy get-away. I know Ryan would want to say goodbye. I know I would want so much more from him. I also know Chris is waiting to escort me into the tent.

“April!” Chris was louder than usual. “The wedding party is still in the chapel. We have a few minutes to talk.” I have to admit, Chris cleans up well and does look quite dashing in a tuxedo. Perhaps he has a few plans of his own today.

“I spoke with Ryan, Shelia will not make a scene if you don’t either. You are here because you are my date. You can stay for the entirety of the reception if you behave.”

“And?” There had to be more for me to know.

“And, Ryan told me last night, he has no second thoughts about marrying Sheila, but he also holds a candle for you. Because of the tension, please remain calm.” He took my hand as we walked to the tent. “Thinking about it, is being with me really all that bad?” Chris turned to me and tried to give me a kiss. I turned my head to the side to collect it. Not to be outdone by memories of Ryan, Chris gave me a small inhale by the nape of my neck. “Let me guess. Your perfume, could it be Calvin Klein’s Obsession? Quite apropos!” I gave him a pinch on his left butt cheek for that. He growled and pulled away before he could see me blush. Like I said, Chris and I have been lovers. He knew my style and my secrets. My perfume only added to the tension of the day.

To keep up appearances, Chris and I held hands and walked around the tent meeting old friends who understood the entire story. I would say it was a story of Sheila stealing Ryan from me. She would counter with an accusation of how sick I am and how Ryan needs someone who will love him and cherish him and have his babies and all of that. Chris could not have been the only reception guest to learn of the conditions of my attendance. The waiter brought glasses of champagne for all. Mine was sparkling cider. No alcohol for the torch bearer.

Fortunately, the outside temperature hovered near 72 degrees with low humidity. When the wedding couple arrived, I went through a protocol lecture from Chris. Contrary to popular belief, I can be charming and relaxed even when the man of my dreams is so close to me. I told Chris I should have been the bride. He told me I still can. This surprised me as the music began and Chris led me to the dance floor for the open third dance (married couple first, father of the bride and bride second). The music was light and Chris held me in his arms watching my every move. “I do not require a chaperone.” “Just relax” was his standard reply.

Within the hour, we sat down to eat (Chris and I) at a small table distant from Ryan and Sheila. I heard the best man's speech and everyone wished them a wonderful wedded life.  “Did you choose this table or do you have other plans?” Chris was cute, and today, most handsome. Every so often, he was even intelligent. “I chose this table for us not to keep you away from Ryan, but to keep you closer to me.” With that, he leaned in and gave me the kiss he wanted. I didn’t turn my cheek. Chris was sincere from the beginning and displayed a grace I needed to mimic.

I accepted his kiss. It was light. It had just enough pressure. Most of all, it was memorable. It reminded me of the summer at the lake where we both snuck into the woods and made love for the first time. I know this sounds selfish. Chris wasn’t Ryan, but Ryan and I would never be the way we were.

I behaved and spent the remainder of the night listening to his old jokes and tales of high school victories. He watched me, soberly, and I remembered all of the reasons why I fell for him in the first place. Before we knew it, Chris and I spent the entire time at that one small table, in the shadows of the magnolia trees, distant from all of the cares in the world. I would indeed remember tonight. By morning, I hope Chris will also.

All that remained were a few last photos for wedding albums never to be viewed for another 10 or 20 years. Chris arranged the order by which we would stand. I was on my best behavior and had no alcohol to mar the occasion. The photographer agreed that, right to left, the last picture would be of Sheila then Ryan then me and then Chris. Sheila and I each had a small white rose to hold. The boys placed their hands behind us. As the photographer said CHEESE, I felt Ryan’s hand groping on one side of my rear and Chris’s hand squeezing the other side of my rear.

Just like when we were teenagers in every family photo we ever posed for.

Andy Betz has tutored and taught in excess of 40 years, lives in 1974, and has been married for 32 years.  His works are found everywhere a search engine operates.