As the monsignor continues on through the beginning part of the ceremony, I keep my view cast downward, looking at my hands still clasped in August’s. I hate it. The feel of his skin against mine. The knowledge of what’s to come as soon as this ceremony is over.
Briefly, I think about how grateful I am that August’s family is not Catholic and our families decided not to do a full traditional mass, or make us suffer through Pre-Cana.
I would have never made it through the two hours it would have taken from beginning to end of a full mass wedding, and there’s no way I would have made it through six months of marriage classes through the church with August, pretending as though I’m actually invested in ourrelationship.
As it is, the words the monsignor is speaking don’t register in my mind. Neither do the readings given by our loved ones, or the time that passes during the ceremony. It’s like I’m having an out-of-body experience, and it isn’t until August squeezes my hands to the point of pain to get my attention that I realize what is about to happen.
It’s almost time to recite our vows of consent.
“Vincenza and August. Have you come here today, before God, your families, and each other, to enter into a marriage freely, wholeheartedly, and without coercion?” the monsignor asks.
We’re meant to answer together, but as August recites, “I have,” the words taste like bile on my tongue. I can’t get them out—my voice is barely above a whisper as I attempt to say the same.
August squeezes my fingers again, and I clear my throat, willing my voice to stay strong. “I have.”
The way my heart crumbles after I utter those two words is beyond explanation.
“Are you prepared to join in Holy Matrimony as you come together to follow the path of marriage, united as one, to love and to honor each other as long as you both shall live?”
“I am,” August and I repeat in unison.
It feels as though he’s physically ripped my chest open and is clutching my heart, squeezing it tighter and tighter with each declaration the monsignor speaks.
“Are you prepared to lovingly accept God's children and bring them up according to the love and law of Christ and his Church?”
“I am,” we repeat, but mine comes out as a sob.
The thought of children with anyone other than Sly is the final nail in my metaphorical coffin. There’s nothing left of me to break.
A vision of Sly and I walking hand in hand with a toddler by our side appears like a flash of lightning in front of my eyes before it quickly swirls away, as though it was never there.
Looking up at August, my eyes meet his, and reflected, I see everything I’m losing by standing before him.
Every piece of me screams inside—the strong woman I once was begging to be set free again, trying to claw her way out. I don’t recognize myself, and as I glance down at the gorgeous white gown I’m wearing, every thought I’ve forced out of my mind over these last several months slams into me.
You’re a coward.
A fake.
Sly doesn’t deserve a woman like you, but you deserve a man like August.
You’re not the Vinnie Paladino you pretend to be.
I don’t realize a tear has fallen until August reaches up to brush it away, leaning into the role of the loving, doting groom he pretends to be.
“As it is your intention to enter into Holy Matrimony, it is time to declare your consent and commitment before God and His Church. August, recite your commitment.”
August smiles widely. “With pleasure. I, August William St. Jean, take you, Vincenza Mae Paladino, to be my lawful wife. Ipromise to have and to hold you from this day forward, for better and worse, in sickness and in health. I will love and honor you through all the days of my life until death do us part.”
Reaching up, he wipes at his eyes, putting on a good show.
Then he glances at the monsignor, and suddenly it's my turn. My heart pounds in my chest and my vision swims.
This is it. This is truly it.
“Amen,” Monsignor Jacoby closes. “Vincenza, recite your commitment.”
I can’t.
