Rhythm (15 page)

Just as I finish my prayer, Rhy starts to
walk down the aisle.

Rhy walks up to the middle section of the
aisle, where her parents meet her to walk towards me, her
groom.

Her cheeks are shining with happy tears, and
when she reaches me, her first statement is, “I’m glad I listened
to L and go for the smear-proof makeup,” then laughs.

Her father and mother give her away.

“We know you will take good care of our
daughter, Grant. We are glad to have you as our son-in-law” Her dad
hugs me.

“Thank you, Grant, for loving our baby. We
couldn’t ask for more. You are the best for her, Grant.” Her mom
takes a deep, gratifying sigh as she hugs me.

Meanwhile, Mom and Dad are bombarding Rhy
with praises of how beautiful she is.

Rhy fixes her gaze at me the same moment I
lay my eyes at her, and we know that it is time.

One other thing that we have prepared for
this ceremony is our vows. We don’t want to say a vow that is
overused and memorized. We like to say what’s really in our hearts
and the promises that we want to fulfill with each other. We wanted
an impromptu vow but decided against it because we might never tell
what we want to say, what with the crying and stuttering that will
surely happen. Instead, we agreed to write our vows this morning,
so it’s still fresh from our hearts and minds.

After the prayer, some reminders from the
pastor, the rituals . . . the pastor then prompts us to recite our
vows.

Rhy and I hold each other’s hands and look in
each other’s eyes. We are becoming unaware of our environment, it’s
as if we’re the only people on this cliff.

After taking a calming breath, she peeks at
the copy of her vow and starts. “I, Rhythm Isabelle Pratte, your
Rip, your Isabelle, your babe, your Barbie, your air, your baby,
your red, your monster, your angel, your honey, your thank you
girl, vow to be your everything. To thank you every single time you
say or do something to and for me. To appreciate you. To speak your
love languages every single chance I get. To affirm you, my
handsome groom—my husband soon.” She smirks. “To serve you. To fill
your love tank. To submit to you. To be your best friend. L, please
understand.” We all have a rich, throaty laugh. “To support you. To
be faithful to you. To never give up on you. To always listen to
you. To communicate with you. To love you unconditionally. To
decide every day, over and over and over and over again, that it’s
you that I will always love, no matter what. I vow to be your wife
more than anything else.” The joyful tears flow the whole time she
speaks her vow. “So the million-dollar question is, do I accept you
as my husband?” Rhy looks me straight in the eyes as she says, “I
do, Grant. I do.” Her eyes are wide and glowing, a clear picture of
how elated she is.

She releases my right hand to get my ring.
“Grant, my love, wear this ring as a sign of my perpetual vow and
love to you from this day forward . . . to have and to hold, for
better or worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in
health, until death do us part.” She puts the ring on my left ring
finger.

Then it’s my turn.

I wipe the tears that decide to fall while
hearing Rhy pronounces her vow to me. I hold her hands and her gaze
as I start.

“Okay.” I heave a deep sigh. “I, Grant Tyler
Peterson, vow to love you and only you, Rip. To accept nobody else
as my wife but you. To put you in my priority list, after God, but
before our kids. To be the father of your children. To be the most
handsome husband, you’ll never have to look to other man—not that I
need to worry, knowing you.” I wink at her. “To surprise you once
in a while . . . like every other day. To spend quality times with
you. To make you happy. To make you smile. To be there for you all
the time, especially when you need me most. To protect you. To
provide for our family. To take care of you. To never leave you. To
go back to you if ever I leave you.” They all laugh, except for Rhy
who’s sobbing nonstop. “To never hurt you. To take away the pain
you feel if ever I hurt you. To add more to this vow every time I
get to think of something new. But for now, I think this will do.”
I get her ring and continue. “Do I accept you as my wife?” I quiver
as I contain what I feel—the happiness that I feel—and make a
dramatic pause. “I’m crazy if I don’t, so of course I do. I do,
Rip. I do. I do. I do,” I repeat until I’m sure that she hears me
perfectly.

“Rip, wear this ring as a sign of my
perpetual vow and love to you from this day forward . . . to have
and to hold, for better or worse, for richer or for poorer, in
sickness and in health, until death do us part.” I put the wedding
band; next to the ruby ring I gave her when I proposed to her.

“I now pronounce you, husband and wife, Mr.
and Mrs. Grant Peterson,” the pastor announces and everyone enjoys
a communal happiness—some are clapping, while some are hooting
praises.

I catch a glimpse of a blushing Rhy, while
still crying, in anticipation of what the pastor will say next.

The pastor looks at me, and I beam at him. He
knows that this will be our very first kiss, so he’s quite happy to
make a spectacle out of it.

“This is something new to me, I must admit.
For more than twenty years of officiating a wedding, this is my
first time to tell
this
line that will mean so much more
than its actual meaning. And let me tell you, Mr. and Mrs.
Peterson, God is glorified right this very moment.” He’s nodding
his approval. “Without further ado, Grant, you may now kiss Rhythm,
your wife.”

I mouth, “Are you ready,” to Rhy.

She mouths back, “Kiss your wife.”

I remove her veil and can’t contain how I
feel. I hug my wife tight.

“This is the best feeling, Rip. The
anticipation of our first kiss, no less than on our wedding day,” I
whisper in her ear.

“Are you going to kiss me or not?” she makes
a witty commentary, amused that I hug her instead of kissing her
immediately.

I respond not with words but with a kiss—a
perfect kiss.

“This is so much better than I imagined,” Rhy
confesses breathily when our mouths separate.

I miss her lips already.

“You’ve
imagined
this?” I ask her, my
eyes widen.

“Of course. Who wouldn’t, with a lips like
yours?”

You will think that she’s quite confident
while saying those words, but her blush gives her away.

“I wonder what else did you imagine,” I tease
her.

“Oh, my word, Grant. Don’t even go there.
Just. Don’t,” she begs.

“I’m kidding, Rip.” I chuckle. “Anyway, may I
have the pleasure of having my first dance with you, my wife?”

She tilts her head to the side, purses her
lips, and her forehead furrows. “Isn’t the first dance for a later
part of the program?”

“I don’t care about the program. I want to
dance with my wife and hopefully, we’re in sync.” I hold still in
expectation.

“Okay, husband. Let’s have that first dance!”
she bellows.

We dance to the tune of nothing but our
breathing.

I breathe her scent. It’s intoxicating.

So close. We are so close.
I
momentarily forget everything else
.

I feel like I’m on cloud nine because I get
to hold her hand, hug her, kiss her . . . A woman’s purity is
indeed the best gift a wife can ever give to her husband on their
wedding day.

I can’t take this anymore. I decide to grab
her. “Come on, let’s attend to our guests fast so we can leave
early for our honeymoon.”

Her lips parted. She blushes and nudges me in
the chest.

“Ouch,” I say theatrically as I raise my
hands in surrender.

Rhythm

I thought that when
this
time comes,
it would be easy for me as one, two, three. Man, I was delusional.
Because how can it be easy for me? I don’t even know what to do! Or
say! Or how to act!

L tried to talk me in watching some movies
that might help me in my current situation days before the wedding,
but I couldn’t stomach it.

I asked her instead if she could somehow help
me by giving some tips, but to my surprise—and relief—she hasn’t
done it yet either. She says that she may have dated various men
but just like me, she wants to save her purity for her
husband-to-be.

So now that the time is near, I am in my
deepest misery. I’m calmly dealing with the inner hysteria that is
threatening to make itself known.

I am in the restroom—for about an hour, in my
wedding gown—and still not ready to go to bed with my husband. Duh.
He
is
my husband, so why do I feel this way?

It’s times like this that I wish I had a cell
phone so I can call L and ask for help.

“Rip, you okay in there, honey?” Grant asks,
worried.

“Uhm . . . yeah?”

“What? You’re not sure if you’re okay?”

“Uhm . . . I mean, yeah.” Right. I think
high-pitched ‘yeah’ is better than a question ‘yeah’
.
“I’m
okay.” I try to redeem myself.

“Okay. Just call me if you need anything.
Yes?”

“Yes, sure. I’ll be out in a while,” I tell
him in the most composed voice I can sport.

After talking to myself for about another
ten—okay, twenty—minutes, I’m out of the restroom.

And there is my groom . . .
sleeping
?
Is he really sleeping? On our wedding night?

I’m about to scream my disappointment when I
notice that he’s still in his suit. He’s still dressed and the
truth hits me: He fell asleep waiting for me.

Geez, Rhythm. Way to go for your pep talk
with yourself.

I stand beside the bed and stare at him. I
stare and stare and stare until I’m sure that Grant is really here.
That Grant is really
my
husband. MY HUSBAND. I am MRS. GRANT
PETERSON!?!? Squeeeeee!!!!!

I don’t notice that my thoughts make their
way out with a voice—my voice—until Grant stirs up. I immediately
cover my mouth with my hands and try to keep still, willing him to
go back to sleep.

And he does.

---

I don’t know how I end up being curled up
beside my husband. Okay, I can’t get enough of calling Grant
my
husband
yet, but I know that 1. It’s already morning
after
our wedding; 2. I am still in my wedding gown, him in
his suit; 3. We haven’t done yet what a newly married couple
usually do the night of the wedding, and; 4. As honestly as I can
be, I am relieved.

“Morning, wifey. You’re all smiles early in
the morning, huh? You in a good mood?”

I am startled by his voice, his lips so close
to mine.

“I’m sorry,” I make an effort to sound that
indeed, I am sorry for what
didn’t
happen yesterday.

“No, I’m sorry. I fell asleep while you’re in
the bathroom.” He has this look of remorse but quickly changes it
with a look of confusion. “Wait, why are
you
sorry?”

I hesitate because I don’t want to bring
it
up, but he’s waiting. “Because our wedding night didn’t
go how every wedding night’s supposed to go?” I end it with
uncertain tone because that’s how I feel—uncertain. Not about our
marriage, but by why I am still not ready, even now that we’re
already married.

“Oh, Rip. Come here.” He motions for me to
come closer even if we are already too close with each other. He
hugs me tight and kisses me on the forehead. “Look at me.”

When I look at him, he tells me the first
surprise he has for me as my husband.

“I didn’t intend for our wedding night to go
how it usually goes, but don’t get me wrong, I also didn’t intend
on falling fast asleep.” He chuckles. “Seriously, though. I don’t
want you to think that the only reason I ask you to marry me is for
us to be involved physically. I can see and feel that you’re not
ready yet, and I am more than happy not to force you. Besides, I’m
too overwhelmed with the kissing, hugging, and holding hands that
it feels like it’s enough level up for us, for now.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

He nods. “Hundred and forty two percent.”

I laugh. “You’ll be okay even if I’m not
ready in a week, or two, or even a month?”

He closes his eyes in mock pain then shows
his drop-dead gorgeous smile, my favorite smile. “Even a year. I’ll
wait for you to be ready, Rip. You’re mine now. Literally mine now.
As in MRS. GRANT PETERSON mine, so I think I’ll be fine. No, I
don’t think. I will be.”

Is this really possible? Is he even a man? If
I’m not mistaken, no man—NO MAN—will ever be okay with that! No.
Man.

Is he a mannequin? I touch his nose. Nope,
nose is real. A book boyfriend? Nu-uh. His lips are soft. A
fantasy, a dream, a hallucination, maybe? Negative. His body is
warm. Freaking warm!

“What? You trying to seduce me, Rip? I know
what you’re doing,” he declares confidently. “You are seducing me
to prove that I am not for real.”

I giggle. “You’re wrong. I’m not seducing
you, Grant. You’re also right, though. I want to prove if you are
for real.”

“Well, I don’t know what to say to prove it
to you.”

“Actions speak louder than words, so we’ll
see,” I offer with a smirk.

“Look, I’m a guy, Rip, and you’re my wife. So
don’t think that I’m not thinking about
it
because I do. I
just want to let you see that my intentions are more than that.
Okay?”

I nod while I hang my mouth. Wide. With extra
saliva on the side.

“So no seducing, Rip. Not until you’re ready.
All right?”

I nod again.

“Come on, let’s have our first breakfast as
husband and wife. I’m starving,” he giddily says.

I don’t move. I’m still stuck with his
words.

“You movin’ or not?”

I don’t answer.

“Okay, you’re asking for it.”