Honey Girl(81)

Grace glances at him, just as the curtains pull back and reveal Mom, ready to make her walk down the aisle. “Why would I need you to hold my hand?”

He looks down. “So that only one of them is shaking,” he says blandly, and Grace grips one hand around her wrist in response. “Suit yourself.” He adjusts the cuffs on his neat, pressed suit and tucks some gray-brown hair behind his ears. “Mine are shaking, too, just so you know.”

“Thanks anyway,” she murmurs, and she refuses to look at him when he laughs, quiet and low.

Mom walks down the aisle as Miss Darla plays the wedding march. She doesn’t falter, doesn’t stumble as she walks toward them. Grace wonders if she was this sure walking down the aisle toward Colonel. If her eyes were this wide. If her cheeks were flushed with heat and happiness just like this.

Grace commits it all to memory.

Mom reaches them as the music ends. She has makeup on, enough that her eyes sparkle and her mouth is a pretty apple red. She smiles at Grace first, then Kelly, and Grace thinks, I am a part of this. I am a part of this moment and this happiness. I am not left behind, but in the thick of it.

“We are gathered here today,” she says, in the hush of the crowd, “to wed two people that have found love.”

Her hands shake. She meets Ximena’s eyes and watches her whisper, “I love you so much it hurts.” She finds Agnes, who has sunglasses on but is smiling wide, despite how much she is trying to project a devil-may-care attitude.

“There are a lot of things I don’t know about my mom,” she says, glancing down at her paper and deciding to go off script. “There are so many things I don’t know and so many things I am discovering by being here. I am learning that she works hard in the groves, never asking anything of anyone that she wouldn’t do herself. I am learning that she drinks one, sometimes two, glasses of red wine every night, and she prefers company while she does it.”

The crowd laughs, and Mom reaches out to grab her hand. Grace blinks and squeezes back.

“I have learned that she is capable of many mistakes and is not without flaws. My mother is not perfect,” she says, voice trembling. “But she is also capable of great love and understanding.”

Grace glances over to Ximena and Agnes, her anchors. Focus on one thing, and she focuses on a piece of her family, her chosen family, that settles her and makes the spinning stop.

“I have learned that she is a part of a wonderful community. It is full of people who want to help, and do good, and feed others, as is their path in life. They grow so they can feed. They wake up at sunrise, so they can pick the fruits of their labor, and deliver them with gentle hands to those who need it most.”

Mom ducks her head, and Kelly gives Grace another smile. She thought she would have regrets, standing up here, but she feels hopeful. For love, for their future.

She looks out at the crowd again. There are familiar faces everywhere. Grace squints into the sun, toward the back of the tent, and her breath catches at the person looking back at her. She would recognize that uniform anywhere. Colonel raises his eyebrows and tilts his head. Well, he seems to say. Are you going to let this trip you up?

It won’t. She is a Porter, and she said she would officiate this wedding. She said she would marry Mom and Kelly, so she will.

“We are gathered here today,” she says, voice loud and clear, “to unite two people who have found love in our strange, chaotic world. Kelly,” she says, turning toward the man who will soon officially be her stepdad, “you are kind and patient and wise. Most importantly, you always cook so much food, and it’s seasoned. Incredible.”

There is warm laughter, and he looks pleased. Grace sobers and grips her paper tightly, even though she has given up on reading from it. “Thank you for taking care of Mom,” she says softly. “If I have to respect and live with a white man, I couldn’t imagine a better one than you.”

He does laugh then, loud and long. He pulls Grace into a tight hug. She doesn’t feel uncomfortable like she did the first time she saw him, approaching her at the airport. She feels familiarity and comfort—he’s someone who will look out for her. He lets go, and she has to wipe her eyes quickly before she continues.

“Mom,” she says. Mom grips her hand so tight it hurts. Grace doesn’t let go. “You are trying, and I am trying. I am so grateful to share this day with you, and I am so glad you found someone to make you happy.”

Mom pulls Grace in, too. It’s a different hug than the one shared with Kelly. This hug says, I’m sorry. This hug says, I am here. This hug says, I am trying and you are trying. This hug says, Nobody will be left behind.

“No one makes me as happy as you, kid,” she whispers fiercely. “No one could ever compare to you.” Grace closes her eyes, and for a moment focuses on this one thing: the smell of Mom’s perfume and her trembling arms and the way she holds on like a promise. I will not let go again. Grace focuses on that one thing, and her brain is quiet. Mom and Kelly share vows that are sincere and genuine and intimate, and her brain is quiet.

She clears her throat when it is her turn to make this official. “Let’s get you married.” She raises her voice. “Mom,” she says. “Do you take this man to be your husband?”

Mom turns to face Kelly, glowing like the sun. “I do.”

“And, Kelly?” she asks. “Do you take this woman to be your wife?”