The Love We Make 2: It's 1992 and the world is bewildered by recent headlines.
"His Royal Badness Prince is now MARRIED with a SON, and the boy is already 3 YEARS OLD! Was he really hiding the kid this whole time? Or is this sudden marriage hid...
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Wednesday/March 24,1993/New York, NY
The New York morning was drowsy. Gray covered the sky like a big blanket holding up rain that would seep through any moment. Stepping off the private plane, I didn't know if that was a sign of good or bad. I loved cloudy skies but the moody weather seemed to be saying something bigger... Or could've been my shot nerves to blame for all the pessimism.
Functioning on a couple hours of sleep, I thanked the pilot, was then chauffeured to the backseat of a Lincoln Town Car and driven through the lively streets of N.Y.C. With every mile covered, the more anxiety crippled me. I thought I'd be nothing but horny and happy to be here, to see my fiancé in spotted lights and spend an extended weekend with him away from home. This was supposed to be like a little getaway; our fist vacation together. But all night I tried to figure out why these negative thoughts wouldn't shut up and let me sleep. Why did it feel like I was on my way to see a man I didn't know? My brain was tripped up, anticipating meeting that egomaniac I first met on October 1st. It was that cold memory of how he stomped on me that shattered my rose-colored glasses.
It didn't help that since I last saw Prince 6 days ago, our daily phone calls were down to 10 minutes top. We weren't in a bad place, but he was busy and stressing and so was I. The bulk of our conversations were house and wedding stuff but at least very productive. Our wedding invitations were officially out and about in the world. The final product chosen was fancier than I ever imagined it'd be: purple acrylic words on gold mirror. Each invite sat snug in a silk box that opened like a book. Inside of the opening flap was a sweet photo of us standing with nature, my back to his chest with our arms around my waist, jeweled left hands intertwined over my belly; Prince's lips squishing my cheek was the reason for my brilliant smile. The outside of the box was embroidered with a glyph Prince designed to epitomize our union. It was the symbol that adorned his last album cover fused with my zodiac sign.
Initially, I melted when he faxed it to me but then questions came up about the meaning behind the symbol. "Does it not represent your ex?" And he gave me an "of course not." He said it didn't represent anyone specifically but him. "It's my name." I laughed and he gave me a history lesson, that this symbol had many different variations over the years and that it always was meant to embody a universal kind of love. "When people see it, they think of me. And you know soon, when they see me—they'll see you too."
The wedding felt closer to real with every RSVP that came my way. I wanted the ceremony to be small, no more than 30 people, but as family called in asking to bring plus-ones and plus-twos, the reception was doubling in size. Prince said he didn't care how long the guest list was for the celebration at Paisley Park but he was adamant that we keep the church ceremony intimate. So, the list was indeed growing. I just wanted to share our love with whomever was willing to take it. But unfortunately, that confidence didn't carry over to New York.
