Nobody Wants To Know Him

LVI - Come Together

Saturday 27th July 1974
Liverpool, England
1.30pm

The entirety of the previous day and the start of the big day was spent in a sort of stupor. It was a whirlwind of last-minute preparations and fleeting moments of quiet reflection. I spent the morning finalizing details with George, ensuring each bouquet and boutonniere was perfect.

By noon, I was in the kitchen with my mother and Nancy, baking homemade cookies for the reception as a personal touch, their laughter and chatter a comforting backdrop to my racing thoughts. In the afternoon, John and I met for a brief walk in the park, stealing a few precious moments together before the chaos of the big day.

John, as much as he didn't want to admit it, was a superstitious man. Personally, all this stuff about not seeing the bride before the night of the wedding didn't bother me - it was just another one of those age old traditions. And though John was prone to believing superstition, he eventually came to the conclusion that he'd much rather be near me and risk this superstitious mindset rather than not.

The night before the wedding was calm and slow. As the sun set, casting a warm glow over everything, I sat on the garden patio with a glass of wine, watching fireflies dance in the twilight. My heart was full of anticipation and a touch of anxiety, but mostly, I felt an overwhelming sense of love and readiness to marry John.

And now as I stood in front of the mirror, my reflection seemed to blur with the reality of what lay ahead. The wedding dress, a cascade of ivory silk and delicate lace, fit like a second skin, and yet it felt foreign, like a costume for a role I wasn't sure I was ready to play. I traced the intricate embroidered patterns on the fabric with trembling fingers, trying to steady my racing heart.

John. His name alone was enough to conjure a whirlwind of emotions. Love, excitement, fear, and a hint of doubt mingled together in a complex dance. I could still remember that day a year and a half ago, on that cold November afternoon. He had been there, stood in the doorway, his orange glasses perched on the end of his nose as he glanced at me and scowled. Then he offered me tea. That was the beginning.

I turned away from the mirror and looked around the room, now bustling with activity. My bridesmaids fluttered about, each one absorbed in their own preparations, but every now and then, they'd cast a glance my way, their eyes brimming with excitement and encouragement. I smiled at them, grateful for their presence, even as my mind swirled with what-ifs and maybes.

Was I ready for this? The question echoed in my mind. John was everything I had ever wanted: funny, thoughtful, and endlessly supportive when I needed him to be. He made me laugh like no one else could, and his touch was the anchor that kept me grounded. And yet, standing on the precipice of forever, I couldn't help but feel a pang of uncertainty. Not about him, but about myself.

A soft knock at the door pulled me from my reverie. My mother entered, her eyes misty with unshed tears. She had always been there for me, and seeing her now, so emotional, nearly undid me. She approached, smoothing a stray lock of hair from my face and adjusting my veil with practiced hands.

"Ye look beautiful, sweetheart," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "John is a lucky man."

I nodded, swallowing hard. "I know, Mum. It's just... it's a lot."

She smiled, a mixture of understanding and reassurance in her eyes. "It's supposed to be. But ye've chosen well. And yer so ready, _____, even if you don't feel like it right now."

Her words were a balm to my frayed nerves. I took a deep breath, trying to absorb her confidence. The ceremony was just minutes away, and with each passing second, the reality of what I was about to do became more tangible. I was about to marry John, the man who had captured my heart with his spirit and wit.