oh, anna [-hs]

once in a lifetime

44.

I don't go to hide with them. 

I sit against the wall with the photographer that took our picture (I found out her name was Kathy). She makes me laugh with stories about weddings she's photographed throughout her career. Slowly, people filter in from the ceremony. They find their tables, quietly conversing with each other.

"So," Kathy smiles warmly at me. Without her telling me, I just know that she's a grandma. She has that comforting energy. "How long have you and that boy been together?"

My mouth twitches back and forth. I let out an uncomfortable laugh. If only that question didn't have such a confusing answer. I rack my brain for an easy way to explain it.

"Ah," I start, stumbling over my words. I feel my cheeks heating up. "I don't know," is what I finally land on. 

Dumb. Dumb Quinn.

"It's a good thing you still get nervous about it all," she chuckles. "So many couples dive headfirst into relationships these days. So many young people sleeping with each other, ruining themselves," she rolls her eyes. I pull back, my eyes not doing much to mask my surprise.

Well, damn, Kathy. I thought you were cool.

I'm kind of put off. I don't really want to talk to her anymore. But I'm stuck here until the reception starts. My worst fear is mingling, and someone asking me how I know the couple. And then I have to tell them that I actually have no idea what they even look like.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, turning back to look out at the room. "Mmm," I hum quietly in response to her weird outburst of boomer energy.

"I mean," she starts up again. I feel my insides crumbling to dust. I want to crawl into a hole in the wall. "These days, people are getting so many tattoos and piercings. They're defiling their bodies, all in the name of this egotistical self-expression." She tuts gently to herself and shakes her head. "Real self-expression is creation, not vandalism."

I fight an eye roll and manage to disguise my involuntary scoff as a cough. "Mhm," I respond between clenched teeth.

"But not you dear," she reaches over and rests her hand on my knee. And I want to chop it off so badly. "You seem like a very nice young lady, you have a good head on your shoulders."

If only you knew.

Between the thin fabric separating her hand and my thigh, there are almost forty different tattoos etched into my skin.

A good head on my shoulders? Ha. Tell that to my irrational fear of the word girlfriend.

There's a hush that flies over the wedding guests, and then a loud cheer. I whip my head around to see the bride and groom walking through the doors.

Oh, thank God.

I shift away from Kathy and she moves her hand. From my vantage point, I have a pretty clear view of the couple.

She's very pretty, young, red hair cascading to her elbows. Freckles sprinkled down her arms and across her cheeks. Soft, pale skin blending with the pure white of her dress. She laughs gracefully, bending forward and holding her stomach, gasping for breath from excitement. 

Her husband is linked to her arm, attached to her hip. He can't take his dark brown eyes off her. His hair is short, black and blending into his scalp. When he smiles, he runs his tongue over his teeth.

He wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her into him as they walk. And suddenly I want nothing more than for Harry to hold me in the exact same way.