Someone should have told us to elope. Someone should have told us to choose sandy beaches over bridal bouquets; hotel rooms instead of floor length gowns. Someone should have explained that no matter what you prepare for, you will never be truly ready for the ‘big day’. It doesn’t matter how many months you have planned, or how many details you have worked out in advance. It doesn’t even matter how many possible disaster scenarios you run through in your head while trying to fall asleep at night. You will not be ready for the wedding.

Yes. Someone should have told us these things, but we wouldn’t have listened. We would still have purchased our white and off-white gowns, still sorted through recipes for the perfect desserts, and read through book after book of well written wedding vows. We would still have debated venues and music, perused the store for the perfect color of ribbon. No one could have told us with enough certainty to convince us that we would, despite our trying so hard not to, break down in tears on at least one occasion.

It had been a hard last few days. All the things that could go wrong seemed to go wrong with such ease that I found myself, on more than one occasion, begging Bee to run away with me. Iowa is our Las Vegas, and we could have been married there legally, after a somewhat long road trip up North. But all the tears and commotion, all the bustling disaster and unexpected turmoil could not have prepared me for tonight.

Standing in front of the mirror at her parent’s that evening, my dress cinched and perfect, my hair pulled up in just the right way; I realized that it wasn’t really the dress that mattered. It wasn’t the hair. It wasn’t the earrings we’d bought, or the matching pearl necklace. As Bee came into the bedroom, her jaw dropped, her eyes lit up. I couldn’t help but grin as she told me I was beautiful.

And that was the moment I hadn’t expected.

Over the last few days, I’d forgotten, not only who I was, but who she was. I had forgotten that she is my best friend, the love of my life, the girl I want to spend the rest of my days and nights with. I had forgotten that she is girl I want to travel the world with, raise children with, and own too many cats with. She is my co-pilot, my co-conspirator, my partner in crime. She’s the reason I know how to drive, the reason I am able to laugh at myself, or stand in front of a mirror naked and unashamed. I had forgotten the way she could make me laugh, and how she makes adorable faces when she’s concentrating. I had forgotten those evenings we spent at the lake, or the way she used to show up to surprise me at my house in the middle of the night. I had forgotten our proposals, the first time we kissed, the way she holds my hand when she drives. I had forgotten the way she gets addicted to television shows with nerdy and superficial science fiction plots, and the way she bites my shoulder just because she can’t stop herself. I had forgotten all the things which made her my partner and all the things which had made our life so beautiful.

I had let myself become so caught up in what we had to do, and what hadn’t yet been done, that I had forgotten everything important had already been decided. I had chosen her a long time ago to be my wife. It wasn’t the ring that made her my beloved. It isn’t the fancy dress or flowers, or even the family and friends that would be watching us that coming Sunday afternoon. I was only sharing with them what I already know, what I already decided several year ago: this woman is my wife.