The Between Years

am, and I couldn't help but concede to him.

    After the events that shrouded the conclusion of our marriage, and the troubled soul Randy became, I couldn't help but change my outlook on life and religion. Not that it completely restored my faith in God (I would never go that far), but you simply cannot experience the cross of heartache and hope that Randy and I suffered together and doubt that powers stronger than you or I might exist.

    The church's front doors were propped open to let a breeze from the river sweep through, but that wasn't enough to cool me down under the smothering weight of my bridal dress. The chapel was decked out in red roses and white ribbons were affixed to the pews. The organist played Luther Vandros like I'd asked on the digital piano, rather than traditional hymns on the organ. Randy had always been one to obsess over his appearance, not just in his clothes, but by meticulously choosing his deodorant, mouthwash, and he carried a toothbrush anywhere he went. But seeing him in a tux made me regard him in a new light. He was about to become someone different than the man I'd fallen in love with, because he would now be my husband and not just my other half.

    At the back of the church, my father smiled, hooked his arm around mine, and we started down the aisle towards Randy. The moment felt surreal, prolonged, and I was intimidated, yet I felt ready for it.

    I stood tall, proud, as Randy lifted my veil, and I gazed directly into his ocean blue eyes. I saw him plainly, as the main I know and trust, and someone I was quite content to spend the rest of my life with. My friends thought I was crazy for settling for one man before I was twenty-five. You should play the field, they all said, and enjoy the variety of men out there while you're young. But what sense was there in that? I already knew Randy was the perfect guy for me and no amount of test drives with other guys would change that.

    Not that I was naive, mind you. Far from it. But how I felt that day matters, because the end result has left me so skeptical about anything the future might bring. Randy had a layer to be peeled back that day, but it was inaccessible, and remained intact for several years.

    We prepared special vows for each other. Randy read his to me, thoughtfully and lyrically, and they flowed like poetry. Tears rolled down my cheeks, sparking a smile and a laugh from Randy. At first, I thought he was making fun of me until I realized my tears had warmed him. He wiped them away with his thumb and let me read my vows, which I had memorized, but I couldn't match Randy's masterful delivery.

    Then we said our I Do's and we were officially married. When we descended the church's front steps, amid a shower of rice and confetti, the marriage materialized for me, and felt like a dream come true. Our chicken dinner at the local Legion hall transpired with surprisingly few drunks and no embarrassing scenes from anyone's friends or relatives. Shocking for any wedding, I know, but I swear it's true.

    New York City was our honeymoon destination. Neither of us had ever been and we were both dying to go. The New York Helmsley on 42nd and 3rd housed us for a week, and I couldn't have asked for a finer hotel to rest my bones. For the most part, our room was a touchdown spot for us, but we didn't mind spending some quiet time in as well. After long days strolling through Central Park, or taking in Broadway shows and Knicks games, we wanted to stay in, order room service, and watch movies. If the walls could talk, they would regale you about the late night pillow fights and wild sexual romps that broke out. Maybe the neighbors would too.

    The entire week was magical, and I wished to live in our special moments like a wonderland, so the week would never end. But I'm also a realist and know there's a point when the honeymoon must end so the marriage can begin. How our relationship would change now that we were man and wife was anyone's guess.

    My grandmother used to say that knowing someone is far different from living with them, because they could turn out to be real . . . well, you know what I mean. Her father was a different man at home than he was in public-street angels and house devils was her favorite phrase-or so she said. But her advice resonated within me and I wondered if that would be true of Randy and I. Now that we were married, would he be the same gentle, loving, intellectual man I'd fallen in love with? Or would I peel