Sam brushed away a tear.
“Gosh, you never cry,” Liv murmured. “Guess I’m doing a good job.”
He gave her a thumbs-up.
Standing at the side, Savannah laughed out loud. It was already going so well.
Liv continued. “We’re not spring chickens, you and I. We’re adults, with big, messy lives and big, messy hearts. I don’t promise a perfect marriage: I don’t believe in perfect marriages. But I believe in us. As partners. As parents. As human beings, trying to make sense of this big, messy world. Today, I choose you as my husband because you make me happy. I promise to love and trust you. I promise not to work too much or drink too much or make you eat my terrible cooking.”
Zia nudged Clay, who smiled and kissed his wife’s cheek. They’d gotten married last year in Hawaii, a three-day blowout with a salsa band, piles of Italian food, and two hundred of their friends and family. They honeymooned on a private beach. To remember the happy occasion, they took Polaroids.
“Sam Woods,” Liv continued, “you’re the one for me. Whenever I recall the first time we kissed, on the front steps of this very brownstone, one word keeps coming back to me. That word is home. You are my home. I cannot wait to continue our great love story, as your wife, always by your side.”
The crowd broke into applause.
Gorman was weeping. Henry handed him a tissue. “You big softie.”
His husband wiped his eyes. “You love it.”
Henry squeezed his hand. They’d just had their final home visit from a social worker. They were ready to adopt. Gorman had painted the nursery himself. “I do,” Henry said.
After the cocktail hour, dinner was served. Sam had indeed made a long table out of Liv and Eliot’s willow tree, around which they’d enjoyed countless outdoor dinners and afternoon coloring sessions. Savannah rented a few more tables to fit their guests, all decorated with tall white candles, vintage crockery, and more jars of bright flowers. The feast was summer staples: watermelon and feta salad, grilled corn slathered in salted butter, roasted new potatoes. Maine lobsters and sticky ribs were served family style. Kids chased each other under the tables. Everyone was drinking Aperol spritz and rosé and champagne. A lot of it.
Darlene and Zach were seated next to Clay and Zia. After being nominated for (but not winning) an Academy Award for Best Actor in The Jungle of Us, Clay had solidified his place in the A-list as a dramatic actor. But at Liv and Sam’s wedding, he was just Zia’s husband, and Zach and Darlene’s friend, watching proudly as his wife announced her latest news to her friends.
“Director of volunteer services for Southeast Asia,” Zia told Darlene and Zach. She felt lit up from the inside. “I’ll be overseeing all of the teams there.” Zia had gone back to school to get a master’s in public health. When her boss’s job at Global Care came up, she went through four rounds of interviews to get it. “I’m going to be based in Bangkok for the next five months, starting in the fall. I get to expand the current programs in the region and start new ones in Laos and Myanmar. I’m psyched!”
“Bangkok.” Zach addressed Clay. “Long way from LA.”
“I’m going with her,” Clay said, adding that Layla and her kids would be housesitting the LA condo while they were away: Zia’s sister had groveled for a year for their forgiveness, donating all the money from the photograph to Global Care. “It’s time Zia’s career came first.”
Zia and Clay exchanged a smile of understanding, their fingers evenly intertwined.
“Do you miss having a home base?” Zia asked Zach and Darlene, sampling the fresh lobster. “You guys seem to be constantly on tour these days. South by Southwest, LA, Portland.”
Zach and Darlene looked at each other and shrugged, smiling. “I’m just happy people want to hear our music.” Zach squeezed Darlene’s thigh. Even after all this time, it sent a deliciously lazy spark up her spine. His shirt was still a little rumpled, but he wore his hair swept back off his face these days. It made him look more mature, but no less cute.
“It’s like Liv said in her vows,” Darlene added. “Wherever we are, as long as we’re together: that’s home.”
Later, the tables were cleared away, and Sam and Liv cut a three-tiered vanilla cake slathered with honey-and-lavender buttercream frosting. Ben and Dottie had two pieces each and were taken up to bed before they gobbled a third. Liv was apprehensive about a DJ—her days of drunkenly thrashing to “Party in the USA” were definitely behind her. But then Darlene and Zach started a sweet, jazzy version of “It Had to Be You,” and she realized it was going to be a different kind of dance floor. As the sun sank over the fence, Liv slipped off her heels and let Sam sway her around, full and tipsy and entirely happy.
“ ‘It had to be you,’ ” Darlene sang, making the old words sound inevitable and romantic, classic and entirely fresh. “ ‘It had to be you.’ ”
Liv and Sam were surrounded by couples in love in New York. Gorman and Henry; Darlene and Zach; Clay and Zia; Savannah and Sophie (the quirky English fashion student she’d been dating); and a couple dozen other friends and family, all twirling around the backyard, which had been strung with little white lights.
“ ‘For nobody else, gave me a thrill,’ ” Darlene’s eyes were on Zach, as they sang together, not bothering to hide grins. “ ‘With all your faults, I love you still.’ ” And Liv thought about how love meant showing someone everything—every awkward, shameful, hidden part of yourself—and the sublime grace and freedom in having those parts accepted, and cherished. How that was, ultimately, the secret to being loved, and loving others. Seeing, and being seen.
“ ‘It had to be you, wonderful you, it had to be you.’ ”
“How’d I do?” Savannah whispered, as Sam was saying goodbye
