Three years ago today Drew and I got married in a beautiful garden in Central Park. It rained continually for a week leading up to the big day, as well as the hours before the ceremony, and just when I thought we might have to move things indoors, the skies cleared, the sun came out, and we were blessed with a gorgeous wedding day. Even the temperature was delightfully cool for a late July morning in NYC, but ‘lest our crankier guests have nothing to complain about, we did make them stand for the duration of the 20-minute ceremony. We aim to please!
What I remember about that weekend is the evening before the wedding, having drinks with my out-of-town friends at the Edison hotel and knowing I could get married in a parking garage and I’d still be happy to have my favorite people all in one place. I remember sleeping in my sister’s hotel room and eating breakfast with her in the dining hall, thinking, “Today is my wedding day!” I remember my dad hailing a yellow cab and the two of us climbing in to ride to the park together, me clutching my self-made bouquet, as a group of tourists passed by, smiled and exclaimed, “Look! She’s getting married!”
I remember saying my vows and catching my breath for a second, my eyes filling with tears, as I thought, “Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.” I remember the rabbi wrapping Drew and me in Drew’s bar mitzvah talis as the cantor sang and the world spun around us and all I could focus on was him.
I remember the string trio playing “New York, New York” as Drew and I clasped hands and walked through the garden, past our family and friends, as husband and wife. And I remember the ride in our rented bus from the park to the lunch reception, looking out the window on Manhattan passing by and thinking how excited my younger self would be by all this.
After the reception, Drew and I walked the half mile back to our apartment, still in our wedding clothes, me still holding my bouquet. Cars honked, people cheered. The rain continued to hold off.
That night we had a party at our place, friends we’d known for decades and some just a few months piled into our one-bedroom apartment and spilled onto our rooftop (don’t tell our old landlord). We ate food catered by a good friend of ours and drank champagne for hours. I know it was fun because I woke up the next morning splayed on the couch in my cocktail dress with my contacts stuck to my eyeballs, which is how I usually gauge whether the previous evening was a success or not.
Here’s to many more anniversaries and many more memories. Much love to my Drew.