By three in the morning, I had decided.
Margaret had been worried Ethan would appear in too many photographs.
Fine.
I would make sure he appeared in more.
The following morning, I called our wedding photographer.
“I need another shooter.”
“We already have two.”
“I need a third.”
There was a pause.
“For what?”
“My brother.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want one photographer focused almost entirely on Ethan during the processional.”
She went quiet.
Then I explained.
Not Margaret’s exact words.
I refused to repeat them unnecessarily.
I simply said someone had made me realize how important it was that we document what Ethan was doing.
Everything.
Him getting ready.
Dad’s cufflinks if he wore them.
Waiting at the back of Cedarbrook Chapel.
His hands.
His face.
The moment he offered me his arm.
Every step.
The handshake with Adrian.
The hug.
The moment he sat beside our mother.
“If he counts,” I said, “I want pictures of him counting.”
“If he gets nervous, photograph it.”
“If he laughs, photograph it.”
“If he cries, photograph it.”
“Don’t just photograph me being walked down the aisle.”
“Photograph him walking his sister.”
The photographer understood immediately.
“So you want the walk treated almost like its own event.”
“Yes.”
“Exactly.”
Then I added:
“I want a separate album.”
“Only the processional?”
“Mostly Ethan.”
She was quiet again.
Then said:
“I love this.”
The extra coverage was not cheap.
Our wedding budget was already stretched.
So I reduced the flower order.
Two large reception arrangements disappeared.
Nobody cared.
Certainly not Margaret.
For the next three weeks, Ethan continued practicing.
He sent updates.
24 steps today.
Then:
I went too fast at step 17. Again tomorrow.
Another day:
