A Woman Trapped in a Woman's Body by Lauren Weedman Page B

was amazing. (“Orcas Island, what a perfect choice! And the ferry ride—so cleansing. And—oh my god—look up! Eagles! Eagles, you guys! That’s such a good sign for you two!”)
    But the big talk of the actual ceremony was how Mathew cried and cried and could barely get his vows out.
    I’m in line for the bathroom at the wedding reception when a friend of Mathew’s from the bar tells me, “Lauren, the ceremony was the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. I’m not kidding.”
    â€œI know,” I said. “I feel so lucky that my friend David could play the Irish music, and I picked out the vows—”
    â€œMathew could barely get through his vows because he was crying,” the bar friend interrupted. “That’s when I really
lost it. Seeing him cry just tore me up.” All the girls in line for the bathroom agreed.
    â€œI cried too,” I said. I was trying not to sound defensive as I defended myself.
    â€œReally? It looked more like you were laughing,” she said. All the girls in line agreed about that too.
    â€œWow, everyone’s already siding with him,” I said. “I can see it’s going to be a rocky divorce!” I joked.
    The ladies in line all groaned. A few actually yelled out, “No, Lauren!”
    I guess nobody likes divorce jokes at weddings.
    â€œI was laughing because I was so happy,” I explained. “It was joy.” I picked up my dress and cut to the front of the line.
    â€œNo, from where I was sitting it seemed more like you were laughing at Mathew for crying,” the relentless barmaid said. Everyone agreed that it was “So Lauren!” to do that.
    In the bathroom my veil fell in the toilet so I had to rinse it off in the sink. I decided maybe I did laugh. But it wasn’t like I was really laughing at Mathew. It just felt so vulnerable up there, with the bouquet forbidding any hand gestures, and Mathew looking so emotional, and in the front row, my mother and my birth mother holding hands and crying. I had to laugh or I would have fainted.
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    My candle has been lit (by someone’s new husband) and is shaking a little in the grip of my trembling hands. My first
instinct is to blow it out and sit down. But when I realize everyone is looking at me with sad faces, I feel like I should lighten the mood.
    â€œUhmmm ... well. I’m grateful that I dated so many gay men in high school, because now I have a fabulous place to live. Thank you, Jay and Bryan! Though I didn’t plan on living there. But it’s still fabulous!”
    The room gets very quiet and very focused on me. Even the kids—who have been screaming and chasing each other around the table during the other “I’m grateful” speeches—have suddenly gone completely still.
    â€œUhmmm ... I’m grateful I’m not pregnant right now!” I say. “That would make everything pretty awkward. So I guess I’m grateful I’m barren! Ha ha!” I hold my candle in the air like it’s a champagne glass for a toast. No laughter.
    â€œWell, I don’t know that I’m technically barren. Uhmmm, let’s see here. Geez. How hard should this be?” I give a weak fake laugh and make a joke that the candle is a microphone. (“Is this thing on?”) And then suddenly, I don’t know where it came from, maybe it was the power of the flame, or the pain of the hot wax dripping onto my hands, but I start pouring it out:
    â€œI don’t know if you all are aware of the situation, but my husband was supposed to be here today. Wait, I should go back a little bit. Mathew and I were going to move to Los Angeles from New York to start our lives all over again. Buy a house. Have a baby. But what he did instead was pack up our
car with all our shit and drive off and disappear into the desert for three days. Three days! And nobody had any idea where he was—not me, not his