Page 52 of Sunny Side Up

“Oh yeah. Then you looked at me and said something like, ‘Sorry, forgot their poop bags,’ then you turned around, got back on the elevator, and I swear to god, I said, ‘She’s the one.’”

I was laughing, just like I always did around Dennis, but this time with more tears than usual. Dennis loved me.

“I fell in love every time I saw you after that, like a big-ass creep. That day your couch was delivered, I was like, ‘This is my chance.’ But then I was like, ‘Maybe not.’ Then again on the street, when you were all ugly crying outside the doggy day care.”

“Ugly crying?!”

(Probably exactly what I was doing at that very moment.)

“Oh yeah, mascara all down your face and shit. And then again, on Valentine’s Day, our first date…”

He replayed the entire movie of our relationship, just like I had, so many times over, only hearing it out of his mouth, how each time he’d fallen more and more in love with me, it was like an incomprehensible dream come true.

“You are, hands down, the most incredible woman, most incredible person , I’ve ever met. You care so much about the people around you. Your friends, your family. Your community—Let’s go, Sunny Side Uppers, am I right?!”

“Oh my god.” I shook my head.

“Hey, I’m a subscriber now.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“All you want is to make everyone happy. To make people feel seen, heard, loved. To make women feel beautiful.”

I was full-on sobbing by this point. Laughing, sobbing. Blowing my nose into the cloth service napkin he’d handed me.

“I love you, Sunny Greene. You can’t write anything, in any newsletter, that will change my mind.”

“I love you so much, Dennis.”

He stepped toward me, wiped the tears from under my eyes—“Sorry, just made that worse,” he said—then put his hand gently on my chin, and pulled me into a deep, life-affirming kiss.

My stomach swirled, my heart lifted, I thought I might explode from happiness.

And just as I was fully relaxing into it, he leaned away from the kiss, ever so slightly, and with his lips still on mine, he whispered it again: “I love you.”

I said it back through a deep kiss that cemented our relationship, one that felt like it could have gone on forever—if not for a very scary woman who suddenly appeared.

She had an updo that meant business, an earpiece, a walkie-talkie in one hand, and a cell phone in the other. “Excuse me,” she said. Oh shit.

“Guests are not allowed to be in the kitchen. Are you looking for something in particular? I’d be happy to bring it to you out in the main room.”

Dennis and I shook our heads like two kids caught drawing on one another in permanent marker or lipstick. “Sorry about that,” he said. “We were looking for the bathroom and got lost.” Then he put his hand on my back and guided me out the door.

As we stepped back out into the real world, we heard the band announce themselves, the crowd cheered, and a shockingly decent cover of Taylor Swift’s “Lover” filled the entire venue.

I walked backward toward the dance floor, holding his hand, pulling him toward me, because I wasn’t sure I could be with him right now and not stare directly into the sun of his face.

“You don’t have another secret date here, right?” he asked. Then he spun me twice in a row.

“Nope,” I said, now backward in a dip. “I mean, unless you count that little guy.”

I pointed to someone’s unclaimed kid in suspenders, four years old maybe? Absolutely tearing it up on the dance floor.

“Just wait until you see my dance moves,” he said. “You better be careful. Now you’re going to be the one with competition.”

Ellie’s grandma shuffled by slowly, muttering about how it was too loud in there.

He threw his eyes in her direction as if to say, “See? Competition.” And I laughed, not really at his dumb-as-usual joke, but at myself, because pure happiness was standing in front of me, beckoning me to dance.

Introducing my family to Dennis in the gorgeous planetarium room was like icing on an already delicious cake.

The ceilings soared with big windows, so clear it felt like the entire city’s sky was in reach, just above us.

There were candles covering each surface, dancing like constellations themselves.

My parents heaped hugs on him despite having no idea who he was.

They were too high on the overwhelming joy of Michael and Ellie’s wedding to care, acting as though they’d heard all about him, as though they’d been waiting a lifetime to meet him.

(I filled them in quickly when Dennis went to get everyone another round of drinks.

There would be plenty of time later to tell them the whole story…

the G-rated parts of it, at least.) And despite my initial, judgmental fears, my parents were astonished, intrigued by Dennis’s job at the post office.

I did snap at Aunt Marge when she asked if he had those postal worker calves.

And my dad was shouting so many questions over a cover of Outkast’s “Hey Ya!,” fascinated by routes and regulations, that I had to yell at him to shut it down, to save his professional grilling for a non-dance-floor conversation tomorrow.

Dennis was a star on that dance floor, no joke.

He twirled relatives, knew the words to every song (impressive for someone who hadn’t heard of Katy Perry), and even led a late-night limbo line with my dad’s tie and his belt tied together.

He was generous. He was the most fun. I looked at him, shining with pride. That’s my man.

When the band transitioned to a slower song, Dennis turned the spotlight of his attention on me, and once again, it felt like the universe had slowed down entirely, too.

That the earth stopped spinning, and the clocks froze, and all I could feel was this moment, this man.

Soaking in how it felt to be dancing, my arms around his shoulders, his hands along my waist, together.

Over his shoulder, I looked around the room and took in the splendor of the dance floor. Ellie had her head on Michael’s chest, smiling into him.

Nearby, my parents danced, holding each other close. Their marriage stretched decades, with two children and countless ups and downs. A love that kept them coming back, kept anchoring them and their family, like the best loves do.

As they danced, my dad looked up and caught my eye. He smiled, knowingly, and it made my own eyes start to tear. As the song ended, he waltzed my mom over to where Dennis and I were swaying.

“Mind if I cut in?” he said to Dennis, who stepped back and offered a slight bow to my mom. She smiled as he twirled her.

My father pulled me into a hug and kissed me on the top of my head.

“You’re completely right, Sunny,” he said as we swayed together. “ Nothing about your life has been a mistake. You are everything I ever dreamed my daughter to be. My forever shining sun.” It wasn’t even my wedding, but I had cried more times than I could count.

The next song started playing, and when I heard the opening beats of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough,” I almost couldn’t believe just how deeply entrenched I was in the middle of my very own rom-com.

Dennis was spinning my mom, my dad serenading me.

Michael and Ellie joined our circle for the chorus, and we all sang at the top of our lungs, smiling until our cheeks were sore.

For the rest of the night, we followed suit in that familiar energy, making up silly dance moves and keeping each other laughing. We celebrated, together.

But when the lights were finally turned back on, when the final tune was over, I was surprised.

I didn’t feel any end-of-the-night bitterness.

I didn’t feel bummed to see the band packing up.

I didn’t groan, like I usually would have, as guests loaded onto the shuttle bus back to the hotel.

It was the end of the night, the closing time of the wedding, but it didn’t fill me with the typical late-night blues.

Because looking at Dennis, at my family, at my life, I knew that nothing was ending. It wasn’t over. Not really.

We were just getting started.