The rabbi read our Ketubah aloud, and then our parents and Ari and Jack and their kids each came forward to bestow one of the seven blessings upon us. After that, Ezra slipped a shoe on his right foot—a shoe he’d brought down to the beach just for this purpose—and smashed a glass we’d wrapped in a napkin, symbolizing that our love would last for as long as the glass was shattered, which is to say, forever.

And then we kissed as the sun set, and the chef served us a Mexican feast on the beach. It was a perfect night.

When we were on our dessert course, your grandfather said, “I think the two of you need a first dance.”

We had some music piped in from the house, a playlist Ezra had made on his computer that we connected to the sound system.

“We didn’t choose a song for that,” I told him.

“I have an idea for one,” your grandfather answered. Ari pointed the remote control toward the house and turned off the jazz. And then your grandfather started singing about the night coming and the land being dark and the moon being the only light we could see.

I hadn’t heard him sing for a long time. Not since the day before I fell, when he sang with me and your dad in the living room. And I forgot how effortless his voice sounded, how calming. I stood up and reached for Ezra’s hand. He stood, too, and we danced in our bare feet on the beach in the moonlight to your grandpa’s song.

Ezra laid his cheek against my head as we danced.

“Emily,” he whispered, while your grandpa sang, “I just feel so grateful right now. So grateful that you married me, that our families are here, that we have so much ahead of us.”

“I’m grateful for you,” I whispered back. “For everything you’ve given me. I love you so much.”

“You too,” he replied. “There haven’t been words invented yet for how much I love you.”

And because there really weren’t words, I kissed him.

Maybe one day soon we’ll make a little brother or sister for you. I hope it happens soon.

42

When they finished their pizza, Emily and Rob started walking east, in the direction of his hotel and, beyond that, her Kips Bay neighborhood. Even though he had an early-morning flight, neither one of them seemed in a hurry. They stopped to look at the moon, perfectly framed by two skyscrapers.

“Manhattan really is something else,” Rob said.

“Do you miss it?” Emily asked, as they kept walking, acutely aware of his hand dangling next to hers, not holding it, but so close.