They waited as Rachel walked down from the east, alone, a fuck-you both to patriarchy and her father as a particularly malfunctioning extension of it.

When she stopped, Rachel’s young niece scampered across the sand as Agatha pulled her in a zigzag, honking, snapping her beak. The goose ran so fast that the child let go of the leash and burst into tears. Alicia could be heard screaming at her staff to go after the goose, who was running near the water’s edge, unsure whether the waves would save or crush her. Some guests laughed and others shook their heads.

Finally, Aiden walked in from the west full of nerves and full of joy, and unaware of all our looking.

No music played. All one hundred (hopefully one hundred and one) guests listened to the ocean, as measured and wild as ever.

Alicia darted over to me and whispered that Mr. Chase hadn’t shown up at the meeting place yet. I nodded, feeling important.

I scanned all the faces I could see from the second standing row. Nothing.

Stone side-eyed me when I kept tapping my foot with impatience.

Other guests, in mostly appropriate colors, fidgeted with phone withdrawal. We struggled to remember how to document an event without the use of advanced tools.

Solar did not begin by explaining how Rachel and Aiden “met.” Supposedly, they eyed each other on the set of Catalpa after Blithe had invited Aiden to spend the day with him. Their origin story was chronologically impossible because Blithe was fired before he flew back to L.A., but no one had pressed too hard.

Instead, Solar spoke of the bond of intimacy as the strongest metal, of dark currents, of the trends toward overstimulation and disconnection, of loneliness, of the date in the Hebrew calendar, 5 Cheshvan 578-, and how the ancient Jewish texts foretell less than 250 years until a time of Messianic peace. A seated great-uncle began to doze. The sea cooperated. The sun was historically hot.

Solar poured the kiddush, a requirement of Rachel’s mother’s side, and before various deities and transmutations, dear friends, and television stars, Aiden and Rachel promised to be good.

Under my breath, I chanted, “May the shell crack and the real come out. May the shell crack and the real come out. May the shell crack and the real come out,” and crushed the raw eggs in sealed bags in each pocket.

Now I knew what magic was, how it could only adhere to what was ready for its power.

The couple kissed, showing with a few seconds of thirsty tongues that their bond was erotic. Rachel had her hair pulled back and her gown was the simplest white. Aiden wore a white tux and their styles didn’t quite align. He was fancier.

I cried.