His jaw actually drops when he takes in the full sight of me as a bride. I’m impressed by how he looks, too. He has a fresh haircut and has tamed his usual week-old scruff into a five-o’clock shadow that makes the angles of his face look superhero sharp. He takes my hand and twirls me around to see my dress from the back. On any other occasion, I’d feel a little self-conscious and silly, letting myself be spun like a little girl. But today is a once (or twice, or three times, who knows)-in-a-lifetime kind of day. I’m surprised that I simply want to enjoy it, twirls and all.

Raj digs in his pocket and pulls out a thin cuff bracelet made of yellow gold. It’s carved with an undulating wave pattern.

“My mom gave this to me this morning because she wore this on her wedding day,” he says. “I know jewelry is a big deal to you, and I don’t want to mess up your whole look, but . . . would you consider wearing it today? It’d mean a lot to her.”

I hadn’t planned on wearing any bracelets, since the gown has long sleeves that graze my wrists. I’ve never been a fan of mixing metals, and the gold doesn’t work with the platinum-set pieces I chose to wear today (my real engagement ring, of course, plus a pair of round-cut diamond studs and an absurdly extravagant diamond pendant necklace to match, both on loan from Brooklyn Jewels). But none of that matters. A marriage is the combination of two lives, and that begins now. I’m touched by the gesture.

“Of course,” I say, sliding the bracelet onto my right wrist.

It hits me that I’ll be meeting his parents for the first time today, just as he’ll be meeting mine.

“Wait, you need to tell me everything about your parents,” I say, suddenly stressed. Meeting Michelle Barrett this summer was already trying enough.

“They’re cool. I mean, my mom’s a little overbearing, and my dad is kind of hard to get to know at first, but they’ll like you,” he says.

“Are they going to be upset that this isn’t a traditional Indian wedding?” I ask.

After Raj proposed, we had discussed what the wedding ceremony should look like. I asked him to teach me about Hindu wedding traditions, and I think he considered it for a minute, but he ultimately told me that the ceremony didn’t matter too much to him. “I mean, I know all weddings are about the bride,” he had said. “But this one especially is. I’m not religious. I don’t really care.” So I called the officiant to pivot the Judeo-Christian ceremony I had planned for me and Blake into just a low-key Jewish one.