I am in my forties and starting over.

I am here.

Life is fleeting, a series of moments that fly by too quickly.

I look out at the lake. We get caught in the tide and let it carry us, lull us, and when we wake up, we too often have drifted someplace we never expected or wanted to be, I think. We must be the current, not at the whim of the current.

As Scooter and I exchange vows, I can feel my family alongside me. I can hear the voices of my parents in the sand and the lake. I can hear the voices of my grandparents in the wind whistling through the aspen trees and the dunes grass.

The guests laugh, and I return to my body. Sonny is running down the boardwalk, a diamond around his neck, my golden ring bearer.

“I do,” Scooter says.

“I do,” I say.

“You may kiss the bride,” the minister says.

After the ceremony, we retreat to the inn. A huge tent sits on the grounds behind the guest cottage, and it glows with candles. After dinner, we dance. My first dance with my new husband feels like I am home, at one in his arms as I am in this cottage. We sway to the music, lost in each other’s eyes, just the two of us, united. Forever.

My mother-son dance with Evan is a blur—just like his childhood—and when we are done, the music immediately takes a turn. Eighties dance music blares from the speakers, and I turn to see Trish standing alongside the DJ. She shoots me a big thumbs-up and then screams—jumping up and down like a teen girl—before racing onto the dance floor, kicking off her shoes and taking my hand. I follow her lead—kicking off my heels—and we shimmy.

After Trish and I “Walk Like an Egyptian” and get “Footloose,” Esme suddenly joins us on the dance floor, and, together, we “Push It” good, laughing so hard we have to take a break to catch our breaths. A Wham! song starts and then abruptly ends.

“I’d like to make a toast!”

I turn, along with the guests, and Iris Dragoon is standing alongside the DJ holding the mic, a glass of champagne raised.