The Last Detail

ON THE DAY OF THE WEDDING, on the way to the church, Rob and I realized we'd left behind a few little items: the programs, the copies of our vows and my ring. Our program, which Natalie never got to proofread, mistakenly named two of Rob's cousins as cousins of mine. Once we reached the reception hall, the first words Natalie said to me -- clutching a clipboard and as flustered as I'd ever seen her -- were, "Sandy, where are the table numbers ?!"

In my big white gown, I blanched. She'd asked, repeatedly, for a checklist so she could be sure everything we needed would be delivered to the church and the reception hall. But we'd never given it to her. The boxes of white wine we'd bought turned out to be red. And the table numbers we'd promised to deliver? We didn't have them. In fact, we'd never made them.

We, not Natalie, had messed up. But my guilt was leavened by the understanding that there was nothing to be done about it anymore. It was time to let go. And with that, I let myself, for the first time, really, truly sink into the pleasure of the day. In the end it was, as these things always are, one of the most amazing, joyous, happy days of my life: a once-in-a-lifetime gathering of the people I love best in the world. Next to that, none of those things that went wrong really mattered.

Natalie stayed in the periphery most of the day; I saw only glimpses of her here and there, as she walked around in her slacks and cardigan conferring with the caterers or the band. When things needed tweaking, she talked to Rob. He was also the one who tipped her and said goodbye at the end of the night, as I was trying to find a ride back. I hardly spoke to her at all.

The only clear memory of Natalie I have from that day is not something she said or did but something she had made: the charming, bright-colored photo boards that displayed portraits of our guests. Their design -- which we had had zero input on -- was delightful and whimsical. But, here and there, the boards were studded with gray rectangles of paper where a photo should have been. This was not Natalie's fault. Rob and I were supposed to have marshaled the photo-taking process.

"I should have let Natalie handle that," I thought to myself. "She would have done a better job."

But I couldn't bring myself to tell her.

Sandy M. Fernández is a Magazine editor. She will be fielding questions and comments about this article Tuesday at noon at washingtonpost.com/liveonline.

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