Waltzing Through a Marriage's First Test

He looked down. I looked down. In fact, we both looked down at exactly the same moment. It was as if we were reenacting a Three Stooges scene when our foreheads smacked.

My head felt fine, but my insides hurt. This was my husband's Fred Astaire moment and I was ruining it by being his flunky dance partner.

But Fred Astaire was not giving in. He kept me going through my stumbles, toward the highlight of the number, which was quickly approaching. We'd practiced our "big move" a million times in class -- it involved spinning out, then twirling in (only repeat that three times and in every imaginable direction). I was supposed to wind up with my back pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped around me from behind.

"Ready?" he asked.

Sweat prickled down my sides. I made big eyes and shook my head no.

"I'll lead you," he said calmly. I don't know if it was the tone of his voice, or the way he pulled me close, or if it was pure elation from the fact that we had just married, but I realized I had let my heart lead me this far, why not a little farther? I heard myself say, "All right."

I let go.

Here's what I remember: candlelit colors, a stomach flip, my husband's firm but gentle hands, the accompanying wild chatter of wedding guests and lyrics about happy little bluebirds. Whether I was spinning in the right direction or the wrong direction, I had no clue, but suddenly I was back in position, in my husband's embrace.

Our guests hooted and clapped. Ron kissed me as I dropped my shoulders in relief.

The band was a hit. Even the preacher was on the floor. But when one of the backup singers pulled me onstage to perform a song, I froze. "Pink!" I heard my bridesmaids scream. "This band is so hip, they're playing Pink."

Once I figured out they weren't talking about the color of the flowers, I went with the flow. Since I didn't know the words, I mouthed "watermelon cantaloupe" over and over, hoping our guests had consumed too much champagne to notice. Then, while we were eating cake, the band began to play a song I do love: Van Morrison's "Moondance." As the band leader bellowed, "Well, it's a marvelous night," I tapped my feet and bobbed my head.

Ron smiled. "Ready, partner?" he asked.

Back on the dance floor, we debated between a swing and a rumba. I wasn't sure of the steps to either, but I had a feeling we'd figure them out along the way.