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Cameron was freshly 21 when she first got married.
It was small, quiet, in a courthouse. It was, to be brief, nothing like she'd imagined her wedding to be when she was younger. There was no list of guests: just her parents sitting beside his, Caroline as her maid of honour, Joe as his best man. Her sister hadn't managed to come back home for a wedding on such short notice, and her brother was of the firm belief that Cameron was being foolish, marrying a man she'd known for not two months proper. Her dress was plain, too—Isaac's mother's wedding gown. It’d been refitted and resized four days ago by Caroline in her dorm. What use spending money on a dress, Isaac had said, when Cameron had asked for his opinion on a particularly unforgiving day, or a venue, or a huge event, when they didn't even know how long this would last?
Isaac himself was looking stronger today, and that part, at least, Cameron was grateful for. The lethargy was getting stronger and stronger, lately, and Cameron knew he'd rested the last whole week just to try to make sure he wouldn't be sluggish through his own wedding. He still wobbled a little when he stood, though, weight shifting as if the floor might tilt without warning. Cameron noticed because she always noticed. She had learned, in the past eight weeks, the exact set of his shoulders when he was well, the slight drag in his steps when he was not. As they were called forward, she caught his elbow, fingers closing with practiced ease, and he smiled at her—small, apologetic, grateful.
The judge seemed nice, at least—none of Caroline's fears of being rushed through the wedding realised. He spoke slowly, clearly, as though the words themselves might be heavy. Cameron repeated her vows without stumbling, voice steady even as her hands shook. Isaac’s voice wavered once, just once, on in sickness and in health, but Cameron tightened her grip on his hands, something soft and resolute settling in her chest. There was no regret in her heart, like her brother had said, no doubt at all. She felt good, happy, pleased, to marry someone as good and kind as Isaac.
She didn’t cry. She thought, vaguely, that she should—this felt like the sort of moment that called for tears—but the feeling never came. What she felt instead was calm, a deep, surprising calm, like something had clicked neatly into place. When the judge pronounced them married, it didn’t feel like a leap or a mistake or even a beginning. It felt like a decision she'd already made two months ago, simply spoken aloud.
Isaac kissed her gently, as though afraid of tipping them both over, his hand warm at her waist. It was brief and a little awkward and perfect for what it was. He didn't squeeze her waist lightly as he usually did, and Cameron knew he'd be absolutely wiped when they got home.
Someone—Joe, probably—cleared his throat in a way that might have been emotion or might have been impatience. Caroline grinned at Cameron so hard it made her cheeks ache in sympathy.
They signed the papers at a small wooden desk, Cameron bending slightly so Isaac wouldn’t have to stand too long. Cameron still signs as Allison Cameron, her signature looking out-of-place and childish next to Isaac's scribble. They'd talked multiple times over the past week and Isaac had said there's no point in her changing her surname for just a year. Cameron had argued, of course, she didn't mind, and Isaac's doctors haven't lost all hope, there's still experimental treatments—
And Isaac had laughed, a rare sight these days, and kissed her forehead, and told her that if there was a miracle cure and he managed to live beyond a year, he'd marry her again, properly this time, and she could change all her documents then.
Cameron's wedding with Chase, she likes to think, was as close to perfect as can get. Her sister had managed to come there to be her maid of honor, her brother had come two weeks ago to help her with the planning and she'd gotten her niece to be the flowergirl. She'd even managed to get Chase to ask his sister to come to the wedding (he'd been weird about it, but she didn't think he was truly upset. He'd still spent the week watching his sister carefully, and Cameron didn't begrudge him that).
She'd gotten her own gown, chose her own flowers, and yes, sure, she hadn't managed to get real flowers for the venue, only rent fake ones, but it was the more economically sound decision anyway and besides, she was glad to not have to smell the strong scent of lilacs all throughout the wedding. The air was just a touch warm, not uncomfortably so, and thankfully not windy in the slightest. And Chase, well—
Chase had looked unbearably handsome. That felt like something she should have anticipated, but hadn’t quite been prepared for—the way he straightened when he saw her, the brief widening of his eyes before his mouth curved into a smile that was all warmth and no apology. As they said their vows, Cameron felt the absurd need to put a hand on his arm, make sure he didn't tip over. She caught herself in time, of course; Chase didn't need her support, not like that.
She didn't cry that day, either, because she felt so happy she could swear she was bursting at the seams with it, ruining their wedding video because she was grinning like a child on a sugar high, glowing. Not that Chase was any better, mind. He was grinning just as bright.
Cameron caught her sister’s eye after the kiss, and saw tears there, bright and unashamed, and thought—fondly—that someone in the family ought to cry at her wedding, even if it was never her.
This is it, she thought, as Chase held her hand and they walked back down the aisle, he is it.
Her third wedding was nothing to write home about. It's just her family, again, next to Joe's, though not in a courthouse this time, just in Joe's backyard that his mother decorated. Not because they were rushing, simply because neither of them wanted a big wedding, or too much pomp and show. As Cameron saw it, they'd both had the perfect wedding, the perfect marriage. Joe had gotten tiny Matthew out of it, Cameron had gotten a wedding ring that still hadn't left her closet.
There was some regret, in Cameron's heart. If she had not run away after university, all those years ago. If she had convinced Chase better. If she had called him after their meeting at a club two months ago, instead of waiting and waiting for his call like she'd done after leaving Princeton. If she had, at some point, learnt how to live without loving, without giving pieces of her heart to men who were kind and brilliant and, always, always, temporary.
Joe is older now, lines at the corner of his eyes that hadn't been there before, but then, Cameron's sure she's changed too. They hadn't rushed this wedding in the slightest, Joe had his doubts—Cameron had abruptly left and cut all contact all those years ago—and Cameron had hers—a tiny, growing doubt right in the pit of her stomach. But still. They'd known each other a long time, and it’s hard to not fall back into the rhythms of love when that chapter ended so suddenly.
They stood facing each other beneath an arch of mismatched flowers Joe’s mother had insisted were “close enough to tasteful,” the late afternoon sun slanted through the leaves and striped Joe’s suit in gold. Cameron wore a simple dress, something soft and unassuming, nothing borrowed, nothing symbolic. It felt appropriate. This wasn’t about beginnings, not really. It was about continuations. She'd thought about wearing the only white dress she owns, but—
But.
Joe smiled at her the way he always had—half-wry, half-warm, reminding her of Chase’s grin even though they held no similarities. It steadied her, firmed her beliefs if only for that moment. She could still remember the way he used to look at her in the hospital corridors, coffee gone cold in his hand, like she was something familiar he didn’t want to name, something he didn't want to feel. That look was older now, tempered by loss and grief and time, but it was still there.
There was no swell of an orchestra, no friends waiting to give a speech, no certainty sparking in her heart and in her mind during the kiss. There was just habit, just love, just two friends gravitating to each other after years of silence.
I love him, Cameron thinks, watching Joe take an overtired Matthew from his grandmother's arm as soon as he can. I do.