I don’t remember too much about your wedding day. Hayleigh insisted it not be at a church, and with us not really being raised religious, you didn’t argue. She said a low-key wedding would be best. The less family there, the less to say stupid shit like “If only your father had lived to see this.”  Me, a couple of her girlfriends, and her mom.  All wedded up, we had the reception at Fisher’s in Bensalem, right?
 Hayleigh’s mother didn’t seem happy about anything and kept quiet to herself for most of the night.  None of the friends were anything of note, so I spent my time at the bar.  At some point, two of the friends came into earshot, and I could’ve sworn I heard them talking about some guy one of ‘em had been into at a bachelorette party I didn’t even know went down.  Shortly after, Hayleigh came bouncing up to the bar, a little tipsy herself, and asked, “Why’s Mister Gloomypants sitting all the way over here?”
 I set down my drink slowly, trying to build a bit of a dramatic dance of sorts, and looked her in the eye.  “You’ve taken the last person alive I could ever care about.  If you break him, I swear to Christ I’ll tear you apart piece by fuckin’ piece.”  Then I turned back and continued with my martini.
 She leaned in close enough for her veil to touch my hair and placed an arm around my shoulders.  The scents of wine and makeup and a fine layer of some flowery perfume wafted off her as she opened her mouth and said softly, "If you keep up that sweet talk, Mister Man, I’ll break him just to prove I can.”  Then she pecked me on the cheek and scampered back to the table.  I…Well, I don’t remember how I even got home that night.