HOW MANY TIMES had I been inside this old barn? No exaggeration, a few thousand. All those breakfasts with gallons of oatmeal, all those eggs and all that toast and juice. How many times did Peter and I climb the rickety ladders to the lofts to retrieve Christmas gifts hidden from our children? How many times had I gone to one of the lofts and found one of my breakfast friends camping out there?

I was always at peace on this farm, and it made me happy that I was at peace here on this Christmas, my wedding day. A thousand white lights sparkled. Smiles and tears and laughter and music and flowers were everywhere I looked.

I didn’t want any more drama. Now I just wanted to get married. So I walked directly to Stacey Lee and took both her hands in mine.

I turned and faced the guests. “No, I’m not marrying Stacey Lee. She’s just giving me away!” Laughter followed. Some wise guy in the band played two quick beats on the drum.

Stacey Lee and I walked over and stopped before Jacob, Tom, and Marty. In those few seconds my mind took a photograph I knew I would hold on to forever.

My beloved brother-in-law, Marty, handsome, sturdy, my friend since before I met his brother. Jacob, with his carelessly chic stubble and wrinkled black suit, the gentlest, kindest man I knew. And Tom, whom I never tired of talking to, not in all the time we’d known each other, going back to high school in Stockbridge and before. Good guys, every one of them, all good sports.

I gave Tom a kiss on the cheek, whispered “Love you,” and then I moved on down the line.

Only Jacob and Marty were left now. At that point, they were both looking a little nervous. Me too, I was quite sure. My hands were quivering, my knees beginning to knock.

I kissed Jacob, whispered “Love you,” and then I took Marty’s hand in mine. “I love you,” I whispered. “I love you so much, Marty. Of course I’ll marry you. Who wouldn’t?”

A chorus of awwws erupted. Then applause. Smiles, laughter, even more applause. Tom and Jacob were clapping too. As I said, great guys, true friends.

But it was Marty I would marry. Who in that barn didn’t know and love him? Marty, who plowed snow for everybody who needed his help. Marty, who filled out Medicare forms for widows and widowers. Marty, who didn’t know that I knew he was the five-thousand-dollar anonymous donor to the Friends Breakfast fund-raiser every year. Bird-watcher, whale watcher, people watcher—even pretty-girl watcher. The same guy who once punched a drug dealer in Housatonic so hard the thug had to have his jaw wired.

“Take good care of our girl,” Stacey Lee said. Then she stepped forward and became my matron of honor.

And Reverend Browning grinned and said, “Well, how about we get these two kids married?”