In the end – after all the melodrama about in-laws and outlaws, race and clashing cultures – it was both a deeply personal moment and a global event brimming with cultural meaning.
A justifiably proud, almost wistful mother seeing her daughter off into a new life; a father-in-law stepping in to escort a bride who might’ve represented the daughter he never had; a self-possessed scion supporting his adored, rougher-around-the-edges kid brother on his big day; and oh, that kid brother – like a hero out of Jane Austen – waiting, craning his neck, hoping almost against hope, as it were, for “her” to appear. Then, finally, yes, it was she, of course, poised at the entrance of the church, but then, who else would it, could it, be? Looking like a goddess …
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