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Since we weren’t in Europe, or involved in the tastings, venue selections or décor, how could I feel like the wedding was my own?
It was a perfectly rational explanation for such irrational behavior, and in the months that followed, I clung to that logic like a life raft.
When I imagined myself getting married, ironically, I pictured that ending scene in “Runaway Bride” when Julia Roberts walks through the grassy field towards Richard Gere.
With her hair blowing effortlessly in the wind; the fall foliage is vibrant against her ivory gown, and her off-the-shoulder dress trails behind her.
Just six months shy of the wedding, my fiancé and I called off the nuptials and notified 100 guests of our “postponement.”We had chalked up my cold feet and runaway bride behavior to the woes of planning a wedding abroad.As I watched my best friends distance themselves and my family retreat into disappointment in the post-wedding fall-out, I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt for having bolted in the opposite direction of marital bliss.Perhaps because of this, a year later, I found myself back on the wedding track and convinced that the second time would be the charm.My fiancé and I had been together since college and our relationship had already taken on a lifetime of memories.
We joked about being “an old, married couple” in our 20s.
With plans for a wedding stateside, I knew I would be more involved and integrated into every phase of the celebration.