While waiting, I’m sitting at a table with people on either side. They keep asking to borrow my camera so they can take a shot. Who does that? I mean, no one asks the dentist to give the drill a go. There’s this perception that anyone can shoot a picture, that the camera is the brain of the operation, however a camera couldn’t shoot this. I’m in full manual mode and have carefully adjusted all my settings so the finished product will look perfect. It always amuses me when people ask what I shoot with, as if that’s what makes the images look good. The truth is, photography requires skill and practice. Photography is art. Even if you have a good eye, you have to know how to control the camera to make the images look the way you want.
Speaking of people who think chimps could shoot weddings, here comes my mother. She commandeers the empty chair next to me, sits and whispers softly, “You look ridiculous sitting there with the camera covering your face. If you don’t know what you’re doing, at least try and project professionalism, Skylar.”
My jaw tenses and I bite my tongue, but when I don’t move, she doesn’t leave. The camera is still resting on my cheek while I lean my elbows on the table, waiting for the shot. “I am a professional, Mom.”
“Well, it looks like you’re confused, darling. Take your picture already.” Finally, she gets up and leaves. Thank God.
Sophie’s head tips towards Steven’s, but they haven’t kissed yet. My shot is almost there. I want a picture of a stolen kiss; the way people kiss when they think no one is paying attention. It looks like I’m shooting the floor from here with the way my lens is angled down. It’s stealth mode. Make the bride and groom think you’re shooting something else and they’ll act normal. Otherwise you end up with tons of cheeser pictures. Whoever told little kids to say cheese and smile should be shot.
Nick takes the empty spot next to me. “What are we looking at?”
“Nothing, troll, now wander away.” I don’t want him to copy me. Call it childish, but it’s my shot and I want to be the only one to have it.
“Ouch. You don’t play fair, Miss Thompson.”
“Neither do you, Mr. Ferro, but you don’t see me complaining.”
He smirks and leans back in his chair. Don’t look up. Don’t look up. If he has any artistic eye at all, he’ll see the perfect triangulation of the couple and perfection of the light. Nick places his camera on the table. “I won’t steal your shot. Satisfied?”
I don’t look over at him, but I can see him out of the corner of my eye. “No, but go back to Babylon and ask me again. My answer might change.”
“I doubt it.”
“Yeah, me too, but it was worth a try.”
He smiles and glances over at me. “So, let’s pretend you don’t hate my guts for a second. What pose are you waiting for? Because all I see is garish lighting.” I want to tell him, because it’s always fun to talk shop, but I don’t want to risk it. “Oh, come on, Sky. I’m not even holding my camera. Tell me what you’re waiting for and I’ll help you get your shot.”
Glancing over at him, I say, “I need them to kiss. I’ll show you after I take it, okay?”
“Deal.” He winks at me and pushes out of his seat. Nick moves over a few seats and whispers to someone. I have no idea what he said, but a ruckus of loud laughter breaks out a few seconds later. Everyone is looking that way, except Steven. Instead, his eyes are caressing Sophie’s cheek, waiting for her to turn back to him. I pretend to fiddle with my camera, and a moment later, she turns. They’re drawn together like magnets. That’s when I press the button and the camera shutter clicks, but no one can hear it over the noise at the other end on the table. Sophie smiles warmly at Steven and rests her forehead against his. They exchange a few whispered moments, unaware that anyone is watching. It’s perfect.
When I finally pull my camera away from my face and stand, I see Nick at the other end of the table flanked by two of Steven’s cousins, singing very loudly and swaying. I can’t even tell what song it is. As I inch closer, I see my mother making a horrible face and slip into the empty seat next to my father. “What song is that?”
“They’re singing three songs at once. Nick bet them that they couldn’t carry a tune as long as he could. They started with four, and it looks like Max is about to mess up.” A moment later Max says the wrong word, matching Nick, and curses loudly before sitting down.
“The wedding photographer should not sing,” my mother says over her shoulder.