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Obviously, all of this is unofficial. There will be papers to fill out when we get back home, an “official” anniversary based on whatever date we can get an appointment at the courthouse, but it doesn’t matter. I want to be officially unofficially his, starting right now.
There’s a quick shuffling as Mel takes the lead, shooing everyone out the back of the room and up the stairs to the outdoor upper deck. Nancy ushers Sawyer up shortly thereafter, and I’m left downstairs with my parents and Gram.
“I’m so happy for you, Gwendolyn,” Mom says. She opens her arms and wraps me inside; it’s the first hug I remember getting from her in a decade. Dad smiles, every feature of his face filled with emotion.
“Walk me down the aisle?” I ask them. “Halfway?” Then I turn to Gram, and she knows the question before I free it into the space between us.
“Nuh-uh,” she says. “Not dressed like that, kiddo.” She mutters something about how no granddaughter of hers will be a bride dressed in black. I look to Mom and Dad for support, but their smirks show they’ll be no help. Instead, Gram pulls open a closet door, and an ivory dress hangs inside. “Try this.”
Of course it’s a perfect fit. “How did you do this?” I ask, and she and Mom exchange a look.
“It started in December,” Mom answers. “After you got back from your weekend away, he had a conversation with your grandmother. Which turned into many conversations with Nancy and Melanie and us, too. And we have access to your closet, so ordering a dress in your size was pretty easy.” She circles me, ensuring the lightweight embroidered tulle of the simple dress is laying as it’s supposed to. “It’s all happening a little sooner than we’d expected, but he received a ringing endorsement.” She chuckles. “Pun not intended.”
“You’re welcome for that five-star rating,” Gram says, eyeing the dress. She plucks a peony from one of the vases and tears the stem, tucking the flower into my hair. “Much better, Gwennie.”
I always thought I’d want something structured and satin for a wedding dress, but what they’ve selected for me is a dream. It feels light and romantic, like it was made for a beachy wedding, which is perfect for our love story.
“So you’ve known about this for months?” I ask Gram.
She snorts in reply. “Sweetheart, ever since Nancy told me about him—more than a year ago—I knew that this would happen.” She fixes my hair and smooths my cheek.
Dad chimes in next to me. “How do you feel? Nervous?”
Truth be told, the butterflies are back, but I shake my head. “Not nervous. Excited.” Calm washes over me, and I add the most important feeling of all. “Ready.”
Upstairs, Sawyer mouths wow, then sinks his teeth into his lip, trying so hard to bite back tears. There are about twenty chairs on either side of the aisle and a pre-recorded piano melody playing through the sound system as Mom and Dad walk me halfway. Then I take Gram’s arm for the rest of the trip, a bridge from the past to the future.
Sawyer
Gwen owns the dance floor. She knows the lyrics to every song, dances choreographed routines from decades-old music videos, serenades me during the ballads when I hold her close to my chest.
This is free Gwen, like kayak Gwen and game show Gwen and this one felt unloved Gwen. The world is light, if only for tonight. If only for a song, and, if we’re lucky, the one after that. She’s across the room, nursing the same glass of champagne for the last hour. At this point I’m pretty convinced she’s holding it just to give her left hand a reason to be on display as it curls delicately around the crystal. She winks, and I shake my head.
“Mind if I steal my wife for a moment?” I ask the couple she’s talking to. If I remember correctly from the introductions earlier, it’s her writer friend Hillary and her fiancé Dalton, but I was so focused on booking the venue and planning surprises that I put the guest list in our matriarchs’ capable hands. Luckily, I’ll have a lifetime to get to know her friends.
“Excuse me. My hubba-hubba-hubby is here to whisk me away.” She nods, smiling at our guests, and takes my hand.
“Want to get out of here?” I ask, winking.
We go as far ‘out of here’ as we can, which is the top deck again, and the few friends up here wave in greeting but then ignore our presence completely as they laugh into the crisp night air and down their drinks.
“You’re incredible, you know that?” she asks, leaning backward against the railing, propping her elbows on the smooth wood. “I can’t believe you planned all this.”
“I had help,” I remind her. “The dress was a nice surprise, though. I had no idea—”
“Gram has this theory that brides shouldn’t wear black at their wedding,” she says, shrugging. Then she drops her face into her hands. “What a day this has been. Especially for you.” She rolls to the side and rubs a hand along my back. “How are you feeling?”
“Legs? On fire. Back? Hurts like hell. Heart? Best it’s ever been.”
She shivers as she smiles, and I slide out of my suit jacket to drape it over her shoulders. The breeze blows loose wisps of hair across her face, but I smooth them back and draw her to me. Her fingers interlock behind my back and she rests her head on my shoulder, and we sway in the fog of the music playing below us.
“This feels right,” she says. “The two of us.”
A laugh rumbles in my throat, pressed to the top of her head. “I’m glad to hear you say that, Wife.” There’s no retort, just a shift in her shoulders as she winds tighter around me and exhales. “Gwen, if you want a real wedding when we get home, with more people or your choice of dress and color scheme and food—”
She turns her head upward, sticking her chin into my sternum. “Why would I want a wedding do-over when this one was absolutely perfect?”
“I’m glad you said that, because I didn’t plan for that in my budget.”
