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She’s resting her head on her hand and has a happy smile on her face.
“So, tell me what brought you to Vegas that weekend?” I ask her.
“My friends and I have wanted to do a girls weekend trip for a little bit. We just never had our schedules line up. But then once it did, we jumped at the chance. What about you?”
“My buddy’s bachelor party, you know, the typical excuse for a bunch of guys to go there. Most of us went to college together, so in a way it was like a reunion, even though half of them, I still see on a regular basis.”
“Do you drink as much as we did that night?”
“Not at all. I will have a drink usually after getting home from work, but there’s no blackout drinking like that night.” I reply shaking my head.
“And you don’t remember anything from the night?” She leans in.
“I’ve had glimpses here and there, but not vivid details. I had glimpses of you and possibly what we did, but your actual face was never really that clear. At least, until I had seen a photo of you.”
“And you got one from a private investigator, one you hired because you lost 24 hours of your life?” She grins.
“It was haunting me. I’m glad that I did, receiving a copy of our marriage certificate out of context would have been shocking.”
“You got one too?” she stands up and rushes down the hallway, then returns with an envelope.
“Yeah. We requested that the chapel file it.” I tell her matter of factly, just as my PI told me.
I look it over and smile.
“So, a marriage in Vegas is true and binding? I mean, we’re married, for real?” She asks as if she still can’t believe any of this has happened.
I nod and try to change the subject, so I can lengthen my time with her.
“So, Mrs. Addison, I can go back to my hotel, or we can watch a movie?”
“I haven’t changed my last name,” she tells me, “what kind of movies do you watch?”
“I’m cool if you want to keep your last name, I’m not a total dick and I really don’t have a preference. I watch documentaries and some random true crime shows on Netflix.”
“We got married while wasted, I think the married thing is still fresh and yes, if I did get married, I would hyphenate or keep my last name for sure. I can get down with a thriller, that’s a little true crimey.” She replies and I’m enjoying the two topics we’re covering.
“Darling, whether you believe it or not, we’re married. It’s legit.” I hold up the marriage certificate and then get an idea, “I’ve got a better idea. Let’s go for a drive, are you up for that?” I ask.
She looks at me for a long moment then nods.
Moments later, I’m starting the car with a general idea of where I want to go, but I still ask her to type in Venice Beach into the navigation. Once we’re on the road, I casually rest my hand on her knee and she does nothing to push it away, she even leans toward me, with her knees pointed in my direction and her elbow resting on the center console as she looks out into the early evening.
Once I navigate through traffic and find parking, I offer her my hand and we walk together toward the beach, past the tourist shops on the boardwalk, past the outdoor gym and before we get to the sand, I direct her to a bench and we pull off our shoes. I roll up my jeans and offer her my hand again. She takes it without hesitation, and we walk across the sand stopping at the water’s edge.
I drop my shoes beside my feet and take a deep breath.
“Care to sit?” I ask her.
“You’re going to get sand everywhere.” She drops her sandals and drops to the sand.
I follow suit and sit as close to her as I can.
I drape my arm over her shoulder and pull her into me naturally. She doesn’t pull away, even leans into me.
This moment, the smell of the salt in the air, the sounds of waves crashing and seagulls flying overhead, and the texture of the sand between my toes. I want to remember this moment forever, as we relax into one another’s embrace.
“I want you to come to Seattle. I’ve seen you in your element, I would like for you to see me in mine.” I say to her, looking out over the water.
