Page 116 of Sexting My Ex’s Dad

“We’re really doing this,” she breathes, a shaky laugh in her voice. “We’re engaged.”

I lift my head, brush her mouth with mine. “We are. I’m never letting go.”

She smiles, dazzling and tired. “Promise?”

I nod, solemn. “Until I’m dust.”

She laughs, tears in her eyes, and kisses me again, slow and deep. I stay inside her, sunk to the hilt, both of us clinging like we survived a night that nearly tore us apart.

In the space between breaths, between the hammering of our hearts and the fading echoes of our moans, I murmur against her lips, “I love you.”

EPILOGUE: IVY

Mom says weddings are about love and promises and family, but from what I can tell, they are also about grown-ups forgetting where they put things five seconds ago.

I know this since Maya has already asked for the scissors twice and somebody keeps shouting, “Where is the white ribbon box?” like the ribbon box ran away on purpose. I’m sitting in a chair by the window with my flower basket in my lap, trying very hard not to mess up my dress.

“Ivy,” Maya says, crouching in front of me with one earring on and one earring still in her hand. “Did you see the box with the white ribbon?”

I look at the floor, then the table, then my basket. “Which white box?”

Her eyes get big. “The white one.”

“There are a million white ones,” I tell her.

She shuts her eyes for one second. “You are too smart to be this unhelpful.”

“I get that from Mom.”

That makes her laugh, which is good since she looked one second away from lying down on the carpet and never getting back up.

Today is Mom and Dad’s wedding day.

I still think Nathan in my head sometimes when I’m remembering before, but mostly he’s Dad now. It just sort of happened. One morning I said it while he was making toast, and he looked at me so fast I thought he might cry right into the butter.

He didn’t, though.

He just cleared his throat a bunch of times and said, “Morning to you too, sweetheart,” in a funny voice, and then he burned one piece of toast and acted like he meant to do that.

I’m glad he’s my dad.

And now he gets to marry my mom, which honestly took long enough.

The hotel room is busy in a very grown-up, very silly way. People keep coming in with flowers and makeup bags and dress bags and shoes they definitely shouldn’t be able to walk in. My dress is blue and puffy and has little flowers on the sleeves. My shoes are shiny, and Mom said I could wear them since beauty wins sometimes.

I think she already regrets that since I keep sliding across the floor in them.

“Please stop skating,” Mom says from the makeup chair.

“I’m not skating,” I say, while absolutely skating.

She looks at me in the mirror. “Ivy.”

I stop.

Mom turns a little in her chair and opens one arm, so I go over and stand between her knees. Her lipstick is only half done, and there’s still one curler in her hair, so she looks less like a bride and more like somebody halfway through turning into one.

“You okay?” she asks.