Page 33 of The Broken Hearts Club

Everyone took a seat, and we chatted about the city and the neighborhood until the wedding officiant arrived. He was all-business, starting us off with some paperwork and collecting his fee before asking, “Where do you want to do this?”

JoJo suggested gathering in front of a flowerbed framed by two flame-red Japanese maples, so all of us got into position. She and Vee both took out their phones, one of them filming while the other snapped photos. I hadn’t expected that, but I was glad someone was documenting it.

The ceremony was short and to the point. I tried not to think about the vows too much, because they made me feel like a fraud. My soon-to-be-husband held my hand throughout all of it, and when the officiant told us we were married, Miller leaned in and planted a quick, chaste kiss on my lips.

That was followed immediately by more paperwork and several signatures. Then the man handed us one of the two sets of forms and said, “This is your copy. I’ll file the other set at the county recorder’s office in the morning. Have a good evening, gentlemen.” With that, he hurried off to his next shotgun wedding.

I was in a bit of a daze as I muttered, “Well, that was certainly…”

Miller finished for me. “Efficient.”

“Exactly.”

“We got what we needed, though,” he said, as he held up the form. “I’ll bring this to HR first thing tomorrow morning, to make sure they have enough time to process the paperwork for your insurance.”

“Thank you again Miller, for all of this. What do I owe you for that guy’s fees?”

“I got it, and you don’t have to keep thanking me. Are you hungry? I thought it would be nice to have dinner delivered, as a thank you to our hosts.”

He ended up ordering enough Italian food for a dozen people. We ate outside around a picnic table, but I just picked at my pasta. Even though I was happy to get to know my new friends, I was also tired and emotional. I felt like putting on my most comfortable pajamas and hiding in a blanket fort.

The meal concluded with cannoli, and with coffee for everyone but me, who got a glass of milk like a five-year-old. After Miller helped his neighbors pack up the leftovers and stick them in their refrigerator, he picked up a small to-go box and said, “I think we’re going to call it a night. Thank you again for everything.” There were hugs all around. Mine were awkward and off-center, to avoid mashing the monitor into everyone’s chest.

Daria walked out with us and asked Miller, “Want me to pick you up tomorrow, since you’re going into the studio and your car’s out of commission?”

“I forgot all about my car, and I’d love a ride tomorrow.” He turned to me and said, “I’ll text my mechanic and ask if he can make a house call in the morning. I’ll also ask him to tow your van to his garage after he unhooks our bumpers, so you should take out whatever you need tonight.”

“Why would he take it to the garage?”

“Because you need new brakes.”

“I’m not sure I can afford that.”

“Consider it a wedding present.”

“But—”

“Don’t argue,” he said. “It’s not safe to drive in its current condition.”

“Those brakes got me here from Idaho, didn’t they?”

“And then they failed on the first hill you came to.”

Daria interrupted us by saying, “I’m out of here. Congrats, newlyweds. Enjoy your wedding night.” If only. She headed down the sidewalk to wherever she’d parked her car while we crossed the street.

The cat was waiting for us when we got inside. Apparently she’d been sitting by the door, just so she could leap up and shun us by turning her back and stalking away. The nerve of us for leaving the house without her.

We both immediately went to change. Miller ducked into his bedroom, and I headed to the garage and traded my dressy clothes for oversized flannel PJs printed with moons and stars. Then I packed a couple of bags with stuff I thought I’d need for the next day or two, while my van was in the shop.

After a few minutes, Miller joined me. He was dressed in grey sweatpants, and a white T-shirt so pristine that he looked like a commercial for laundry detergent.

He helped me carry the bags into the office before turning to me and asking, “Will you come with me for a minute? There’s something I want us to do.”

I followed him to the kitchen, and after he grabbed two forks, we both took a seat on the barstools. He opened the lid of the small to-go box he’d brought home after dinner, revealing a luscious looking piece of chocolate cake. “I wanted to get enough cake for everybody,” he said, “but the restaurant only had one slice left, so I had to go with cannoli.”

“Is this meant to be our wedding cake?”

“That’s what I was going for. I know that wasn’t a traditional wedding ceremony in any way, but I’ve always liked this custom.”