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“Uh, not really. It’s been pretty busy,” Ford answers, his voice just a little deeper than his father’s. Even as a kid, he had a deeper voice than the other boys in our class, but then once his voice changed, I swear he had to bat the girls away. Not that he ever seemed to notice their attention.
“You look tired, sweetheart,” his mom says, looking at him with concern. There’s love all over her face, you can see it even through a phone screen.
“I’ll be okay,” he says with a smile. “There’s actually a pretty great reason I’ve been so busy.”
He glances in my direction, quirking one of those dense eyebrows. This is my cue.
I walk toward the couch and take a seat next to him. I have to sit close, really close, so we both fit on the screen. His quad is so firm, I can feel it pressed against my soft thigh, even through his thick sweatpants. He also smells really nice. He must’ve showered at the Eagles ice plex after practice. And I smile when I note that he uses the same bodywash now that he did in high school. I’ve never been so thankful that he skipped over the Axe phase entirely. He’s always been more into masculine, earthy scents. Something about the lingering soap smell reminds me of a sea breeze.
Ford drapes an arm across the back of the couch, not around my shoulders, but close enough that I can feel the heat of him through his sweatshirt.
His parents stare at us in shock and confusion before their faces break into grins. “We knew it!”
Mrs. Remington nudges her husband. “Didn’t I tell you they were looking at each other some kind of way at Thanksgiving?”
“You did!” he exclaims, his voice full of laughter. “You totally called it, honey!”
Ford’s mom claps her hands together. “Oh, this makes me so happy. I’ve always been so worried about you, Ford. That you’d never find someone who understood you and loved you the way we do.” Her face goes soft, and she wipes a tear from her eyes. “But Amber has always just gotten you, you know?”
“So,” His dad grins. “How long have you two been dating?”
Ford stiffens, and I glance over at his hard profile. He swallows, and his throat bobs with the effort. His arm drops from the back of the couch and rests on my lap, palm up so I can hold his hand. I thread my fingers with his, noticing the contrast of his calloused hands with my soft ones. My stomach goes from the crashing Black Sea to a spinning, swirling whirlpool. I’m not sure exactly what I’m feeling. But it’s not entirely…unpleasant.
“Actually, we’re not dating…we’re married.”
The happy faces on the screen disappear, replaced with surprise, or perhaps, worry.
“Married?” His mom squeaks out.
Mr. Remington balks, his mouth opening, then closing again, then opening again. “When in the hell did you two even have time to get married?”
Ford tightens his grip on me, and I’m unsure if it’s for my benefit or his. “I know it seems sudden,” he begins, keeping his voice steady, solid, responsible. Totally Ford. “But Amber found out she has a small heart defect, and it requires a minor procedure, but still. We knew how we felt about each other and didn’t want to wait.”
“Oh, sweetie.” His moms voice goes soft as she focuses solely on me now. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I say with a light laugh, trying not to worry them. “I guess I was probably born with a small hole in my heart, but it didn’t cause any issues until I was in labor with Nella. So, now we’re getting it fixed. Easy-peasy.”
Ford’s dad slides his glasses down his nose. “And you guys thought marriage would somehow…help the situation?”
The man beside me flinches slightly, his thumb lightly rubbing up and down on the back of my hand in a subtle up and down motion. I’m not sure he even realizes he’s doing it. His jaw ticks, and that’s how I know he’s getting irritated.
“Dad, with all due respect, we’re thirty-four years old. I think we’re old enough to know if and when we want to get married.”
His dad nods. “Sure, but you could’ve dated first.”
I bring our joined hands to my lips and press a kiss on the top of Ford’s hand. Smiling at the screen, where his parents are looking back with concern, I say, “I know it seems fast, but we’ve been best friends since we were in second grade. Dating is for getting to know each other, and that step just seemed unnecessary.” I chuckle, hoping to make this conversation a little more lighthearted.
Mrs. Remington’s hand comes up to pat her husband on the shoulder. “She’s right, Gordon,” she says softly before turning her attention back to me and her son. I note how her eyes drop to where our arms are entwined before popping back up to our faces. “Although I hate that we didn’t get to plan you a wedding.”
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “Neither of us wanted the fuss.”
“When is your procedure?” she asks.
“In four days,” Ford answers.
“Four days!” She starts to stand then sits back down. “Well, I need to pack.”
“Mom, calm down,” Ford says with a sigh, his dad following with an identical sigh of his own.
