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Their wedding will be held at a local council flat, and not only have I been invited, but I promised to come, too.
“Two or a thousand, it is time to go.” Tamsin pouts adorably, the way she does when she’s trying to get me to give her chocolate.
The couple laugh and shake their heads.
“Your daughter is just precious,” the girl tells me, adjusting the polka-dot dress that’s a little too tight on her swollen midriff.
I don’t tell her Tamsin is not my daughter, because frankly, it feels like she is. I move my hand along Tamsin’s ponytail, brushing flyaways behind her ear and smile down at her. I’ve found bringing her when I take pictures brings brighter smiles to everyone’s faces, and my photos have never been better.
“We’ll see you at the wedding, then? Next month?”
“You bet!” the soon-to-be-husband says. “Hopefully she’ll like us more when there are snacks and drinks around, aye?”
Tamsin and I walk hand in hand down Drury Street and toward the growing crowd in front of Mal.
It doesn’t matter that Mal is a millionaire. He will always busk, and I will always love him for that just a little more than I did the day before, because his passion and integrity for his art inspire me.
It also doesn’t matter that we are in the midst of refurbishing the cottage completely, gutting it from within, and are currently staying with Elaine, Lara, and Father Doherty while we’re waiting for our home to be ready.
It took a while, but Elaine and Lara warmed up to me. Father Doherty did his best to bridge the gap, but I think what did it was my relationship with Tam. They could hate me all they wanted, but the truth of the matter was—is—I am the one who fixes her hair every morning, does 2,000-piece puzzles with her, helps her with her homework, and binge-watch vintage Sabrina the Teenage Witch. It was also helpful that I turned out to be just as frugal and unaffected by money as Mal is, so they can see I’m not here for an inheritance or some other sort of free ride.
“May I have chocolate milk? And apple candy? And this dress? And these boots? Rory, can I? Oh, and can you do my hair tomorrow for school? Brantley McCay likes me. Mia thinks so, anyway.” Tamsin stops by a little boutique shop for kids, pointing at a mannequin of a girl her age.
“Tomorrow is Sunday.” Laughter rolls out of my mouth, bouncing on the ground ahead of us. “But yes, I’ll French braid your hair on Monday. And you can have one thing out of the three, preferably the boots, because they are super cute, and also because your grandmothers will maim me if I feed you junk before dinner.” I answer all of her questions at once, and we make a stop at the little store and get her glittery, leopard boots I’m sure she will flaunt for my mother during their next weekly Skype session.
When we get to the crowd, I work my way past onlookers to the only available spot from which I can see Mal and place Tamsin before me, putting my hands on her shoulders. She bobs her head and smiles, and it’s only when I know she is secure and not going to be pushed around by the dozens of people standing around Mal that I allow myself to drown in his voice, his music, his words.
They said that love was beautiful,
I asked them if they were high,
Because when you barged into my life, you made me taste the sky,
But then you left me here, and the ashes on my tongue turned blue,
Darlin’, what more can I say? It ain’t easy loving you.
I know we said forever, a promise born a lie,
Though I really want to do it the right way before I die.
Marry me right, and true, and in all the colors you injected into my life.
My Disney princess, my shiny savior, my sharp, bleeding knife.
Mesmerized by his lyrics, it takes me a moment to realize he’s put down his guitar and is now approaching me with his unnerving swagger and foolhardy smirk that burns panties in its wake, leaving a trail of tattered hopes and dreams of something more.
I cover my mouth with both hands, not knowing what to make of it.
We are married. In the last year, we’ve acted it more than most married couples I know. And yet, here he is…
On one knee.
Squinting up at me like I’m the sun, Tamsin between us as I hug his daughter from behind.
“I got you something a little more impressive than the ring from Larnaca this time, Princess Aurora of New Jersey.”
He fishes in his back pocket for a black, velvety box and pops it open in front of me. I feel Tamsin squealing and giggling under my palms, her shoulders shaking in delight.
