“I forgot to have you kiss!” I lament once we’ve all signed the license. “How did I mess that up?”
“I’m sure it’s still valid,” Petey says comfortingly.
“Yes, but it’s part of the tradition, and now you won’t have that memory. You won’t have any memories, actually, because no one was here to take pictures. I knew I should’ve let Ted do this.”
“Charley.” Laurel grabs my shoulder, coaxing me to meet her eyes. “It was perfect. Ted Wetter could never. I’m so proud of you.”
“I’m proud of you too, Laur.”
She looks back at me for a moment, happy tears building in the corners of her eyes, and pulls me into a hug that’s a distillation ofallour moments—girlhood and beyond.
“Enough sappy shit.” She sniffs. “Go grab Ethan’s camera and take some photos of my husband and me looking devastating next to a waterfall.”
I take about thirty or so pictures of them holding each other, gazing into each other’s eyes. I even snap a couple with her on his shoulders. Still, I know when I havetheshot. Water is falling behind them in a dramatic curtain, they’re nose to nose, and I’ve caught them in that fraction of a second before their lips touch. Laurel’s eyes are closed and her face is nestled into his giant palm, but his eyes are open. He looks at her like a man possessed. That look says it all. My impetuous sister may be ready to settle down with the boy next door, but he still can’t believe she’s real.
“We need a sister one,” Petey suggests, walking over to take the camera from my hands.
Laurel pulls me close in a moment that’s a breath away from precious, but then she ruins it when she yells at her newly minted spouse, “That angle is terrible. Get lower, babe. We’re going for fashion.Drama.” Only when Petey’s cheek is to theground is Laurel satisfied with his position. She releases him from his Instagram-husband duties after a few artful shots.
“Do the husband and wife have a song in mind for the first dance?” Ethan asks through the open driver’s-side door. He’s fiddling with the stereo.
“Play ‘Velvet Nebula,’ ” Laurel calls out through cupped hands as Petey squeezes her waist.
Ethan’s cheeks glow pink, and just when I’m sure he’s about to pretend he can’t find the track, the intro booms through his speakers.
I know every note of the first verse—every aching, yearning lyric—the way you remember a song in your bones no matter how long it’s been.Lost in time and space while dreaming of your face. I won’t deny, I might be bracing for the one who will replace this heart of mine…
He jumps down from the driver’s seat and walks toward our sing-along on the grass as everything that’s ever hurt about this song clicks into place. I freeze when he takes my hand, and Laurel and Petey join Ethan’s twenty-two-year-old voice for the familiar riff, singing about that woman in his head—in his bed—even when they’re galaxies apart.Still her eyes, they’re in the sky, at midnight…
“In that velvet nebula!” The four of us scream-sing the chorus, jumping in the air holding hands and shouting theAh, ah, ahs we’ve heard in TV shows, car commercials, and curated “feel-good indie” playlists. Petey picks Ethan up from behind, making his eyes bug out in gleeful astonishment.
“Lemonface, baby. Let’s gooooo!” Petey hollers at a volume only acceptable in hockey arenas.
But we’re all into it. Running up the pebbled lakeshore like children. It’s almost too good to be reality. We’re in a distortedimage where the edges are fuzzy and the colors are saturated. We dance together, blurry orbs of who we were, who we are, and who we hope to become all at once. Uncertainty and fear of what comes next still exist, but this miraculous moment apart from time is real too. It only took jumping off a cliff to find it.
“So this song is about me?” I ask Ethan between the bridge and the chorus.
He spins me around, winding me up until I crash into his chest. “Yep.”
“Laurel’s right. It’s not subtle.”
His smile spreads into his cheeks, exposing his dimples. “I wasn’t trying to be.”
“Good,” I reply, tilting my head sideways so I can drink him in. “Subtlety is overrated.”
When the song finishes, Laurel takes control of the playlist. We jump and twirl, imbibing the champagne I packed early this morning.
•••
“This was perfect,”Laurel whispers into our hug through the passenger window of Petey’s truck. The sun has fallen behind the trees in a watercolor of pinks and oranges, and it’s time for her to leave. I wave as they drive off, wearing the bubbly, wet smile that’s painted my face for the past hour, because itwasperfect. This strange little surprise wedding was exactly them, and I love them. I’m going tokeeploving them, knowing they’ll keep lovingme. We’re a bunch of saps who can’t help but be obsessed with each other. Distance and paperwork won’t change that.
“What took you so long, Chuck?” he asks, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “I missed you so much, but ‘Sutton River’ ”—he puts my alias in exaggerated finger quotes—“refused to meet me any earlier.”
“The rest of the plan wasn’t ready earlier,” I counter.
“What were you waiting for? You quit your job on Friday and the house sale was basically a done deal Tuesday.”
It takes a second for me to understand what he’s telling me, but then it hits me square in the jaw. “Wait. Youknewabout the house sale and the job?” I shove his shoulder. He barely budges. “That’s not fair!”
