Page 32 of Gin and Bear It

“I’ll make it fine,” he says, draining the coffee and putting the mug directly into the dishwasher. He says it with the confidence of someone who’s gotten away with way too much. Or, if I try to be optimistic, he’s sure we can pull it off because we have some chemistry that he feels and I don’t.

We do the awkward “no, you first” thing with the bathroom, but eventually I go first. I usually take long showers, but today I’m too worked up to dissociate and stare blankly at my pink tiles for fifteen or twenty minutes. Ash and I manage to avoid each other when I scuttle away to get dressed.

My stomach lurches again when I look at the jumpsuit I chose for the occasion. It’s a soft shimmery pink that cinches at the waist and shows a tasteful amount of cleavage. Like hell am I going to wear my dream white dress for this fake-ass wedding.

“Maybe I should have had breakfast, Pip,” I say, looking over my shoulder. But he’s not even there on his cat tree like he usually is. “Pip?”

I meow and pspsps, but still nothing. Fine. Traitor.

I put my hair in a quick updo and keep my makeup simple. Bianca has given me so many makeup tips that I’ve elevated my game significantly.

I look good. But miserable.

I take a deep breath and let it out. No need for me to force a smile, but I need to look vaguely excited. I can pass the rest off as nerves.

I step into the hallway and find Pip sitting outside of the bathroom, staring up at the door. Moments later, Ash steps out, dressed in a perfectly tailored white shirt and charcoal-gray pants.

The contrast between his tattoos and the formalwear is jarring in just the right way, like those candies that are both sweet and sour at the same time.

“You aren’t supposed to see me in my dress. Or jumpsuit. Whatever. Wedding outfit,” I manage to say, even though my throat is tight. “It’s bad luck.”

“I think that’s only bad luck for real weddings. Maybe it’s the opposite for fake ones,” he says, his smile softer in a way that makes him seem a little boyish. “Besides, it’s not like I can drive us to the courthouse with a blindfold on.”

“True.” I run my hands down my sides.

“You look beautiful,” he says. The straightforward, sincere way he says it makes my heart flutter. He’s not just saying it to be polite. Not that he’d do that kind of thing anyway.

“Thank you.” I swallow. “Let’s get going.”

We go out to his car and hop in. Neither of us speak and the silence is painful until I turn on some music. He bites at his thumbnail, then grips the steering wheel with purpose, like he’s trying to quit the bad habit. I fidget and rifle through my purse, then play a dumb game on my phone even though it’s a short ride.

We reach the courthouse, which is in the middle of a small, green park. Ash parks and cuts the engine, the silence that’s been threatening to take over finally spreading throughout the whole car.

“You ready for this?” he asks.

“I mean, not really, but we have to be.” I flip down the visor mirror and check my makeup, even though all I’ve done since I put it on is sweat a little bit.

“Think of it like climbing a hill. We put in a lot of effort today and we mostly coast for the next twelve months.” He opens the door and slides out.

Twelve months feels like a century. A year ago, my life looked very different. How much different will it look a year into the future? What if I happen to meet a guy who I really vibe with who I have to ignore because I’m married?

At least we’re starting off slow. We didn’t want a horde of family around during the ceremony itself, so we didn’t tell anyone besides Dad what time we were going down here.

Ash opens my door for me, probably so I actually get out. He takes my hand and helps me like a perfect gentleman.

Jepsen’s city hall is a historic building that, for whatever reason, tourists like to mingle around. We weave between them to the front stairs and step inside, where my dad is waiting. He’s in his usual work outfit of a pressed polo shirt tucked into khakis, but seeing him here hits me like a gut punch.

“Hi, JJ,” he says with a smile. His eyes are already a little watery behind his glasses. “You look so pretty.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I give him a hug.

“Ash.” Dad’s expression hardens up again when he addresses Ash with a firm handshake.

“Good to see you,” Ash says.

“Yes, for the first time in many years. At my daughter’s wedding.” Dad pauses and rests his hands in his pockets. “Y’all’s wedding.”

“I’m sorry.” Ash sounds sincere enough. “You’re aware of the circumstances, though. I wouldn’t have skipped straight to the wedding without meeting up with you first otherwise.”