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I don’t let him get up, not yet. I hold my arm out in front of us and we stare up at the ring on my finger, laughing at how foreign the words husband and wife sound in our voices.
Where are we going to do it? I wonder. Andrew looks at me like I’m thick. Here, of course.
We populate the small wedding party with our chosen family. We decide Tahiti is a good honeymoon spot. Dog before kids.
Sweet kisses turn slow, and then deeper, and then I’m over him and he’s watching with adoring focus, playing with the ends of my hair, skipping fingertips over my curves, guiding my hips until he’s sweaty and urgent beneath me.
I collapse on the bed beside him. The sheets are soft, smooth cotton, cool against my back, and Andrew coughs out a sharp, satisfied laugh. “How do you expect me to walk after that?”
“I hope Benny meant for us to sleep out here,” I say, slowly catching my breath.
• • •
But we’ll need water and food, and we’ve still got several hours before sleep.
He looks at me and laughs. “Do you want to pull a brush through your hair?”
A glance in the bathroom mirror tells me my hair is a wild tangle, my lips are swollen and kiss-bruised. My smile is love-drunk and lopsided. I do the best I can with my fingers to fix the hair situation before giving up.
“My stuff is in the car,” I say. “Benny doesn’t care what my hair looks like.”
It’s only when we walk into the kitchen to the cacophonous “SURPRISE!” yelled by seven excited voices that I get why Andrew wanted us to go inside and tell Benny, why he suggested I brush my hair, and why he’s beet red and doubled over in laughter now. Ricky and Lisa are not on a cruise. Theo is not down in Ogden working on his new house, and although Kyle is still in Manhattan, Aaron and the twins are not. I’m not sure when they got here, or how long they’ve been waiting for us to come back inside so they can congratulate us on our engagement.
“Were you wrestling?” Zachary asks in a lisp, now missing his two front teeth, and Aaron struggles valiantly to not burst out laughing.
“Yes,” Andrew answers earnestly. “And look! Mae won a ring.”
I am engulfed by hugs from my future in-laws(!) and Aaron and the twins. Benny takes the opportunity to laugh at the telling disaster of my hair before pulling me in for a tight squeeze. Although this is the best surprise ever, it feels oddly quiet without my parents and Miles.
Slipping my phone from where I left it on the kitchen counter, I take a picture of my left hand, texting it to my mom:
I stare at the phone, waiting for the indication that she’s read the text, but my message sends slowly, the bar inching across the top.
“I hear you’re loving your new gig,” Aaron says, pulling my attention up.
“I am!” I tell him, grinning. I am now the lead graphic designer for Sled Dog Brewing, an up-and-coming microbrewery only a half mile from Red Rocks and the hottest biergarten in town. I have a team of two who run the website and social media, and I design all of the gear—T-shirts, pint glasses, hats, beanies, and all kinds of fun merchandise. The owner has been so impressed with my work he’s asked me to redesign all of their labels, which means my artwork may someday be in refrigerated cases all over the country. So far, Sled Dog has been the most fun and rewarding job I’ve ever had.
“I got a bottle of that imperial stout,” he says.
“How’d you manage that?” The imperial stout just won an international gold medal; it’s nearly impossible to find it locally, let alone in New York.
“One of the dads at school is a distributor. He hooked me up.”
“I love you.” Stretching, I kiss Aaron’s cheek. Even across the country in Manhattan, he’s staying connected to what we’re doing out west. I follow the kiss with a hand ruffling his newly natural salt-and-pepper hair. “And I love this, too.”
“Yeah.” He smiles at me. “Shortest midlife crisis on record.”
“Hopefully Lisa got some documentation of the dye job.”
“Or at least half of the dye job,” he jokes.
Lisa protests, laughing, “Hey.”
I don’t even notice Andrew had slipped outside to the car and come back in with my bag until he hands it to me. “I hate to ruin the surprise, but you might want this.”
“The surprise?”
He winces. “Your parents’ flight was delayed. They’re almost here.”
“Really?” I squeal, and quickly pull my brush out, tying my hair into a bun on top of my head.
Just in time, because my mom is already singing my name before she’s even reached the porch. “Mae! Where’s my girl?”
