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I’m smiling so much that my cheeks hurt.
Okay, a four-year-old calling me pretty shouldn’t make me feel on cloud nine. But seeing as how I’ve come to realize how brutally honest children are, I’m now floating in the sky.
In this moment, I forget about what I’ve lost, and I focus on what I’ve found.
Once she finishes her long princess list, I ask Sulli, “You ready?”
She slides her hands down her dusty blue dress. She told me this morning that she was taking her role as flower girl very “seriowously.” The mispronunciation of seriously made it that much cuter. Even now, she screws on this concentrated face that makes me smile all over again.
“I’m gonna be the bestest flower girl ever, Aunt Willow. Pinky promise.” She holds out her pinky to me.
We do a very good pinky tug, and I start yearning. For a little one. For someone that Garrison and I can raise together, and my eyes well up in a newfound feeling. I’m marrying him. We’re building a future together.
It’s starting to become real.
“But are you ready?” Daisy’s voice pulls to me, her question directed my way.
I take a deep breath.
“I am.”
69
garrison abbey
It’s about this time that I’d be craving a smoke. A quick light just to drown out my nerves. But I gave up smoking around a month ago, and there’s not an ounce of regret in my body. I don’t want it. I don’t need it. Not now.
I’m focused on today.
Blooming May flowers envelop the garden like some sort of storybook. Like I’m a prince in a fairytale, and I’d believe it less, if I didn’t think Willow was worthy of being a princess. She is. Ten thousand times over. So yeah, maybe that makes me her prince.
Ivy envelops areas that aren’t bursting in color. Above us, more ivy, lilacs, soft blue flowers, some vibrant reds cascade off a trellis like a waterfall of florals. Sheer drapes are tied off the trellis and frame the fold-out chairs that face me. Eucalyptus and ivy weave around the chairs and twist up the arch that I stand under.
The garden is small but full of people that love Willow and me.
But most importantly, my family is here.
Loren Hale. Lily. Their little six-year-old who calls me Uncle Garrison but treats me like I’m the coolest guy he’s ever known. Moffy has been giving me a thumbs up about every minute. Even if I don’t catch his eyes, I can see his little thumb up in the air from my peripheral. Lily bounces their two-year-old on her knee, and Luna giggles softly.
The Hales took me in when I had nowhere to go—they’re my family now.
I feel that cemented deeply. Permanently.
And even though Lo is my best man today, he’s sitting down with his kids and wife like the rest of my groomsmen. Seeing as how our guest list is small, Willow and I decided to stand at the alter alone. Plus, most of our wedding party have toddlers and babies they need to look after.
Waiting up here for her isn’t the easiest thing. My palms sweat, and my eagerness encroaches on stupidity. I’m about a minute away from leaving this whole thing and sprinting inside to see her.
Soft music plays from speakers. Chill, Garrison. But the music just reminds me that her dad wanted us to hire a full orchestral quartet. Jonathan Hale can keep his extra bullshit to himself. We chose to have the least number of strangers in this garden as possible.
The only true stranger happens to be a local Justice of the Peace standing a couple feet from me, and he’s someone we’ve met a handful of times before the ceremony today. So yeah, not a “true” stranger. But I wasn’t about to ask my boss—Connor Cobalt—to officiate. Lily and Lo already did that, and truth, I don’t need that memory.
I like this one.
Where they’re all in the audience. In attendance.
Sheetal and Tess, Willow’s dad, and even Poppy and Sam are here. They sit in the second row with Maria. Their teenage daughter whispers quietly to a six-year-old Jane Cobalt, keeping an eye on her today. Because the King and Queen have their fucking hands full.
Literally.
Rose cradles a two-month-old Ben to her chest. He just woke up from a nap and looks ready to cry. She glances to her husband, and carefully, they switch children. Connor passes a two-year-old Tom to her, and she gives him Ben.
Just as Ben wails.
Connor is quick to retrieve a bottle from a diaper bag at his feet. Ben quiets as soon as it goes to his lips. Rose exhales in relief, and that makes me smile.
Willow and I knew this wedding wouldn’t be perfect. We invited ten kids—over half under the age of five—and that’s bound to make this whole thing messy. But we wanted them here. Neither of us had the perfect childhood—we didn’t have the kind of love we’ve seen Lily, Lo, Ryke, Daisy, Connor, and Rose give their children—and it’s not just something to admire. It’s something we’ve wanted to surround ourselves around.
