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So banning these kids from our wedding—not an option.
They’re all here. Every one of them.
Plus, watching Connor and Rose reminds me that even the most perfect couple has cracks. That no one is truly always put-together. I mean, come on. Eliot, who turns three tomorrow, has abandoned his seat and currently crawls underneath the chairs, making relatively no noise.
I can’t tell if Connor or Rose realize their son is pretending to be a spy. Maybe they’re choosing their battles. Maybe they know he’ll stay quiet. I don’t care much what anyone does.
I’m too busy smiling.
Charlie and Beckett, the three-year-old twins, are quiet next to their Uncle Ryke. Beckett shooshes Charlie whenever his brother makes a loud peep, and they share furtive whispers.
I wonder how a kid with Willow would turn out. Would they be as well-mannered as Beckett or a little terror like Eliot? And fuck, I can’t believe I even want to bring someone into this world. Knowing what I know about people. About myself.
Curses. All that shit.
But I’d like to think my kid could turn out better than me. More loved than me. And over my dead body will they have siblings.
No fucking way.
There’s only one person I could ever envision myself starting a family with, and I get to marry her today. Just as I think it, I see Daisy slip into the garden. She ducks her head, trying to go unnoticed before taking a seat on the open chair beside Ryke.
It’s time.
Oh, shit.
My breathing deepens, and I look for help. I look to Lo.
He’s smiling like he gets it, and then he gives me a nod. Everything goes calm. Goes still.
Sullivan Meadows appears from the double doors at the end of the aisle. She curtseys before carefully placing blue petals on the ground in a precise line. Ryke beams, while Daisy gives her daughter a wave. I want to smile too, but my whole body is vibrating in anticipation.
Willow. My bride.
We’re seconds away from becoming husband and wife. God, I just need to see her.
When Sulli reaches the end of the aisle, she keeps walking forward. And she sprinkles leftover flowers onto my feet. Laughter comes, also with a whistle of approval from her mom—probably so Sulli knows it’s okay and doesn’t run and hide.
Sulli peers up at me.
And I’m smiling. I hold out my fist.
She bumps knuckles before skipping back to her mom with a grin.
The music changes.
Everyone stands. The adults help some of the kids.
But I don’t hear anything anymore. Swedish Hair Metal could be blaring from the speakers, and I wouldn’t know.
Willow emerges from the double doors, hair in waves over her shoulder and a white gown sweeping the floor. Her eyes mist behind her glasses—those cute-as-hell glasses—and I almost lose it.
Keep your shit together, Abbey.
I blow out a breath as she walks quickly towards me. She pauses suddenly, remembering there’s a whole tempo to this thing, and she takes a sudden, deep breath.
I nod.
You’ve got this, Willow.
Her hands clutch tight to a bundle of flowers. White roses, blue petals, eucalyptus. Don’t know all the names of them. Don’t really care. I’m mostly just looking at her.
She slowly walks to me. Each step closer might as well take a century. I’ve waited years for this. I’ve been apart from her for most of it. I can wait a little more.
But it’s hard.
And she quickens her pace again. Too cute. I can’t stop smiling. She reaches me in record time, and Daisy pops up from her seat to collect Willow’s bouquet before sitting down again.
I want to say I’m listening to the officiant. But I’m not.
I don’t hear what he says. I’m just watching Willow.
She glances around, trying to soak in everything for a second, before her eyes land on me. She blushes and bites the bottom of her lip.
Yeah, I love you. I hope it’s written a thousand times across my face because it’s what I feel. And screw it, I mouth the words but end up whispering, “I love you.”
Her eyes redden with bubbling, overwhelming affection. Her collarbones rise with a big breath as she whispers back, “I love you.”
My hand is in hers, and her fingers curl stronger around mine.
And then I hear, “Willow and Garrison have written vows, and they’d like to share them with you all today. Garrison—” He looks to me.
Right.
I didn’t scribble any words on a piece of paper. Some would say I didn’t prepare. But I don’t need to write down what’s already in my heart.
“Willow.” My throat swells with raw emotion. “I often wonder what my life would have been like had you never driven over seven hundred miles, alone, from Caribou, Maine to Philadelphia. I try to picture it all the time, but I can never get too far. For one, it hurts. And for another, in every scenario I can come up with, you’d always make that leap. It’s just who you are. You’re brave. The kind of bravery that I dreamt of growing up—” My voice catches on the last word.
