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Tears glass her gaze, and my eyes sting with surging waterworks. She shakes her head like I’m wrong, but I’m done thinking I’m shit. I know I’m not anymore.
“I admire so much about you, Willow,” I say, choked. “But my love for you is more than just admiration. It’s built from a friendship we started eight really long years ago in a comic book shop.”
That does her in. She wipes at her eyes.
I just let my tears slip down my cheeks.
Yeah, I’m crying.
I don’t care.
“From that moment, I knew,” I tell her. “There’s no one else. There will never be anyone else. Whatever it takes, wherever we are, it’s always been you.”
Her hold on my hand speaks a million beautiful sentiments, and I don’t want to let go. I look to the officiant, and he turns to my bride. “Willow.”
She sniffs loudly and rubs at the corners of her eyes, careful not to smear her makeup. “Wow. Okay.” She takes a breath and with one hand, slips out a piece of paper. She said she needed to write her vows down to lessen any anxiety, and I’m game for whatever makes Willow more comfortable.
In this moment, I’m not sure I could love her any more than I do. I could burst into a million pieces. I’m honestly shocked I’m still keeping my shit somewhat together.
“When I arrived in Philly, I didn’t have any expectations,” she says, her voice steady, but the paper trembles in her hand. Her other palm is sweaty in mine, but I squeeze, calming her, and she takes a deeper breath. “I definitely didn’t expect to find you.” Her eyes flit up to mine. “My best friend.”
I swallow hard, throat definitely swollen now.
“Some people in this garden believe in fate,” she says, and the audience chuckles at that. “And I don’t know how else to describe what happened between us. Because I thought in no world would a boy like you ever talk to a girl like me.”
It’s my turn to shake my head like she’s so wrong.
She presses onward. “But you did. And I realized that everything we saw in each other was everything we couldn’t see in ourselves. All those good parts. All those loving parts. All those beautiful parts.”
Fuck.
I’m crying again.
Her voice trembles with her hands now. “Time. Distance. It has nothing on fate. You have my whole heart, Garrison Abbey.” She folds her paper, and then she adds, “You had my heart since that day in the comic book shop.”
We’re smiling.
We’re crying.
“And I’m ready,” she says, “for forever with you.”
It feels like one of the best days of my life.
It is the best day of my life.
The sound of sniffling in the audience and tender awes don’t steal my gaze off my bride.
The I dos are short and sweet, and a stronger feeling starts swelling inside of me. I’m glad we made it here.
I’m glad we never gave up.
Shakily, we exchange rings, and we’re holding hands more than letting go.
I do hear the officiant say the word, kiss. And tenderly, carefully, I clasp Willow’s soft cheek. She clutches onto my arms. Drawing closer, her eyes dance over my features, and I whisper against her lips, “I love you.” And we kiss, an overwhelming kiss that brings Willow against my chest. Her fingers rise to the back of my neck, and her heart thumps against mine.
We’ve been ones and zeroes. Smoke signals written in the sky. Two tin cans tethered by an eternal string.
Now we can add in husband and wife.
june
70
garrison abbey
“Oh no, I’m dying, I need health—I need health,” Willow says in panic, punching buttons on a Sega controller with skill.
“Knock over the steel drum—fuuuck.” I rock back as my health meter depletes to zero. “I just died.”
Willow laughs, and then Blaze, her Streets of Rage character, kicks ass for another five minutes, gaining health, and not long after that, Blaze perishes too.
We take a food break, and I flip open the pizza box on the floor—where we’ve thrown down plush blankets, bed pillows, and set up our TV with a few game consoles. Move-in boxes surround us in the large, open space. Sharpie scrawled over the cardboard sides, most labeled Abbeys – living room and Abbeys – kitchen.
Willow was happy to sell all her textbooks. Not needing to pack any since she officially graduated college with a shiny business degree. She’ll open up the London branch of Superheroes & Scones soon.
And eventually, Lily wants to hire Willow as the Chief Brand Officer. Which is big.
I’m really proud of everything she’s accomplished.
Earlier, we dug into a few boxes to find the N64, so Styrofoam popcorn packaging litters the ground too.
I lost at Diddy Kong Racing like fifteen times in a row.
“You’re killing it tonight,” I say while tearing into a slice of pepperoni.
Willow smiles, brown hair wet in a messy braid after a shower. “Must be the new place,” she says softly, just wearing blue cotton pajamas. “Maybe I’m lucky here.”
