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“That should do me,” she said. “The rest is for you.”
I laughed so hard I thought I might fall, eventually sitting on the couch and resting my head in my hands. Wendy always knew how to make me relieve stress, even if it just was her being sassy and silly. She smiled as I fought to get control of myself, and when I did, I put away another couple of sips of my own wine.
It was a little bit before Hawk came downstairs, but the rest of the waiting time seemed to pass pretty quickly with Wendy down there to talk to. When he did arrive, looking so handsome in his suit and reacting exactly how I hoped to seeing me in my tight yet flowy dress, I knew that all the stress and worry was worth it. This was going to be a fun night.
Wendy left through the door to the outside so she could assume her position at the microphone and announce us. Hawk came to me, offering his hands for me to place mine in and leaning down for a kiss. His breath smelled like whiskey, and I held him there for a moment, wanting one last quiet second with him before we went out there with our friends.
“You look amazing,” he said.
“So do you,” I whispered, our lips still just inches from each other.
“I almost want to ignore everyone and take you home right now,” he said, a grin stretching up one side of his lips.
“Stop,” I said playfully. “There will be time for that later.”
“Is that a promise?” he asked, his voice low and silky.
I bit my bottom lip and nodded, unable to keep the smile from stretching wide across my face. I kissed him again and then took his hand. Only moments later, Wendy announced us to a round of cheers, and we walked out of the door.
The reception was beautiful and everything I could have possibly wanted. Every detail I’d suggested made it, from the decorations to the amenities, and Wendy had put so much other work into it that I was amazed. We danced and ate and drank and laughed with our family and friends well into the late evening, and I was heartened to see my mother sitting at a table, happily bouncing and playing with Rose.
Malia was near her, her own baby in her arms next to her. They were smiling and talking in a way that Malia and she had often had trouble doing. It was so nice to see them come together again and for Mom to accept Rose the way she seemed to be. When I told her the situation, I was worried she wouldn’t have any connection to her. But to an outsider, it looked like she was any other grandma with her granddaughter.
That was another thing I needed to get used to pretty soon. I was a mom now. Maybe I hadn’t given birth, but my love and desire to protect and care for Rose was so intense that I felt like I might as well have. Hawk and I discussed how we would never lie to her as she grew up, though we would call ourselves Mom and Dad. Gerry had been a wealth of advice about that sort of thing, and we agreed that being up-front and honest with her about her birth mother would be the best. She was chosen, by both Hawk and me, and she should know how much she was loved.
Rose would also grow up with a cousin in Alice, and my mother was suddenly a grandmother of two babies. She might still be mending relationships with Malia and me, but with the grandbabies as motivators, it seemed like she was going to be able to do it. She certainly had taken the first steps.
“Have you thought any more about where you would like to go on our honeymoon?” Hawk asked as we danced slowly on the grass a little while later. The DJ had switched to slower music for a bit, and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to sway in his arms.
“No,” I said. “I told you, I’d be happy anywhere.”
“Well, I have.”
I pulled away a little to look directly into his eyes. He was grinning like a schoolboy.
“What did you do?” I asked, a mixture of concern and excitement in my voice.
“Well, I couldn’t help but overhear you talking to Wendy,” he said. “And notice some of the things you’ve said to me and to Malia. So, I took it upon myself to book us a trip to New Orleans.”
“You did?” I nearly shouted, buzzing with excitement.
He nodded, and I squeezed him tight, then kissed him deeply.
“How did you know?” I asked. “I’ve always wanted to go to New Orleans.”
“I know,” he said. “You’ve mentioned it before, but always in passing. Then I heard you tell Malia you wanted to go to Bourbon Street one day, and you told Wendy that your number one food checklist item is real, authentic gumbo. I started putting it all together. I called around down there and got some recommendations from some friends of mine from college.”
