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Standing on the semi-warm sand, I wriggle my toes through the soft grains as I peer over my shoulder at the closed-off tent.
Shelly’s car is parked just outside the tent, so I know my girl is inside. What are they doing inside that small tent? Can’t be much based on the size. And how much longer will I have to wait to see her? I check my watch. Thirty minutes. Only thirty more minutes and she will stand beside me.
I stroll farther down the beach and out of the view of the tent. Popping my earbuds in, I crank up my music and stare out at the water. Feels like it has taken us a century to reach this exact moment, but the day has finally arrived. Finally.
Fifteen years ago today, my best friend became something greater than I could fathom at the time. Something bigger than my fourteen-year-old brain could comprehend or imagine. She became the love of my life. Honestly, she had been since day one, but I wasn’t equipped to understand such things.
If we had been together the whole time, no doubt married before now, we would celebrate our fifteenth anniversary today. But rather than celebrate this day as boyfriend and girlfriend—an antiquated term—today, we will officially become husband and wife.
Cora will be my wife. Mine. Forever.
The second everyone found out we were engaged, the first question that popped up was “Have you set a date?” We hadn’t discussed dates, but, funny enough, we both blurted out November 21 at the same time. It was our day. Always will be. Until death do us part, and beyond.
Someone taps my shoulder and I turn to see Mom as I take an earbud out. “Hey, sweetie. You should probably get in position. Things will start soon.”
I nod. “Thanks, Mom. Love you.” I kiss her cheek.
She kisses the air next to my cheek, careful to not smear her lipstick on me. “Love you, too.” After a quick hug, she walks off and joins everyone else not in the tent.
I wander toward the makeshift aisle, arch, and chairs. Cora and I are far from traditional. But our style resonates in every flower arrangement, decor piece, and article of clothing we all wear today. We kept the number of attendees to a minimum—twenty people, including Cora’s maid of honor and my best man. On the aisle side of each row of chairs is a small bundle of black calla lilies and red roses—identical flowers to Cora’s bouquet and the boutonnière flowers. Although Erin isn’t in the wedding party, we got her an identical dress to Shelly since she is taking photos for and with us.
The arch at the end of the aisle is decorated in black and red sheer fabrics and flowers. Cora’s mother and Shelly did an awesome job with the floral arrangements. They truly scream us and our style. As does our ensemble for the day. Although I have yet to see her dress, Cora and I are both in black. While Shelly and Micah are in red.
I slip my earbuds in their case and set them, and my phone, with my other clothes.
Before I grasp the gravity of it all, I walk down the aisle, bare feet crunching in the sand and heart jackhammering in my chest. When I reach the arch, I spin and stand in my place. Hands clasped at the front of my waist.
Micah walks up and stands beside me and pats my shoulder. “You nervous, bro?”
I stare down the aisle and shake my head. “I’ve been waiting for this day my entire life. Just can’t wait to call her my wife.” Those words hold so much truth.
As soon as the words leave my lips, the music starts. “Back In Black” by AC/DC blares from the setup speakers and echoes off the water. This song has nothing to do with weddings or love, but is one-hundred-percent us.
Gavin and Cora.
And the best fucking song to replace the traditional wedding march.
My breath comes in sharp bursts as I fumble with my fingers, eager to see her. One, two, three heartbeats later, Cora steps around a sand dune and I stop breathing. Dress black as night, several layers of tulle ghost the sand as she grips her father’s elbow and walks toward me. The V-line bust of her dress is vintage lace that comes to a point at her solar plexus and also decorates the length of her arms. And just below the hollow of her throat is the locket her mother gave her years ago. A locket that now holds pictures of us.
“Fuck, she is gorgeous,” I mutter and a couple people laugh. But I give no fucks. Cora is absolutely stunning and I refuse to take my eyes off her.
That is my wife. Mrs. Cora Elizabeth Hunt. My best friend. My lover. My life.
Cora
I round the sand dune with Dad on my arm, catch sight of Gavin near the arch, and suck in a breath.
Goddamn. I am one lucky-ass woman.
Gavin stands clad in a long-sleeve black button-down, the top two buttons undone, and black dress slacks. His red rose and black calla lily boutonnière rests above his left breast pocket. A thin layer of stubble accentuates his jawline as his hair kicks up with the occasional breeze. And the second he sees me, he bounces a little in place.
At the end of the aisle, Dad clings to my arm and gives me a quick squeeze. “Ready, pumpkin?”
I peek up at him for a split second, then revert my eyes back to my husband—husband—twenty feet away. Am I ready? I have been ready for this moment for as long as I can remember. “Yeah, Daddy. I’ve been ready.”
We both take a deep breath, then Dad slowly guides me down the aisle and closer to Gavin. The love of my life. The man I don’t ever wish to live a day without. The other half of my soul.
When we reach Gavin, Dad gives me a kiss on the cheek, unhooks his arm from mine, and goes to sit next to Mom.
