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"Shut up, dude; they're in love. It's not like they're fifteen. He's twenty-eight and can make his own decisions, broseph," Remy had interjected.
Remy and Max then launched into a debate over whetherbroandbrosephanddudewere appropriate words to use in everyday conversation, making everyone laugh—and taking the pressure off our announcement. Still. It was as if Max didn't believe us. Or maybe that's my guilty conscience.
I replay the conversation with Max in my mind and wrap my arms around Damien's neck. "Well, that was..."
"Interesting?" He barks out a laugh.
"I'm glad your mom and dad are being so sweet. And Remy. He's also been great. Max, though..."
Damien kisses my forehead. "Don't sweat it. Max will come around. He's probably a little jealous because he thought he'd be the first to marry. He was pretty close a couple of years ago with this one woman, but she did a number on him."
"Well. Maybe he's skeptical of love in general." Even though Damien and I are dancing around the obvious—are we in love or no —we do seem to communicate well about everything else. Damien doesn't hesitate to tell me how he feels, even if it's only a sentence or two.
"Nah. He operates on logic and not emotion. He has a plan for everything and believes life should be lived on a strict timetable. Plus he thinks of me as a kid because he's the oldest."
"Ahh, that makes more sense."
"I know he wants a wife and kids. Was real into that one woman a while back. But she told him that he was married to his job and his life had no place for her. He didn't let that slow him down, though. I know he's dating. He's got a natural optimism about him, unlike me."
I press a kiss to Damien's neck. "I think you're quite optimistic."
"Oh yeah?" The cool winter breeze kicks up, and Damien rubs my bare arms.
"Definitely. You're optimistic that this crazy idea of getting married will work."
He laughs and kisses me.
"You've also been optimistic about my chances of getting my freelance career back on track." Lately, he's suggested I should to take on local graphic design clients. I'm afraid my reputation from high school will hurt my efforts, but he doesn't think so.
He's silent for a while, and I cling to him while glancing every so often at the Gulf of Mexico, which is across the street from the Hastings family home. Since it's dark, I can only see the ripples and current and the occasional whitecap on the midnight blue water.
"Maybe you're the one thing in my life I can be optimistic about? Ever thought of that?"
"Hmm. I didn't." I lean back and study his face. His eyes have a twinge of sadness, or perhaps that's the shadows cast by the glow of the indoor lamps. "Why would you say that?"
"Because of what I've seen in war and in my job. When I came home, I was in a pretty dark place. I didn't think I could be optimistic about anything in the world. Or hopeful. And then one night I walked into a tiki bar and that all changed."
Because of a few things he'd said about being in the Marines, I suspected Damien battled inner demons because of his time in war zones. But until now, I wasn't aware of how entrenched they were. Or that he'd been in such a bad state when we first hooked up. There's so much that I still don't know about him, and time's running out.
He pulls me against his body, and I hold him tight. We stay this way right until midnight, and his muscles tense when fireworks explode in the distance.
"Happy New Year," I whisper.
He bends down for a kiss and then hoists my body into his arms and carries me inside.
A couple of weeks later,Mom and I are at the bar one afternoon—we're dog-sitting Chunky, who's doing great on his diet and has lost a whole pound and a half.
Since it's a slow afternoon with only a couple of regulars, I'm going over our final wedding menu. The ceremony's in three weeks, and I've made peace with the fact that there will be close to a hundred people at our (sort of) fake wedding. It'll be mostly Damien's large extended family, his friends, and some islanders.
Also, Chunky, in a dog bow tie.
He's become the mascot of the Hastings family, the one thing everyone adores unconditionally. Fortunately, we've collectively gotten the farting situation under control with his new diet.
"I can't wait to see your cousins," Mom burbles. "Are you sure you don't want one of them to be your maid of honor?"
I shake my head. I haven't seen Evie or Sabrina in years, and in truth, they're my second cousins. Sabrina's a senior in college and Evie's married some rich guy in Atlanta.
Mom sighs. "Why don't you ask Natalia? There's still time. It's such an informal ceremony; she can step right in."
