We said everything without ever saying those three words. There would come a day when we would need them. And saying them would mean everything. It would be a profoundly important moment in our lives. Maybe a last straw, a final breath, or maybe a new beginning. A spark of hope in the desolate dark.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. Ronin, you may kiss your bride.”
He slid his hand along my cheek and brushed his lips over mine. Before kissing me, he whispered, “Evie …”
I grinned, letting my mouth ghost over his. “Roe …”
On the most perfect Christmas ever, my instincts were confirmed. I had in fact … arrived.
Seven weeks later …
I gazed at my secret husband sitting next to my parents in the front row of the church. He winked at me, his secret wife, as I stood next to my best friend, the most beautiful bride ever to wear a wedding gown. Lila and Graham shined. It wasn’t the million-dollar wedding, the celebrity guest list, the string quartet, or even the five-carat diamond he slid onto her finger.
It was all the years of friendship. Graham’s steadfast love for Lila. When most men would have given up, he didn’t. And when Lila let him into her life—her heart—she was all in. Her love for him equaled his love for her. No two people had ever seemed more fated.
Well … until I walked into a bun and bubble tea cafe in Vancouver and met the son of an Olympic Frenchman and Malaysian fashion designer. In his words … an ethnically diverse ski bum.
The groom kissed the bride.
My mom (working hard at kicking cancer’s ass) grabbed my dad’s hand as happy tears filled her eyes. On the opposite side of them were two empty seats with roses on them, for Lila’s parents, stripped too early from our lives after that fatal car accident. Somewhere, somehow, I had to believe they were watching with tears in their eyes and smiles on their faces. Their beautiful daughter had grown into a successful engineer and married a man who adored her.
And just like that … life was absolutely perfect.
“It’s over!” Lila declared on a huge sigh as I held her dress so she could pee before the reception. “I’m so fucking glad it’s over. Ya know? The past several months have been hell. I was getting to the point where I just wanted to sneak off and elope, giving the rest of the uppity Porter clan the middle finger. I hope we can settle into a normal marriage where we only have lunch with his family once a month. Is it wrong that all I want is to have Graham to myself for a while?”
Her confession left me speechless. I thought she wanted the big wedding. Sure, I knew it was stressful, and Graham’s mom and aunt were driving her crazy, but elope? That was my MO.
“You’re joking.” I handed her a wad of toilet paper as she tried to find her bared crotch, buried beneath layers of expensive satin and lace, to wipe herself.
“No. In fact, if you want some advice from your best friend, run off and just marry Ronin. Don’t have a wedding.”
“I did it.” Those three words flew out so quickly; I wasn’t even sure if I said them. But no one else was in the lounge with us, the fancy lounge in the guest wing of the Porter mansion. Wow! I didn’t realize how badly I needed to tell her, until it catapulted from my tongue.
“You did what?” She stood and I guided her forward to keep her dress out of the toilet. After washing her hands, and maybe forgetting that I said those three words, she turned toward me. “Did what?”
Nope. She remembered.
“I uh …” Maybe it wasn’t such a good time to confess. The lineup of second, third, and fourth guesses congregated at the door to my conscience, waiting to offer alternative explanations for my comment. What if she wasn’t serious? After having my nipple in her mouth months earlier, I found myself second-guessing all her words, their meanings, and her intentions.
“A million people are waiting for us. Out with it, Evelyn.”
“It’s nothing.” I shook my head, looking over her shoulder to check my hair in the mirror. It was still in a lovely messy bun (Graham’s favorite). Toasts, dancing, and too much drinking wouldn’t bode well for it, but I’d deal with that later.
“I said you should elope, and you said, ‘I did it.’ But you couldn’t have meant you eloped, so what did you do?”
Geesh, she was relentless. Were we still talking about that? How could her mind snag on something as frivolous as my three-word confession on her wedding day?
“Ronin and I got married on Christmas.”
No big deal. I said it with a breeze, like requesting someone pass the salt.