“Dale.” I leaned in closer, touching his forearm. “It’s okay, really. I—”
He turned and kissed me, crushing his lips against mine. He had me by the upper arms, holding my whole body against him and then just as quickly as it had happened, he let me go. I almost stumbled, but John was there to catch my arm.
“You’re mine.” That’s all he said before he turned and stalked over to the laughing, joking group of guys who were, I had just noticed, all fixated on me. Of course, because I was going to be the one sitting in that folding chair, pulling up the hemline of my dress, so one lucky gentleman could slide the white garter with the blue bow up, up, up, my leg, until…
“He’s just Fred Flintstone to your Wilma, isn’t he?” Aimee laughed, joining them.
She’d overheard Dale’s emphatic you’re mine. Aimee liked to joke that Dale would drag me around by the hair like a Neanderthal if he had his way. It wasn’t like that, but it was hard to explain.
Matt and Aimee loved each other, but I’d watched them as a couple for two years and realized it was different than what I had with Dale. They joked and teased each other, they held hands and Matt always kissed her goodbye and said I love you, but their energy wasn’t the same as ours. Aimee and Matt’s love was the tropical beach kind with sunshine and palm trees and white sand—not unlike the place they’d decided to honeymoon together.
Our love was more like a hurricane. Category five.
“You probably should have let the ten year old have it.” John shook his head again, wearing the same bemused smile I’d seen on Dale when I rushed off into trouble to catch the bouquet. “They would have cancelled the garter toss.”
“Probably,” I agreed with perfect 20/20 hindsight vision.
The DJ was getting to the counting stage. Dale was waiting. I could almost see how tense his limbs were under that tux, like he was ready to burst through the material itself. He was like a cat waiting to pounce, focused on his target but still paying full attention to his periphery—and his competition.
I closed my eyes and sent up a little prayer to… whoever…
If you’re up there, or out there, or wherever, whatever you are, will you please just let him catch it because… because he loves me… and he wants to protect me… and he’s right, I am his. I belong, heart and soul, to Dale Diamond, for better or worse, richer or poorer, sickness and health, all those things they said in the vows today. Even if I never get to say them in a church, they’re all true. I’ve said them all in my heart. I am his and I don’t want any other man to ever come between us again.
I opened my eyes, whispering a little, “Amen,” as the DJ started to count to three.
One
Dale’s eyes widened, focused on the garter. Matt was very tall—he played basketball in high school, all the Green boys did—so it was easy to see the target.
Two
Matt waved the garter back and forth and Dale’s eyes followed it like a big cat watching its prey zig zag in hopes of getting away.
Three
A sea of black suits and tuxes fell onto each other reaching for one little bit of white satin.
“I can’t look.” I turned and buried my head against John’s shoulder. “Tell me when it’s over.”
Please, please, please, just let it be him, let it be Dale, please…
“I got it!”
That wasn’t Dale’s voice.
My eyes flew open and I saw Steven, one of Matt’s brothers, holding his fist up high in the air—and he was tall, like Matt, so that fist was really high in the air. And still Dale stayed focused on his target. He jostled guys aside to get to Steven.
“We have a winner!” the DJ announced. “If the little lady and the lucky man would step over to the chair please.”
The chair. I looked at it, sitting alone in the middle of the dance floor as the guys started to disperse, slapping Steven on the back and making wisecracks about copping a feel and how high could he go? I took a step toward the chair, glancing over at Dale, and then looked back to the chair. It stood waiting. I felt like I was walking to the electric chair, not a little metal fold-up from the hall’s basement.
“Come on, don’t be shy!” the DJ called. Other girls pressed around me, the ones who hadn’t caught the bouquet, urging me toward the chair. I took another step, looking over at Dale. He was saying something to Steven, who was so tall Steven had to lean down to hear him. Music played. Keep Your Hands to Yourself by the Georgia Satellites was apparently the song choice for copping a feel. Ironic.
“You don’t have to.” Aimee’s voice, behind me. “Really, you don’t.”
But the crowd was gathering, this time near the chair. Everyone wanted to see the show and I was the star.
“Dale,” I called, but it only came out as a squeak. The crowd pushed and pulled me, getting its way. I couldn’t fight the momentum. I managed another, “Dale!” louder this time, but I’d lost sight of him, somewhere behind me.