She dug in her little pearl clutch and pulled out a pill packet. “I’ll take a bonus antihistamine. It’ll be worth it.”
“Beach beers?” I asked.
Her smile grew wider. “Beach beers.”
Mara stoppedat the edge of the sidewalk leading to the beach. “One problem: sand tears up my joints. I’m basically solidifying constant cane use for the next week.”
I nodded. “Hold these.” I thrust the six-pack of PBR tall boys at her. She clutched them to her stomach and juggled it with her cane. Then I dipped and scooped her up to her squeal. “To the beach we go.”
My dress shoes filled with sand with each step I took, but I could have cared less. Mara was in my arms, her arms looped around my neck and her legs kicking up. “Jackie baby, this is great, but it kinda hurts my back.”
“Over my shoulder?”
“Yes, please,” she keened.
I crouched to set her down gently, took the six-pack from her in one hand, and knelt so she could arrange herself on my shoulder. “Up we go. Don’t hit me with your cane.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she mused, right before slapping it across my ass.
“Hey!”
“You liked it,” she cooed.
“Can’t believe I signed up for a lifetime of this.” I set her down, tucked the beers into the sand, and helped her sit on the sand. I settled next to her and pulled a beer loose for each of us. I opened hers for her since her fingers are sometimes too bendy, something that was validated for me when she almost popped a wrist trying to open a jar.
“Cheers to a lifetime,” Mara said, clinking her can to mine and taking a long sip. She looked out over the ocean. “Did you really mean forever? The rest of our lives?”
I shrugged, kicking off my shoes to put my toes in the cold sand. “I don’t know. I guess. Why not?”
She chuckled. “Why not? We have a lot of reasons why not.”
“Yeah. I mean, if things keep going good, we keep going. If we hate each other, we call it off.”
She folded her legs into her lap, arranging her dress over them. “But what if it messes up the kids?”
“We’ll just take it as it comes. See where life takes us. I think both of us want what’s best for them. I asked you to marry me because you’re good with the kids.”
She shivered and I took off my suit jacket, draping it around her shoulders. “Thanks,” she said, giving me a bittersweet look. “It’s just kind of bonkers.”
“I mean, so is regular marriage,” I said, leaning back on my hands. “You try people on, and you try them forever. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn’t.”
“I don’t want another divorce,” she murmured.
I leaned down to her ear and whispered, “Then I guess you’re stuck with me.”
She laughed, slowly at first, then fully cracking up. “What did we do?” she shouted, cackling at the dark water rolling in front of us. “Wait, was this a green card marriage? Did you actually need me to become a citizen? Have I been bamboozled?”
“I have a work visa, thank you very much,” I protested. “I don’t need you. But it does help.”
“Everyone’s got their motives. Nothing is clean.”
A couple was walking by. “Hey, sir? Can you take our picture?”
They approached us. “You guys get married today?”
“Eloped,” Mara said, her smile in her voice.
We got enthusiastic congratulations and posed every which way. Mara poured beer in my mouth like we were at a college party. We kissed for the camera. We linked arms and drank our PBRs like it was wedding champagne, her smiling eyes glowing at me. I thought how wild we must look: a couple in our late thirties, having cheap beer on the beach on our wedding night. I took my phone back, committing to look at the photos later and just enjoy the moment now.
