It takes us a few short months to get married.
It’s not traditional or flashy. Hell, it’s not even sunny.
After all, spring in Vermont can be tricky.
But it is perfect.
We decide to say our vows under the pergola at the honey farm, where we first talked about forgiveness and the future.
We don’t have many guests this time.
Jolene’s here with her wife and two sons, beaming at us like a proud big sister.
Katya’s sitting beside her boyfriend, whom she started seeing right after Christmas when she ended up in the ER with a sprained ankle. They haven’t been dating long, but Dr. Pranav Shukla looks at Katya like she’s the sunandthe storm. They make a charming couple.
Cristiano is with his date, a serious woman named Carolina, who runs the non-profit Haven House that Mia and I are partnering with.
Huxley is dressed in a dark blue suit with no tie. He came alone because, as he put it, “It’s Mia’s day. No one needs to meet Tatiana 2.0.”
“Who the hell is Tatiana?” Mia muses.
I frown. “No clue.”
“Oh my God! Is Hux in love?”
We both look at each other and burst out laughing, rolling our eyes. “Wouldn’t that be delicious karma?” I say.
She agrees, giggling with abandon.
There’s no music but the wind, no decorations but what nature provided.
I am not even wearing a stiff suit. I’m indark dress pants and a white shirt, but that’s where theformalshit ends.
Mia walks down a narrow path framed by rows of bright daisies, their cheerful faces turning toward her as if she’s part of the sunlight itself. She wears a simple ivory dress with delicate lace sleeves, her hair falling in soft waves.
My breath catches. She’s stunning.
This is better than the first wedding. Better than anything I ever imagined.
We exchange vows that we wrote ourselves.
“I don’t promise perfection.” I hold her hands. “But I promise to never stop growing with you. To never stop choosing you. Even when it’s hard.Especiallywhen it’s hard.”
She smiles, her eyes shining with happiness. “I promise to tell you how I feel. To let you in. And to make a home with you that no one can shake.”
Cristiano officiates—turns out Vermont allows just about anyone to marry you as long as they register—and when he says, “I now pronounce you husband and wife…again,” I kiss her like the world could fall around us and we’d still be standing.
Afterward, we gather around a long table in the open barn of the honey farm.
The food is catered from our now-favorite Mediterranean restaurant. Instead of a wedding cake, we have baklava. We also have plenty of champagne and good wine to go with the food.
Huxley gives a toast that somehow manages to befunny and moving. “So, I beg you, Mia, don’t ever leave him again, because he just about drank all my good whiskey the last time.”
Katya’s toast is more of a warning. “You hurt her again, and I’ll have your balls.”
After dinner, we slip away from our guests, and wander down a quiet path.
The air is thick with the sweet, herbal scent of lavender from the rows that blanket the rolling hill. At the edge, we stop, the world spread wide before us. The sky is painted in streaks of rose and gold as the sun sinks low.
