She bites her lip and sighs. “I’m going to feel really bad if things go south between you and your grandma.”
“She’s fine,” I promise her, leveling my gaze to hers. “While she’d love for me to get married when it’s the real deal and when she’s had lots of time to help plan the ceremony instead of twenty-four hours, she’s not mad. Stella’s pretentious, sure, but she likes you and if this is important to me, it’s important to her.”
Nola looks as sold as she can be with my explanation. When we hear “You Are the Best Thing” by Ray LaMontagne begin, she chuckles and says, “I don’t know why I was expecting Pachelbel’s Canon—or you know, Roy Orbison.”
“Violet remembered.” I shake my head in surprise. “Years ago I off handedly mentioned I’d want this song played at my wedding if I was ever tricked into settling down. Leave it to my big sister to make it happen.”
“Oh no! We should stop her,” Nola says. “You’ll want tosave it for a real wedding—and you can’t use it again if it’s played now. This is a onetime-use kind of thing.”
“You worry way too much.” I reach out and tap her nose with my finger. “We’d better get this show on the road or they’re going to think we changed our minds.”
Our vows are straight from a traditional ceremony, and I repeat them automatically as Robert feeds me line by line. I get to the part where I vow, “till death do us part,” and it hits me that Nola will do her vows next. Then the final piece of this event will be a kiss. What if we kiss again and there’s nothing behind it? Maybe the bar kiss was a one-off, a perfect storm of self-loathing that I wasn’t at the playoffs mixed with a little thrill that somebody paid me some long-forgotten attention? Why do I even care? It doesn’t have to be a great kiss. It doesn’t have to mean anything. It shouldn’t. The first was probably a fluke, and yet look how far it got us.
Eye on the prize, Hutch.
Nola begins her vows and I up the ante of the moment by taking both her hands in mine. It startles her, but she recovers quickly and repeats what Robert tells her to say. We hadn’t stopped for flowers because Nola promised they weren’t necessary, but now I’m rethinking everything. The magnitude of what we are doing crushes me like a vise all over again. Thoughts from this morning flood back. We are entering a legal contract. I’m living in the guest bedroom of a home that is occupied by a single mom and her fifth grader. My grandmother and two sisters are witnessing what sounded like a solid plan two days ago and has now become the most unhinged choice I’ve made since taking steroids.
Robert announces us husband and wife. Nola squeezes my hands subtly, like a stage cue, and I lean in obediently. She tilts her chin and closes her eyes. Even though we had anaudience the night at the bar, there’s a hesitation in the intimacy of my family—along with Opal and Robert—watching. A peck would suffice. Nobody expects it to be more. Except, the moment I feel her lips touch mine, I’m ravenous all over again. In this moment, I know without question the night at the bar was not a one-off kiss and I think she feels it too. She releases a tiny guttural gasp and tugs my hands, begging me closer.
I indulge her longer. A slow count of one . . . two . . . three, before leaning away and opening my eyes. She’s flushed and removes her hands from my grasp, taking in Robert’s congratulations. My gaze falls on Madelyn, who’s got a smirk as she tilts her head against Violet’s and whispers something that makes my oldest sister nod. Violet is the first to stand and hug me.
“That was unexpected,” she whispers into my ear. “Hopefully it’s enough to get you everything you want.” I squeeze her back, aware she didn’t mean baseball in the slightest.
15
NOLA
One week later
“Left . . . a little more . . . a little more . . . there! You got it!” Emma cheers from her place on the couch, where she’s guided Max through the process of setting the Christmas tree in just the right spot. “Left of the fireplace but lined up just right so you can see it from the front window when you’re on the sidewalk is where we like it.”
Max crawls out from under the tree and takes off his baseball hat, rubbing his hand over his head while scrutinizing the flocked artificial noble fir. “Yeah, and who usually puts it up for you two?” His gaze slowly pulls to Emma and me, lounging happily with a bowl of popcorn between us. We pounced on Max the minute he came home, corralling him into our Friday night project and then once he got to work, we slipped into our favorite sweatpants and cuddled up on the couch.
“Well, it’s a whole process,” I explain. “We haul everything in from the garage and pull down everything from the attic and it sits in the living room for a week?—”
“Sometimes longer,” Emma casually mentions.
I look over at Emma. “I feel called out right now.”
With a shrug, she says, “Yeah, but it’s true.”
“Fine, usually it sits in the tubs and boxes for two weeks. Finally, we get tired of tripping over all of it and we slowly put it up.”
He skeptically blinks a few times. “You have all this stuff but you don’t finish getting it up until the week of Christmas?”
“You know it.” I toss a handful of popcorn into my mouth and talk around it. “This surprises you.”
“You come across as very organized.” He nods toward the kitchen where the laminated chore chart is on the fridge in full display.
“Everybody needs an Achille’s heel, Maxford.”
His brow arches and he mouths, “Maxford?”
“I’m trying it out,” I say, nonchalant. “You let your grandmother call you by your full name and as your wife, I think I’ve earned that privilege too.”
I’m rewarded with a delicious smirk.“You’re ridiculous on so many levels. Why even bother going through the motions of setting it all up if you don’t get to enjoy it all month?” He reaches between us for the bowl and I slap his hand away.
“No, no. You have more work to do.” I motion toward the last box waiting for him labeled stockings, and he patiently opens it, pulling everything out and laying the contents on the coffee table as he awaits our directions. “Mine has the white embroidered ‘Mom.’ It gets the snowflake holder and goes on the mantle.”
