The lies should feel awful.
I’ve never wanted to get married. In my teenage years, I dreamed about lighting up the Broadway stage and having lovers who showered me with lavish gifts.
And then when I started dating—for fun—I met too many men who thought they were the shit and that I’d be lucky to have them, instead of any men who made me feel valued in the same way that I valued and appreciated them.
Add in that I had to hide from my own family who my best friend was for most of my childhood, and the idea of bringing someone home for approval held zero appeal.
But it’s been so easy to slip into this lie that we’re having a wedding.
“That’s so sweet of him, and I know how much it would mean to you.” I don’t actually know how much it would mean to Dane beyond being an indication that his dad is willing to accept me, if not my entire family.
But I know it’ll set my grandma off.
In three . . . two . . . one . . .
“ThenI’mgetting ordained,” she says. “We’lljointlydo your wedding.”
“Aw, Grandma, that’s so sweet of you too!” She’s close enough that I can lean over and peck her on the cheek. “Thank you!”
“Are you having attendants?” Mom asks.
“No,” Dane and I answer together.
“We wanted it small,” he says at the same time as I add, “It’s not about the ceremony, it’s about the life we’re building together.”
“And what she said,” he says as I say, “And the small-wedding thing too.”
We’re vibing.
It’s fun. It’s unexpected.
And I like it way more than I ever thought I could.
I would date Dane. I would absolutely date Dane if we lived in the same city.
Not that I’d move for him. But if his work ever brought him to New York, and if he wanted to—which is unlikely, considering the mess I keep digging him deeper and deeper into here—then I’d do it.
“Gah, got something in my eyeball,” Mom says.
I tear my gaze from Dane’s—how often have we been smiling at each other like this?—and catch Mom wiping tears from both of her eyes.
“I wouldn’t have picked this for you,” she whispers, “but it’s so good to see you this happy.”
Dammit.
Now my eyes are watering.
But it’s not all fluffy rainbows and lovey-dovey heart reasons.
No, that’s heavy on the guilt.
Dane squeezes my hand once more.
Pretty sure that’s anI feel it, too, but look. We’re making progress. They might all actually get along before we’re done.
I hope so.
I sincerely hope so.
