“Oops, they must’ve gotten stolen when I turned around to lock the cash box.” She winks.
“Thank you,” Tally whispers and her lip wobbles as she accepts the rings.
“Why are you doing so much for us?” I ask.
Sandra’s smile turns wry. “To be honest, you kids remindme of my little sister and her fiancé. Illness took her before they got to tie the knot. I want to give other young couples the happy ever after she didn’t live to see.” She stifles a sob and coughs. “Sorry. Let’s just say I hope my sis is smiling down at us from heaven right now.”
“I know she is,” I squeeze out.
Sandra blinks away tears. “If you take a right over there and walk straight on for about ten minutes, there’s a jeweler that does engravings. If you tell him Sandra Jones sent you, he’ll do yours for free.” She gets up and brushes over the wrinkles in her navy pantsuit. “Time for me to pack up. Good luck.”
“You may kiss the bride,”the officiant dressed as Elvis rumbles tiredly. As soon as he finishes the sentence, he shuffles to the front pew and slumps on it.
An abhorrent mash-up of‘Can’t Help Falling In Love’and the bridal march plays while I dip Tally and slant my mouth across hers. I even slip her a little tongue. She giggles and I only let her go when the receptionist—who also acted as our witness—clears her throat.
“Congratulations,” the cool blond says with a hollow smile. She holds up a polaroid camera. “How about you take a picture under the flower arch? Before you ask again, yes, it’s included in the budget wedding package.”
Tally quickly checks her lipstick in a pocket mirror from her purse. I’m glad I got changed before we headed to the tiny twenty-four-hour wedding chapel across from our motel.
But even wearing my best shirt with pearl snap buttons and my favorite jeans, I feel underdressed next toTally. She looks like an angel in her white summer dress and brown boots and I look–
Well, I look like I grew up on a ranch.
We step under the arch of fake red roses and twinkling string lights. The polaroid camera gives a click-whirr as the receptionist presses a button. A photo card slides out. She hands it over to me and I catch a whiff of a faint chemical scent. It’s still a milky haze instead of a picture. Together, Tally and I watch colors bloom into ghostly outlines, then figures, then faces.
Into us.
It feels like witnessing a core memory developing in real time. This is the happiest moment of my life and not even the old officiant’s snoring can ruin it.
Tally takes the picture and looks at the receptionist. “Do you have scissors?”
“Uh, I guess in the office?” the woman responds.
“Well, could I borrow ‘em please?” Tally asks.
The disgruntled lady darts into a backroom. She returns with scissors and a bottle of cheap sparkling wine. “Also included in the price. Help yourselves.”
I take the bottle while Tally gets to work with the scissors.
She confidently cuts the picture in half, separating us. I blink at her, a little hurt she’d destroy the precious memory—until she gives me the half with her on it and puts the one with my image in her wallet.
“That way we always have a piece of today. A piece of each other,” my wife explains.
Fuck, I love calling her that.
My wife. My wife. My wife.
Kissing,we stumble to the motel to consummate our marriage. Tally unlocks the door and I brush the curls aside to kiss her neck, making her squirm.
“Rust, we can’t drink warm prosecco on our wedding night!”
I sigh, adjusting my stiff cock. “Alright. I think I saw an ice machine by the reception.”
“Thanks! You’re the best!” she beams.
Tally disappears into the room to grab an ice bucket and presses it against my chest. When I take it, she backs toward the bed, slipping one dress strap off her shoulder.
“You better hurry. I’ll be right here, waitin’ for my husband.”
