Direct, unhurried, like the words mean what they say.
The crowd is quiet. Cal asleep on Marlena's shoulder.
Waylon in Grace's lap holding the small velvet pillow with the wedding band on it. He almost dropped it twice during the walk, and Grace caught it both times.
Spur and I exchange basic vows. Nothing fancy.
To love. To honor. To protect. In sickness and in health. Until I'm in the ground.
Spur slides the gold band onto my finger next to his grandmother's turquoise. I slide his band onto his.
Pops looks right at us. "By the authority vested in me by the State of Texas and by the family that raised this woman, I now pronounce you husband and wife."
He pauses and looks at Spur. "Spur, kiss your fucking wife."
Spur kisses me. Long. The crowd erupts. Banshee whistles loudly.
Uncle Holt yells something I don't catch.
Uncle Roan and Cash clap.
Presley's crying. Marlena's sobbing into a handkerchief.
Mr. Whitley's in the second row in his Sunday best with the smallest old-man smile I've ever seen.
Spur pulls back, forehead to mine. "Hi, wife."
"Hi, husband."
We walk back down the aisle together hand in hand under the string lights of Earl's oak.
* * *
The reception is at the clubhouse.
A live country band out of Brady. Brisket from a pit Banshee ran since dawn. Sweet tea and Lone Star and a single bottle of Crown Pops opens for the toast.
The string lights are on inside and out. The fire pit out back is going against the January cold, and half the brothers are gathered around it with their beers.
First dance. Spur and me, slow song, his hand on my back, my head on his shoulder. The crowd watching.
The father-daughter dance after. Pops, formal, the song he picked himself.
Uncle Holt's drunk and being a bully to everyone around him by ten.
Uncle Cash and Uncle Roan are at the back playing pool. Marlena's cutting cake. Bex and Banshee at a table near the fire. Grace and Shadow on the dance floor.
Presley sits with Uncle Roan at a table near the band for a long stretch. He gets her a drink twice. They both laugh at something more than once. Worth remembering.
Mr. Whitley comes over and takes my hand in both of his. "Margaret would be proud of you, Dakota."
"Thank you, Mr. Whitley."
"And of him. She always said he'd find the right one. She didn't get to see it but she'd have been proud."
"Thank you, sir."
He walks back to his chair near the fire pit.
