My heart can barely hold you. All that I feel for you.
Here’s to you, Hannah, and our life together—my greatest happiness. Let me carry you to bed. Let me bathe you and make love to you. Let me fuck you (you know how I like it) and let me know you. Let’s fight and make up. Let’s be together in triumph and failure, here and abroad, as a family of two and a family of three. I want to do the good days with you and also the bad. Let me show you with my whole life how I love you.
I’m steady behind you.
Love, now and always,
Matt
I read the letter twice, though it threatened to ruin the makeup my sister had carefully applied. My greatest happiness … now and always.
I blushed and hid the envelope in our bedside table.
Let me fuck you (you know how I like it).
Oh, yes, I do, Mr. Sky.
Thank God, Matt had issued that toast on paper, in private, and not at the reception. One never knew, what with his exhibitionistic flair …
I giggled and spun, my gown whispering over the floorboards.
“All good in there?” Chrissy called through the door.
“Yeah. Come in. I need some touch-up.”
“Did that asshole make you cry?” She bustled in, one hand hoisting her long maroon dress. The color suited her, and the empire waist and flowing skirt sort of hid her bump, not that I cared. The baby belonged at this wedding as much as Matt and I, and Chrissy was my maid of honor. “God, I feel frumpy.” She steered me to the vanity and dabbed at my eye makeup.
“You look beautiful,” I said.
“No way. You’re the beauty tonight, Han.”
My fingers twisted on my lap. I’d chosen a simple gown—airy tulle covered with petal shapes, a glass bead on each, which faded from white to a subtle blush at the train. Jamie, our neighbor from the Denver condo and my only bridesmaid, had styled my hair in a loose braid. A Sakura halo and Dalloway Earrings from BHLDN completed the look.
Fresh. Light. Simple.
I smiled at my reflection. A simple girl. Just what you wanted, Matt.
“Are you sure you won’t be cold?” Chrissy rubbed my bare upper arms. My gown was, admittedly, springlike.
“Positive. I’m kind of burning up, honestly.”
Jamie peeked into the room. She squealed and almost dropped my bouquet, white orchids and calla lilies, the first flowers Matt gave me.
“Hannah, you look amazing! Your father is out here … whenever you’re ready.”
“She’s ready,” Chrissy said. I stood and she hip-checked me. “Ready as you’ll ever be, right? See you at ‘the altar.’” She made ridiculous air quotes around “the altar.”
Because we had no altar.
We had a loose arrangement of hay bale seats, an aisle of grass lined with tiny white bulbs and flowers, and synthetic rose string lights and hanging lamps in the trees. A broad tent covered the reception tables, and camping lights glowed beneath the tablecloths. Our drink coolers were old flower boxes, the gift table just a picnic table.
Everything was the way I wanted it, makeshift and rustic. Magical.
I met Dad in the hallway.
He didn’t cry, God bless him, but he also barely spoke.
“Beautiful,” he managed. “You. All this.” He gestured to my home. Matt and I had made great strides in the past few weeks, filling our rooms with tasteful country-style furniture, art, and lighting. We rushed nothing, but we brainstormed excitedly and shopped together.
Some rooms looked classically Matt: spartan and elegant.
Other rooms were all me: cluttered and colorful.
Somehow, our disparate visions melded harmoniously throughout the house.
We agonized over one particular room.