“Bailey?” Reece called. “What are you . . .” And then he really looked at me, studying my dress and my hair and the veil that obscured my face. Observing me bouncing from foot to foot because of the sizzling sand. “Bailey,” he whispered. I couldn’t hear. I could only see his mouth move, forming my name.
“Do you like it?” I squealed. I held my hands out to the sides. And then I held up one foot and pointed. “Look! No shoes! Can you believe it?”
He laughed.
“I did it all wrong, Reece! I did it like that on purpose! My sister did my hair! It’s not perfect, but I love it!”
I heard Nicki huff behind me, then mumble, “This is so not elegant.”
“I love your hair, Bailey!” Reece shouted. “It’s gorgeous!”
“I didn’t check to see if anything was set up!” I went on.
“For heaven’s sake, Bailey,” I heard Mom say. “Get over here!”
“You sound like you don’t give a crap about this wedding,” Reece replied, and I burst out laughing.
“I know!”
“You won’t even count your steps down the aisle?” he called.
I shook my head. “Too busy looking at you!”
The pastor cut in. “How about we get you two married already?”
The wedding guests laughed.
“Bailey Mitchell! Get your ass down here right now! I need to change your last name!” Reece said.
I felt Christopher’s cool hand slip around my upper arm. “She’s coming,” he said.
“I’m coming, Reece! I am! And I love you!”
“I love you, Bailey!” Reece replied.
Christopher pulled me along to the public access walkway that had been decorated with tulle and flowers—specifically ivory, white, and soft yellow roses. Beachgoers hung around observing the scene. Some even took pictures of me. I thought that was weird, but then maybe they were just as caught up in the moment as I was, so I didn’t mind.
My feet struck the hot sand, and I begged for my flip flops.
“I told you,” Nicki hissed.
I slipped them on then clung to Christopher. Only then did my thoughts go to my father and how much I wished he could be here. The pang in my heart lasted only a moment. I knew what he would want. He would want me to celebrate today, not cry over his absence. Because he was up there celebrating even now, waiting to walk me down the aisle through Christopher. He was waiting to hear Tony at my reception, and dance with me through Reece.
“Go on, Puddin’ Pop,” I heard him whisper in my ear. “Go on and be happy.”
The girls had already walked down the aisle. I looked at Reece, who stood under the arbor, hands folded in front of his white cotton shirt. It was untucked, the way he wanted—the ends flapping in the breeze against his linen pants. He wore flip flops, a yellow boutonniere, and a smile.
I turned to Christopher, who stood calm and stoic. He took his job seriously; he understood the magnitude of taking my father’s place.
I squeezed his arm. “You ready?”
He looked down at me and smiled. “Let’s get you married.”
***
We sat on our couch, side by side, dunking chips in a Mexican seven-layer dip and watching a bad made-for-TV movie. Poppy begged at Reece’s feet, and he snuck her chips while I pretended to be oblivious. I took another sip of champagne when Reece said I wasn’t drinking enough.
“You just want me drunk,” I said.
“I want you hanging from the ceiling fan,” he replied.
I laughed.
“No, I know what I want,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“I want you completely naked wearing only your wedding veil.”
“Now, that’s hot,” I replied, and took another sip.
“You all packed?”
“Yep.”
“Erica’s coming to get Poppy tomorrow at nine?”
“Yep.”
“Got your passport?”
“Yep.”
“I’ve no idea why I’m asking you these things,” he said, shaking his head.
I smirked. “Because I’ve changed. That’s why.”
He studied my face. “You’re still the same Bailey, though. I don’t suspect you’ll start showing up late for work or tossing all your hand sanitizer.”
“No,” I said. “I won’t do that. But I won’t freak out if I’m late. And I won’t freak out if I see you tossing my hand sanitizer.”
“Why would I toss your hand sanitizer?”
“I’m just saying.” I steered a chip in the dip and scooped up a heaping pile, bringing it carefully to my mouth.
Reece looked past my face to the model boat sitting on the end table. It was complete. Reece and I built it together. We scheduled time to work on it, and we only talked about my father during our work sessions. When the time was up, we walked away from it.
“I wish your father could have been there,” he said softly.
“He was,” I replied, my mouth still full.
“Huh?” Reece said, and then he nodded quickly. “Oh yeah. Okay, I gotcha. In spirit, you mean.”
I smiled.
“You have cilantro in your teeth,” he pointed out.
“Is it sexy?” I asked, still smiling.
“Terribly.”
I laughed and brought my pinky finger to my mouth, using my nail as a toothpick.
“Classy,” Reece said, and I smacked his arm.
“And yes, my dad was there in spirit. I felt him walking me down the aisle. I felt him dancing with me. I heard him call me Puddin’ Pop.”
“How’d you get that nickname?” Reece asked.
“The obvious way,” I replied. “I’d make Jell-O Pudding Pops with Dad in the summer. It was our favorite dessert.”
“That’s pretty obvious,” Reece agreed.
“One time I tried to sell them, like you would lemonade,” I said.
Reece laughed. “Why’d your dad even let you try. Talk about a waste of money.”
“Because I was insistent. And I had to learn it on my own,” I said. “Boy, the look on my face when I opened that cooler the sixth time. All that melted goo. I think it was over a hundred degrees that day.”
“Ha ha!”
“Dad said it was so sad. He hung back watching the whole scene. When I gathered the cooler and my box of money—”
“How much?” Reece interrupted.
“Oh, about two dollars,” I replied.
“Nice.”
“I know, right? I thought I was rollin’. Anyway, when I gathered everything up and walked over to Dad, he said, ‘Well, Puddin’ Pop, you can’t win ‘em all.’”