It was the easiest decision he had ever made, deciding to ask Jessica Moore to become his wife. She was beautiful, smart (er than him,) funny, capable, strong, and compassionate. He’d been hopeless since the day he’d set eyes on her at Brady’s stupid frat party. The memory was just as sharp two years later as it had been the day after.
She’d been sitting sequestered away in the study, her hair flowing down over her shoulder, reading Dickens. He’d found a kindred spirit. Both dragged to something that wasn’t their scene by their friends, friends who thought they needed to ‘branch out,’ to get themselves out more and study less. He’d known he was in love the moment she spoke to him, had looked at him with her ‘can i help you?’ brow quirk. He’d stuttered out his name, and she’d laughed.
He was the luckiest man ever. Because he got to hear that laugh every day for the rest of his life. Everything about her was perfect: her laugh, her smile, the little crinkle of her nose when she sneezed, her freckles, the way her hair fell across her forehead… the way she always smelled like vanilla. The way her face got all soft when he said he loved her… the way she looked at him when he got down on one knee and asked her to marry him.
He’d gone all out, the whole nine: rose petals and candles, taken her out for dinner but not an expensive one since he couldn’t afford it (the ring had taken most of his money even if he had bought it at a pawn shop.) But she still looked like a million dollars in that black dress with the V-neck, her grandmother’s diamond pendant hanging from her neck. She looked like an angel sent especially for him, backlit by the soft glow of the candles at their favorite spot on campus– the bench on the front lawn just outside the library under the maple tree. Where he’d taken her on their first ‘date.’ If coffee after class counted as a date. They’d talked for hours, eventually realizing that it was three o’clock and neither of them had eaten lunch yet. She’d laughed and touched his arm, and his heart had nearly beaten through his chest.
That feeling had never gone away. He’d simply become more and more hopeless by each day. He had walked around campus carrying her stuff for her, proud to show off the fact that she had picked him. He’d fallen fast and hard, completely and utterly infatuated with Jessica Moore.
So fully besotted that when the sun rose today, he’d been wide awake and full of adrenaline for the day. Before her mother had come to knock on his door, he’d been up and staring out the window, nervous look on his face. She’d laughed and cupped his face, wrapping an arm around him and shepherding him downstairs to make him eat something. Glad for something to do, he’d gratefully accepted the large breakfast and the warm coffee, finding the warmth in his belly pleasing and steadying. Dean came by not long after, to pick up the rings. He’d clapped him on the shoulder and given him that proud smile, before yanking him out of his seat and crushing him in a breath taking hug. Wheezing a little, Sam stumbled back and shook his head, watching his brother steal a few pieces of bacon on the way out the door to go get the tuxes.
The rest of the day had him with little to do, except pace the house and double check his backpack for his sheet of vows. When they left for the church, he took a deep breath, preparing himself mentally for the fact that when he returned, he would be married. This was his last hour as a ‘me,’ because the next two hours would make him a ‘we.’
The dresses had all been fluffed and fussed over and several brides maids had been offended by their placement in the lineup. He’d thrown up twice, done his shirt up wrong, and stabbed himself with his boutonniere pin. He’d been held down by his brother while his father dragged a comb with some kind of disgusting goo all over it through his hair. Before he knew it, it was time. John ran a lint roller over his jacket, and Dean double checked his shirt buttons to make sure the second time had been the charm. Dad straightened his tie, Dean clapped him on the shoulder, and then he was being steered out the door. Somehow, he found himself standing in front of her parent’s church, staring at a sea of unfamiliar faces, the soft smell of roses in the air. He felt a brief sense of panic as Dean vanished from view, which receded once he felt a hand rest on his shoulder from behind. Because, oh yeah, Dean was standing behind him for the ceremony. Best Men did that. The reverend shook his hand, the string quartet started to play, and then the family came in. Her mother on John’s arm, the grandparents following. John seated her mother, then flashed Sam a quick wink, which he replied to with a slightly queasy smile and nod. And then…
The rumble of people standing, the rustle of programs being sat down in pews, the creak of a heavy door. The string quartet smoothly segued into Pachelbel’s Canon in D, and there she was.
Breathtakingly gorgeous, she glided up the aisle like a dream, eyes fixed steadily forward, regal in her beauty, veil held back by the thinnest wreath of summer flowers. She met his eyes and smiled a shy little smile– she was nervous too. He returned the smile, feeling himself swell with happiness and pride. She picked me. I can’t believe she picked me. I’m the luckiest guy in the whole world. She picked me.
He took her hand in his, and couldn’t help but breath a little laugh at the cold and clammy texture of both of their hands. Helping her up the steps, he turned to face her, taking a deep breath. He squeezed her hand softly, licking his lips.
“Hello, beautiful,” he whispered quietly, meeting her eyes. “Let’s do this thing.”
The whole day flew by, and it seemed to Jess that she was just a mannequin, being posed and dressed by her family and friends as they prepped her for the biggest day of her life. She stayed mostly silent, lost in thought as they ushered her into her dress, pulled at her hair and applied her makeup. Her thoughts took her a million miles away, to a time that seemed so long ago.
She could’ve sworn she was psychic. Okay, maybe not really, but when that tall and gangly boy had walked up to her at Brady’s party, hands shoved in his pockets and a sheepish smile on his face as he tried to stutter out his own name, she swore she saw this day coming. She quirked her brow and looked him up and down, grinning, and nodded slightly to herself when the sentence finally left his lips. She laughed and he sat down and they talked about literature, and in his eyes she could see the reflection of herself walking toward him.
It was like that almost constantly, that feeling of rightness whenever they were together. When he laid his head in her lap as she stroked his hair, deeply invested in some novel or another, the thought just pushed through to the forefront of her mind with unstoppable force: this is how it should be, and was, and always would be. She’d always be stroking his hair with his head in her lap, buried in some book or another. He’d always come home and kiss her forehead, always pull her close in the middle of the night.
When he’d proposed, slid the ring on her finger in the middle of their favorite spot, what she felt stronger than anything was relief. The weight of the band sent a soothing surge through her, and she found herself thinking that something had finally fallen into place, something that had been missing. She looked at him, illuminated in the soft glow of the candlelight, and she was still as taken with him as she’d been during that first date, when they’d gotten coffee and talked for hours. The time had flown by, and instead of feeling like she was just starting to get to know someone new, she felt like they were making up for lost time, like all of her choices had led her to this spot, with this boy, and she’d tilted her head, watching him while he told her about his classes, a smile pulled at her lips and she thought, What took you so long?
Their time together seemed to fly by, each day fading into the next in what she could only describe as a blissful, never ending dream. That’s what every day felt like with Sam; the best dream, one that she never wanted to wake up from.
The morning of the wedding, she’d woken up and sighed without opening her eyes, rolling over in their bed and reaching for him. He wasn’t there, which caused a momentary panic. Her eyes flew open and she scrambled to sit up, heart racing as her mind tried to work out where he was. A moment later, her best friend had rushed through the door, squealing and excited, and it was only then that she calmed down and remembered why he wouldn’t be next to her.
After that realization, marriage only hours away and the image of Sam waiting for her at the alter distracted her enough to put her on autopilot. Her mind replayed all of the little moments that had led them to this day and honestly, she’d rather be in those memories than listen to her older cousins bark out orders.
She snapped out of this daze when her mother leaned in and hugged her, teary-eyed, and her bridal party led her to the entrance. She waited for the music, her cue, to start, watched as each couple moved through the doors to the other room. She breathed out a shaky breath, her heart aflutter with nervous anticipation. Just behind those doors, Sam was waiting to start their life together. All she had to do was join him, and they’d begin the journey, tied to each other for the rest of forever. Her dad offered her a watery smile and an arm, and she kissed his cheek, grinning widely before matching his step and entering the ceremony.
She felt every eye in the room on her, the gaze of all of their family and friends nearly boring a hole in her dress, but she kept her eyes focused straight ahead, to her future.
Sam looked gorgeous, of course. His tux flattered him, his eyes glowed, and she had to fight the urge to giggle when her eyes landed on his hair. Someone had forced gel into it, most likely trying to tame the long, boyish curled ends, but they flipped free anyway. She imagined him cringing, giving his dad or his brother or whoever the culprit was his signature bitchface, and her grin widened, splitting so far across her face that it hurt. This man meant the world to her, meant everything, and she couldn’t wait to get to his side.
When he slipped his hand into hers, watery eyes and dimpled smile, skin as clammy as hers, she felt the beginning of their forever start. He spoke and she chuckled, beaming up at him as she responded, “I’m right behind you, handsome.”
