by Harper Bliss
“What?” I ask.
“That was certainly different.” She hoists me toward her.
“Wouldn’t want you to get bored.” I’m still a little ambivalent about what just happened.
“Bored?” She presses a kiss onto my forehead. “Did you really let your ex fuck you like that?” There’s insecurity in her voice.
“Of course not.” My mouth is pushed against her shoulder.
“I knew that.” She grabs me by the shoulders so she can look at my face. “I did.”
I nod. We’ll continue this conversation later—probably in a similar situation and without words. “If you want me all settled in before Muriel’s engagement party, we’d better get a move on. I thought you came here to help me pack.”
“Oh, I can pack as well if you want me to,” Jodie says, a wide grin on her face.
“Don’t push it.” I fall back into her arms and kiss her.
As soon as I came back from that first weekend in New York with Jodie I started dropping hints at the office about moving back East.
“We could use your expertise to expand the Boston office,” Steve said at first.
“No,” I replied. “I’m needed in New York.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Rosie’s a flower girl at Muriel and Francine’s wedding. She walks down the aisle with the biggest look of concentration on her face.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, I tell myself. She has experienced a growth spurt of late and I can’t help but wonder if in a few years’ time both my children will tower over me. Leigh sits on my right and Troy on my left. He’s almost finished with his first year of Law in Boston, which is only a four-hour drive away so I get to see more of him.
With the money from the sale of her house in San Francisco Leigh bought a townhouse on the same street as Gerald.
“Imagine that,” I said. “Next you’ll be having dinner parties together.”
“He’s not too bad, I guess,” Leigh said when we celebrated after we’d signed the deeds. I’d protested at first, of course. My financial independence, however difficult it has proved over the years, has always been a point of pride for me.
“Don’t be so Irish, Jodie,” Leigh said. “Your name needs to be on this title. It’s the only sane thing to do.” I knew she was right. If I was finally going to give up my apartment on York Avenue, I did want my name on the papers. “This is our house.”
“What’s with all the sniffling, babe,” she whispers in my ear now. “Are you going through the change?” I know she’s only saying that to make me laugh—and make me snap out of this emotional haze—but I’ve actually wondered the same thing lately.
“Shut up. I need to focus.” But I well up again as I see first Muriel and then Francine strut toward the front. Muriel is beaming, a bright smile plastered on her face, and she winks at me when she passes and turns to take her spot for the ceremony.
Leigh doesn’t know what I have planned for after this wedding, which I should give my full attention. My best friend doesn’t get married every day, after all.
“We’re going to Muriel’s wedding,” Leigh has repeatedly said to Rosie over the past few days, but the joke was always completely lost on the girl. She has no interest in Australian movies from the early nineties. Leigh, on the other hand, convinced me to watch the film with her. We have a TV set in our bedroom now. What we watch most on it, when we have the house to ourselves, is a video Leigh made of me while I penetrate myself with a dildo for her. She says nothing has ever made her come as hard as fucking while that video is on.
I didn’t realize until a few weeks ago that being a maid of honor is really only an honorary title. At least when it comes to this wedding.
“I don’t want no attention on you,” Muriel said when I asked her about my duties. “It’s bad enough I have to share the bridal spotlight with Francine. Just organize me a bachelorette party and that’ll be that.”
I want nothing more than for everyone’s gaze to be trained on the happy couple. Rosie’s job is done and she rushes to my side. I put a hand on her shoulder. So does Leigh.
The wedding officiant says a few words about both of them and then proceeds to proclaim their union.
“Seriously?” I had asked Muriel when I went wedding gown shopping with her. “White?”
“What else am I going to wear? Red?”
“Cream or beige or that lilac one over there doesn’t look half bad.”
“Sometimes I wonder if you know me at all.” She scrunched her lips into a defiant pout. “I’m having a white wedding.” Muriel could never stay serious for very long. “Well, dress-wise at least.”
Now, her dark skin contrasts heavily with the white of her dress. Francine looks dapper in a white suit with soft violet accents. If she wanted to wear any other color, I’m certain her wife-to-be set her straight—so to speak—soon enough.
“You have to cry at your own wedding,” I said to her last night. “I mean, you won’t be able to stop yourself.”
“I’m sure you’ll do all the crying for me,” Muriel said in her typical Muriel way. “I’m from Harlem. We don’t cry in Harlem.”
“I’m from Connecticut, which is not exactly the state best known for its tear-shedding inhabitants either.”
“Do you, Muriel Ilene Williams take Francine Watts to be your lawfully wedded wife?” the officiant asks.
“I do,” Muriel says in a loud, booming voice, lest there’s someone at the back whose hearing aid is not working. And I see it glitter in the corner of her eye. Or perhaps it’s the way the light slants through the window to her right.
Francine says “I do” next, after which they exchange rings, carried by Francine’s nephew, James, and the ceremony ends.
“Stay behind for a bit,” I say to Leigh after she gets up. My children are in on this and I want them here for this moment. Having them present is important to me.
Rosie stands grinning beside Leigh. Troy, a real man now, with a beard he refused to shave off even for this occasion, shifts his weight from one foot to the other nervously.
“What’s going on?” Leigh asks. The place is emptying rapidly.
I feel for the box in my pocket and go down on one knee. Rosie’s already squealing with delight.
“Leigh Sterling.” I look up at her. “Will you marry me?”
Leigh glares at me, then shifts her gaze to Rosie and then to Troy. Her face breaks into a smile. “I can hardly say no in front of your children, can I?”
I feel the tears coming already. I won’t be able to stop them now.
“Yes,” she finally says. “A million times yes.”
Rosie’s jumping up and down. Troy is wringing his hands together. I wonder if he’s holding back tears as well, or perhaps he’s just embarrassed by his old Mom’s antics. But, as far as I’m concerned, almost a year after his graduation from Berkeley, I wouldn’t have just proposed to Leigh if it weren’t for him.
Leigh pulls me up. “That’s why you wanted to wear trousers?” She doesn’t wait for a reply and throws her arms around me. Rosie hugs me from the side and from behind Leigh’s back, Troy gives me a thumbs-up.
* * *
“I can’t believe you still managed to steal my fucking thunder.” Muriel does not look like a blushing bride. “You had the audacity to propose on my wedding day!”
“It… just seemed fitting,” I stammer, gauging if she’s actually mad—she certainly looks it—or if she’s toying with me.
“You could have told me.” Her hands are at her sides. “But fuck it, Jodie. Let’s just make this party one big love fest.” She pulls me into a hug that lasts much longer than our usual ones. “I’m glad you found each other again.” When we let go, she peers at me. “I see now that no one else could ever be more perfect for you.”
“Will you be my maid of honor, then?”
“Damn right I will be.” She pulls her lips into a smirk. “And, no offense, but the bachelorette party I will throw you wil
l not be as tame as that cocktail shaking class you set up.” She nods as though very sure of something. “I’m taking you to Atlantic City.”
The DJ changes the pace of the music to a slow song and I recognize the intro to “Show Me Heaven”.
“For you,” Muriel says. “So you can have a mushy dance with your fiancée.”
I shoot Muriel a smile and, as I wander over to Leigh, I know that, if this had not happened, if Leigh and I had never seen each other again, my life would still have turned out sort of all right because I have a best friend like Muriel.
“May I have this dance?” I ask, bowing solemnly.
“You may.” Out of habit, Leigh puts her hand on the small of my back as she guides me to the dance floor. I drape my arms around her neck and gaze up at her.
“Opening dance at our wedding, I presume?” Leigh quirks up her eyebrows.
“Everything is open to debate.”
“Not everything.” She slants herself toward me and kisses me lightly on the lips.
Troy wolf whistles at us. He’s being a good sport and dancing with Rosie, who really should be in bed by now, but Muriel and Francine are her favorite aunts and her Mom just got engaged.
“How long have you known you were going to ask me today?”
I huff out an embarrassed chuckle. “I guess the idea first dawned on me when Muriel told me she was planning to propose to Francine.”
“When was that?” Leigh cocks her head to the side.
“The Monday after you came back to New York for the first time.” I push myself a bit closer toward her. “But it didn’t… crystallize until a few months later,” I say in my defense. “And hey, it beats blurting out that you want to move back to New York after just one night together.”
“Fair enough.” She leans her forehead against mine. “The real question, however, is how you managed to keep Rosie from telling me?” We both look at her dancing with Troy and she waves at us.
“Oh, I only told her three days ago. I knew from the start that would be a lost cause.” We both wave back at Rosie. “I told Troy a few weeks ago when I went to see him in Boston. He finally admitted to arranging that basketball game excuse with his friend. There was a game, but he would never have gone if he had seen there was hostility between us. Then we would have ended up having dinner with him and Gerald.”
Leigh shakes her head. “That boy.”
Indeed, I think, that boy.
I sneak another peek at my children dancing together while Leigh pulls me closer to her, and the biggest rush of happiness moves through me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
It’s hard to believe this is actually happening. It’s an even further stretch that I agreed to have the wedding here, at Gerald’s house in The Hamptons. But, perhaps, we had to come back and do it here—to right a wrong.
I’m rather notorious for my closing arguments in court, often speeches I slave over for hours, writing draft upon draft until they’re perfect, but I haven’t spent nearly as much time on any of them as I did on getting my vows right for this day.
It’s a small group that has gathered here. Our parents. My brother Lex, forty and single. Perhaps he hasn’t met his Jodie yet. I should tell him later that he shouldn’t despair. Not that I think he does. Sonja. Steve and his third wife. Muriel and Francine. Ginny and Susan and their twins. Gerald and Elisa, whom I really think brings out a different, better side of Jodie’s ex-husband. Rosie, of course, who’s taking her role as only bridesmaid extremely seriously. And Troy, who, for the very first time, has brought a girl home. Her name is India, even though she’s all American. She’s studying computer sciences and looks like she spends too much time indoors, but she’s sweet and Troy is very affectionate with her.
Jodie’s reciting her vows first. She’s gearing up for them now. I love her to bits, but I already know she won’t make it through them without bursting into tears. She wasn’t always like this. She claims to have changed in that department since she had Rosie. I also know that I’ll need to read her vows on paper later to fully grasp them.
“Leigh,” she starts. She’s dressed quite informally for her own wedding. The Jodie I once knew would have been horrified at the idea of getting married in a linen pants suit. But here she stands. Her hair in the wind, eyes blazing. Those purple-painted lips—still the same lipstick—ready to pronounce the words.
After she asked me to marry her, it stung just the tiniest of bits because I had wanted to be the one who asked her. But I got over that by the time we left Muriel and Francine’s wedding party.
“I decided to ask you to be my wife because, despite the years we spent apart, I’ve loved you all along. You once said to me that your passion for me eclipsed everything else, and I’ve always remembered that.”
There we go. Her voice is ascending into a higher register already. I teased her about it last night, but she wouldn’t have any of it.
“You’d better let me read them now because we both know you won’t be able to say them tomorrow, babe,” I said.
“I may surprise you,” Jodie tried.
“Fine, but just a word of advice: keep it short. It’s easier to cry through two or three sentences than through four pages of love declaration. I know how you feel about me already, anyway.”
She didn’t say anything, but I did notice later that she was huddled over a piece of paper and I might have heard some strike-through noises made by the tip of a pen.
It’s not that Jodie’s words don’t matter to me. They do. But what we have between us is hard to put into words. We can try, but we both know we can’t pour our feelings into a string of vows. We’ve been apart, and we know that’s the last thing we want ever again. Nothing better to tie a couple together than an eleven-year separation.
“My passion for you…” The rest of Jodie’s sentence gets swallowed by a sob. I can just make out ‘equally’ and then she goes silent. Our guests, who are standing around us in a casual set-up, shuffle around nervously a bit, but they’re all familiar with Jodie so they know the deal.
“Oh, screw it,” she stutters. “I love you, Leigh Sterling. I bloody well love you.”
I squeeze her hand and look into her eyes. What does she see through her tears? The woman who left her or the woman who came back? I’m both, of course.
“Leigh,” the officiant addresses me, “would you like to recite your vows?”
I most certainly do, I think, and clear my throat.
“Jodie.” We decided long ago to not use traditional wedding vows, but to say something straight from the heart, and in our own words, instead. “This love, our love, is one that only comes along once in a lifetime.” I curl my fingers around hers a little tighter. “When we met, everything changed. Because how could it not? Never in my life have I met someone more responsible, caring, sensual and with a heart so big it has room for all the foster kids in New York City.” Damn, I’m starting to well up a bit too. But someone chuckled when I said ‘sensual’—I bet it was Muriel—and it keeps my tears at bay.
“During the time we spent apart, no one even came close to you. No one.” I grip her hand a bit tighter still. “Perhaps it’s sad that I needed to be away from you, to be removed completely from your life, to see that there’s only one woman on this planet for me. It would be ludicrous for me to stand here and to vow that I’ll be forever faithful to you because there is not a person in this world who thrills me more than you do. And you know that when I say I only have eyes for you that I mean it.” Regardless of my restraining efforts, the first tear slips out of my eye. “I don’t believe it’s possible to love another human being more than I love you. To fit together better with someone than how we fit together. To reach a level of happiness higher than what we’ve reached now. I love you, all of you. I love your family. Your children, Troy and Rosie. And I love all of us together.”
Jodie is in tears. Perhaps it was a bit much. We still have to get through the ‘I do’s’. My own cheeks are hardly dry either.
I want to give the officiant a hurry-up glare, but I can’t keep my eyes off Jodie. The words I just spoke don’t convey half of what I feel, but it was never words that tethered us to each other the most. It was only when we started using more words, and the arguments got heavier with them, that we started drifting apart.
The officiant finally proceeds. He must be used to this. All these emotions so blatantly on display. All this joy. I wonder what it does to a person. I hope he’s not single.
During my years of loneliness in San Francisco, I never even considered marriage. Not just because it wasn’t a legal option then, but because I was as far removed from the prospect as I could be. Now, though, not even a year after seeing Jodie again, I stand here and I say ‘I do’ with such pride in my voice, I believe it may just erase all the mistakes I made.
When our lips meet for the formal you-may-kiss-the-bride moment, I don’t want to let go. Muriel never hesitates to inform us that her wedding night—as are most newlyweds’ first nights together—was a big dud. She and Francine both crashed into bed exhausted from the day’s events. I vowed to myself that this would not be the case for Jodie and me. It wouldn’t suit us. Additionally, we have the hormonal advantage of our reacquaintance, with the accordingly high levels of arousal in our bloodstream.
When we finally break from the kiss, Jodie looks at the small group of people around us, and I follow her gaze. Rosie’s smiling and crying at the same time. Troy and India are headed in our direction. So are our parents. It feels strange to be congratulated for my love for Jodie. She crouches down and picks up Rosie, who really is too big to be carried in her mother’s arms, and a new rush of warm, all-encompassing love washes over me. I love that girl and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. She knows it too and is already starting to take advantage of it.
“Come here.” I hold out my hands to take Rosie from Jodie. She folds her arms around my neck and puts her head on my shoulder. No words are required. It reminds me of when she and Jodie waved me off at the airport that first time and she threw her little arms around me. What that impromptu hug told me was that everything would be different the second time around. And it has been. Jodie is my wife now. She put a ring on my finger. I know what the next step will be, but I haven’t told her yet. First, we must celebrate.
