Page 2 of Love You Madly

Staring at myself in the mirror, I take in the tattoo of a large cherry blossom tree that climbs my right arm from elbow to shoulder. The pink blossoms cascade down my arm, signifying the strength and resilience I’ve found in myself as a mother. The tattoo means so much to me because I got it after I had to give up breastfeeding Sara when my body couldn’t keep up with the supply she needed. I felt like a complete failure. Each bloom represents the moments that brought me here–good, bad, or otherwise. The tree’s roots represent strength and stability, the foundation I’ve built for my children.

It’s been a year and a day since I told him I was going to refer to him as my boyfriend when talking to my mother because “this guy I’ve been seeing exclusively for a while but met online a few months ago” was too long.

Three-hundred-sixty-six days.

It seemed fated as I was looking for something unique to add to our ceremony, I discovered handfasting rituals typically take place a year and a day after a couple has committed to one another. And our year and a day just so happens to be a Saturday. Today.

Although I’ve never been particularly religious, pagan and Celtic traditions have always fascinated me. I was a solitary practitioner for years, so the rituals, symbolism, connection to the universe, and idea of karma feel more like home to me. Which is the exact opposite of how I feel about the rigid Catholic traditions my mother’s family clung to. So, as I prepared for this day, I couldn’t help but subtly infuse my own beliefs into our celebration. It has given me the opportunity to embrace my true self.

My hair will be braided for the ceremony, each twist symbolizing a bond–past, present, and future–as is the handfasting cord that will bind our hands together during the ceremony. The cord is braided with threads of green, gold, red, pink, brown, purple, and light blue–each color chosen with intention. Green for prosperity, gold for longevity, red for passion, pink for romance, brown for encouragement, purple for growth, and light blue for patience and devotion.

Our handfasting will be a quiet, personal moment during the ceremony, a nod to the ancient tradition that resonates with the connection we’ve built–a bond that feels as though it’s been tied over lifetimes. The knots of the handfasting are meant to showcase our commitment to each other, our future, and the family we are building together.

I didn’t think this could become my reality. But I am here, standing on the precipice of a new beginning, with the man who made me believe in forever again and the children who have become my entire world.

Our entire world.

I take a deep breath, ready to embrace this new chance at life and remind myself I deserve to be happy. And I know, with every fiber of my being, this is just the beginning.

part one

SIXTEEN MONTHS EARLIER

one

BRING ME TO LIFE - EVANESCENCE

CALLIE - MARCH 12, 2013

“You have got to be fucking kidding me!” I whisper-shout, staring at the positive pregnancy test in my hand. My bathroom feels smaller, closing in on me as I try to process the reality of the situation. I try to stay calm because my eight-month-old daughter, Sara, is napping nearby, but internally, I’m screaming.

What. The. Actual. FUCK.

Since Sara was born, I’ve had sex with that asshole precisely one time. Once! The obligatory “Babe, come on, it’s Valentine’s Day!”

Cupid can suck it. I hate that chubby fucking cherub. Almost as much as I hate my husband.

As the word “pregnant” flashes on the test’s display, I can hear the voice of my ninth-grade sex education teacher, Ms. Reyes, resonating in my ear, much like the voice of the teacher from Charlie Brown.Now, remember, class: It only takes one time to get pregnant.

This is what I get for constantly chasing a romantic high. I loved love, and it bit me in the ass every time. Why on earth I thought Adam would be different is beyond me. To be honest, I wasn’t the best wife either. But fuck, at least I tried.

I met Adam in my first year of high school; he was a senior in my sister Taylor’s class. We bonded after I kicked the shit out of the vending machine that was holding my cosmic brownie hostage, and he helped tip the machine to shake it loose. He turned eighteen early in his senior year and enlisted in the military, planning to leave for boot camp after graduation. Adam took on the role of my enforcer, consistently watching out for me.

We were flirtatious friends, but I was only fourteen when we met. We never crossed the line because I knew he would be leaving. Adam was my best friend and nothing more—or so I thought.

The day he and my sister graduated, I realized my best friend was slipping away from me and mistook that for some “Oh my God, I’m in love with him” movie moment. You know, like the one inCluelesswhere Alicia Silverstone is standing in front of the fountain, and it lights up purple as she realizes she’s in love with Paul Rudd? Yeah, I thought I was majorly, totally, but crazy in love with… Adam. Oof.

I had to write him a note and tell him by slipping it to him at his graduation party where his girlfriend was standing outside even though my sister could see it coming from a mile away and told me not to be Chaos Callie and just let him be. Why would I do that? That would have been entirely too reasonable. And ethical.

He ended up breaking up with his girlfriend that night. And… two months later, I wrote him aDear Johnletter while he was at boot camp. By then, I was fifteen and had a can’t be heldback attitude. God, I was such an asshole. But also… he was a full-blown adult, so… Ew.

Perhaps this is my karma, right?

I don’t know if it was my daddy issues or mommy issues, but I was always chasing the feeling of being needed. I became quite the little trollop, an awful girlfriend to almost everyone I dated. I sought attention and validation desperately, going wherever I felt needed and ignoring the wreckage I had left behind.

After high school, I vowed I was going to be different. I’d gotten into a lot of trouble at the end of my senior year, and it was a severe reality check for me in many ways. Turns out, if you sleep with the wrong person, you may get your ass beat. If only I could go back in time and convince my younger self sleeping with my best friend’s baby daddy was not quite the plot twist I should have been looking for in my life.

I know most teens grow up and say they cannot wait to leave their hometowns. That was me, without a doubt. I started focusing my energy on ways to get out of Hawkridge. And I certainly wasn’t going to be dating any more guys from my hometown because, well… fuck them.

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