Page 39 of Falling for You Again

“Uh-oh. Sounds serious.”

He smiles weakly. “Have I in any way manipulated you into doing this?”

“The marriage?”

“I’m not forcing you to marry me, am I? I didn’t guilt you into agreeing?”

“Did Charlie say something?”

“No, this is me asking.”

“Emi might disagree with me, but I’m of sound mind and body. Nobody is forcing anybody today. At least I don’t feel that way.”

He pushes out a weighted breath. “Good. Then let’s—”

From out of nowhere, Billy Idol’s “White Wedding” blasts through the Sonos speaker system. Aaron groans.

“What in the world?” I cover my ears.

“I gave Charlie control of the music,” he yells over Billy.

“She’s going to be fun.”

Aaron shoots me a pained look. “She’s something all right,” he says dryly, and presents his elbow. “Ready,wife?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,husband. Let’s get hitched. Again.”

Our wedding ceremony is brief, more of a formality than anything. After we say “I do” and seal our commitment with a short kiss, after pizza, cake, and a cutthroat game of pool in Aaron’s basement, after we send off a tipsy Charlie and Murphy and pour a drunk Emi into a waiting Lyft, Aaron closes the front door and turns to me, hands in his side pockets. We were go-go-go all week, and suddenly, life stalls. The house is still, the quiet descending on us like a plane coming in for a hard landing. We’re alone for the first time since Murphy married us hours ago.

What now? Do we retreat to our respective bedrooms? Does he watch a game on TV while I go read a book? Should we give each other space? I did insist we keep everything separate. Does that includedowntime at home? Does it include certain parts of the house? Maybe we should set a defining line and run tape along the floor. His side and mine. Or maybe I’m overthinking again. I crack my thumb knuckle.

Aaron’s hand twitches as his thumb spins the onyx wedding band I put on his finger hours ago. I twist the narrow titanium band with a single embedded diamond on my finger. They’re dressier than the wood ring and dented silver band from our first marriage. We bought the rings after we’d ordered our wedding license. For appearances’ sake. Whatever helps us make this marriage look legit from the outside. The band feels as foreign as our new status. Husband and wife. Official, once again.

Aaron looks around the house, and my gaze follows. Glasses with melting ice and plates painted with dried frosting clutter the dining table. Charlie and Emi must have played half Aaron’s vinyl collection. Albums are scattered about. The state we left the living room and dining room in reminds me of my teenage bedroom. A glorified mess.

Aaron rocks up on his toes. “Ah ... I should clean up.”

“I’ll help,” I offer, eager to do something with my hands. Keep myself busy.

I stack dishes on a tray and Aaron collects cups as we effortlessly move around each other like a couple who’ve been together longer than we have. With a team effort, we’ve cleared the dining room and living room of dishware within moments, and while I stack glasses in the dishwasher, I leave Aaron to organize his albums. He’s flipping through the albums in his media cabinet when I join him in the living room.

He glances at me over his shoulder. “Have you heard of the Easybeats?”

“Sounds like an eighties alternative rock band.” I approach him.

“Nope. Try again.”

“Seventies?” He shakes his head. “Sixties?”

He points a finger at me. “Winner.” He tips out the record and sets the vinyl on the turntable’s platter, turns on the system. “Their first hit was in sixty-five. Here, listen.” He lowers the toner arm on the album and music fills the town house.

“Sounds punkish.” I swing my hips to the broken, bluesy rhythm that reminds me of the Kinks. “I like it. What’s the name of the song?”

“‘For My Woman.’” He turns to me and erratically sways side-to-side, swinging his arms with his thumbs out.

I burst out laughing. “What are you doing?” He looks like a goof.

“The Hitchhiker.”

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