Page 126 of My Wife
Dad also had a talk with me last night and told me what makes a marriage last. Communication was at the top of his list. He also said the secret to a happy marriage is to make each other laugh.
Not my strong suit.
Little does he know this doesn’t need to last long. That notion splinters inside of me like ice cracking beneath my feet.
But maybe it could?
I brush it off, telling myself it’s a result of being out of my routine, eating too much of Grannie Bell’s fudge, and all the excited energy surrounding me.
The thing is, I’ve been around all the guys on the team when they got married and at some point, they all got jittery. They may not have said as much, but it came out in practice, at a game, or when Micah showed up at my house in the middle of the night begging me to go to the rink with him. He couldn’t sleep and knew I was the only one committed enough to shoot around at that late hour.
Now he has four kids. Worked out for him.
I have just the one kid and Jessica. Can I commit myself to them? Being faithful isn’t the issue. More like being a good husband and father.
While the groomsmen gather, the processional music plays, and my sister marches, er, waddles down the aisle, followed by Cara, ahead of my bride to be, what if in a reversal of being a jilted bride, she leaves me at the altar?
I snort. She wouldn’t. I’d like to say what we have is special. More like convenient. She needs me. I need her. It’s that simple.
But will Pamberlie show up? Rexlan? The image of them tag-teaming and crashing our wedding lands in my mind with a jolt.
My brother-in-law leans in and asks, “You okay?”
Hendrix elbows me. “Bro is fine. Just the normal jitters.” He nods knowingly.
Knowingly? Wait. Does he know that this is a fake wedding? Well, it’s real insofar as we’ll be exchanging vows, but it’s just a paper wedding for Jessica’s and my respective legal woes.
I keep asking myself if this is a mistake. Given the smiles on my family’s faces and the little guy’s general exuberance and pride at making it down the aisle with the pretzels—Hendrix hung onto the rings just in case—the answer is a resounding no. But guilt festers in my gut for not telling them the entire story. The truth.
“You look like you’re hunting down the forward on an opposing team,” Hendrix whispers.
My brother-in-law says, “Try smiling.”
Hendrix scoffs. “Liam doesn’t smile.”
I’m about to tell them to quit talking because I can’t hear my thoughts when the music changes.
As if from the mist, from the clouds of heaven, Jessica appears before me shrouded in white, an angel from above.
I suck in a breath.
A witch bride she is not.
The woman is … the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.
Beside me, Hendrix snickers or sniffles? I can’t tell. Is he laughing because for a second there I was smitten or is he as captivated as me by her beauty? Never mind the second one. He has Colette.
And Jessica is mine.
My entire body stiffens at the notion of anyone hurting a hair on her head, batting an eyelash at her, talking to her out of turn. If they do, they’ll have to deal with me.
Hendrix stage whispers, “That’s more like the Liam we know and fear.”
Is he reading my mind? I tell myself that he’s likely intuiting the normal stages of a groom’s experience.
However, my head hiccups and careens toward the thing that I did let happen to Frank, Marci, and Allison way back when in high school. The fateful night Jessica alluded to.
Before I lose myself in grief, I take control and train my eyes on her.
