Page 86 of Marriage is a Shore Thing
“Again. Marry me again—in front of Mama and Mark, in front of Joanna and Noah, in front of all our friends, our town. Marry me again, Gen. Tonight.”
Her eyes grow wide as I take her mug and set it aside, the slightest flicker of vulnerability slipping over her brown irises. With my body separating her from my parents, it’s like we’re the only two people in our kitchen. Beyond the window, the hens cluck softly. Morning light bends around the flyawaysthat’ve escaped Geneva’s curler, highlighting them. She’s so beautiful like this—raw and unguarded—my chest aches.
“You already know I’m here to stay. Let’s make it official.”
I’ve never felt so sure about anything in my life, but it’s impossible to control my racing pulse as I wait for her answer.
When the corner of Geneva’s mouth slips up, it punches the breath from me. “Only if Elvis presides over the ceremony.”
I whoop, picking Geneva up and swinging her around the kitchen. “We’re getting hitched!”
After putting on my one and only suit to formally ask Joanna for her family’s ring, planning exploded. Joanna activated the Wilks Beach emergency text chain, rallying everyone to help set up an impromptu wedding ceremony at Bayside Table. Geneva and Brynn sped to the mainland to buy a ring for me while Vivian whipped up a last-minute cocktail-length wedding dress from some vintage-inspired lace she’d been saving for a special occasion.
Then as the sun set last night, the Lost Shakers performed Elvis’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love” as Geneva walked down the aisle. The misty-eyed look of adoration Geneva gave me while being escorted by Noah quickly became one of my top five memories.
My wife pushes her hair back now, her heirloom ring glinting in the light from the vanity. I glance down at the beveled edge, matte brushed gold ring on my hand with a smile.
“No. Put those away. I’m too queasy, and it’s too early for dimples.”
Her grouchy tone has the opposite effect on my grin.
“I can’t help it,” I tell her, pointing to my face. “This is what a ludicrously happy man who’s deeply in love with his wife looks like.”
I catch the exact moment her lips lift before she presses them into a line, glaring at me for extra emphasis. I’m about to poke atmy adorable storm cloud when her eyes fly wide, and she lurches for the toilet again.
Several minutes later, Geneva is sprawled out on the couch with a plate of dry toast.
“Why,” she wines. “It’s our honeymoon.”
Yesterday afternoon, Mama and Mark moved their things to Joanna’s for the remainder of their visit so we could have some privacy.
“Second honeymoon,” I remind her, setting a mug of ginger tea on the coffee table.
She flits a hand in my direction, annoyed.
I ease onto the couch, careful not to jostle her. “Let’s catch up onCelebrity Circuituntil you feel better.”
“Okay.” She rubs at the front of her shoulder joint, groaning. “I’m so sore. I didn’t think I worked chest that hard this week. Maybe I pulled something.”
“I’m sorry, love,” I say, pulling her feet into my lap because I’m incapable ofnottouching her.
I still like to usedarlin’, but being able to identify Geneva asmy loveis something I use often—that, along with wife, wifey, and occasionally, wifemperess supreme.
Geneva murmurs a grateful thank you as I queue up our favorite show.
We’re three-fourths through the show’s intro, highlighting all the stories they’ll cover in the episode. When they focus on surprise baby news, realization crashes over me. There’s a chance that Geneva’s nausea and chest soreness isn’t due to tainted food and excessive exercise. Though we’ve talked about having kids, it was always in a future sense—just like we’d eventually get official wedding rings.
Since we checked off that second one yesterday, maybe…
I pause the show, finding my wife already looking at me, her face pale.
“Are you going to be sick again?”
Geneva shakes her head, her collarbones rising and falling erratically as her inhales get shorter and shorter.
“I can’t— We can’t— I mean, I’d like to besomeday, but what if—” She bites her lip. “What if I’m not any good at this?”
“Geneva.” I gather her to my chest. “There’s nothing you can’t do. You are the strongest”—I kiss her temple—“most caring”—my lips brush her brow—“incrediblewoman I’ve ever met. And that’s saying a lot, since I had the privilege of being raised by Mama and Taylor.” I give her a gentle squeeze. “You can do this.Wecan do this. Together.”
