Page 28 of Two Friends in Marriage
The photos are in chronological order.We didn’t have the photographer take pictures of us getting ready, but there are a few pre-ceremony pictures of everyone mingling outside.One of my father with his hand on my shoulder; another of Jane talking to Auntie Gladys.(Well, I suspect my aunt was doing most of the talking.)
My gaze is drawn to the photos of Jane.I feel like I didn’t properly admire her on our wedding day, and I’m annoyed with myself.I mean, I told her that she looked great, but I don’t remember her looking likethis.She has a soft glow about her that’s captivating.
I get to the picture of us kissing at the end of the ceremony.It looks slightly awkward—or maybe I’m just remembering how it felt in the moment.
I wish I could redo it.
I glance up at the woman next to me.She’s wearing a simple black T-shirt, and her brow is furrowed in concentration as she stares at her phone.
“We’ll have to pick something for our thank-you cards,” she says.“Not that we need to decide now, but we should get those sorted in the next couple of months.”
“Yeah.”
She sets down her phone and turns to me.It’s quiet in our house; all I can hear is the rain pattering on the patio.
“Do you not like the pictures?”she asks.
Oh God.Is it my expression?The tone of my voice when I gave that one-word answer?
Evan, you’re an idiot.
“No, no,” I rush to assure her.“I love them.She did a great job.I’m just not fully awake yet.”
I continue studying the photos.After the ceremony and receiving line, the photographer took pictures of us with my family, then spent about ten minutes taking pictures of just the two of us.When we were discussing what we wanted, before the wedding, she suggested a few other locations nearby where we could have romantic shots, but we declined.
And now, I kick myself for that.
I zoom in on one of the pictures.We’re standing in the small garden at the venue, and Jane is looking up at me with a fond smile.Was she faking that?Or is it real?
“We should get a large print to hang on the wall,” I say.“Maybe this one?”I show her the picture that’s captured my attention, but I’m not sure I actually want to see it every day.
I might obsess over it.
By the middle of Monday morning, it’s clear it’s going to be a rather hellish week for me at work.Last-minute meetings eat up time that I desperately need.Though I don’t tell Jane much about it, I think she notices.
When I get up on Wednesday, I head downstairs and find Watson sitting on a kitchen chair.I release a surprised laugh.He isn’t wearing any accessories, but there’s a mug in front of him that simply says, in large letters, “Fuck.”(One of Jane’s mugs, not mine.)
This is the first time she’s moved Watson.She’s not around to see my reaction; no, she must be on the elliptical machine in the basement.
When we’re sitting outside with our coffee—I’ve stolen the “fuck” mug; I hope Watson doesn’t mind—Jane makes no mention of the earlier scene in the kitchen.
Instead, she says, “We’ve spent a lot of time at home lately.”
“We have.I thought that’s what you like?”
“I do, but how about we go out for dinner this Friday?”
I shouldn’t be so excited that my wife is asking me on a date, of sorts, but I am.“Where should we go?”
“Leave that to me,” she says.
“Evan, are you ready?”
“Just a minute!”I call, but there’s no way I’ll be able to fix this mess in a minute.I sigh and take out the makeup remover.
A moment later, there’s a knock on the half-open door of my en suite, and Jane pokes her head in.She’s wearing some kind of gauzy black shirt, and her lips are red.She looks at what’s strewn across the counter.
“Were you trying to put on eyeshadow?”she asks.
