Page 61 of Patch's Bride
She’s joking, but I can see the vulnerability in her expression. I cross the room and give her a hug before I can second guess it. She freezes at first, then hugs me back hard.
“You belong here,” she says, just loud enough for me to hear. “Don’t let anyone say you don’t.”
When we break apart, the energy in the room shifts to something lighter. Barbara puts a little clip in Lila’s hair, and she claps her hands, delighted.
Sharon digs into the cookie tin and hands each of us one.
Roxy returns to the window, munching on hers. “Update,” she says almost immediately. “Patch just told the band to set up on the deck, and now one of the speakers isn’t working. He’s decided that pounding on the top is the best course of action.”
I just shake my head. “Poor guy will be lucky if he doesn’t have a heart attack before this day is over.”
Roxy quips, “Bet he won’t be offering to volunteer to help set up anyone else’s wedding.”
Caroline steps behind me again and adjusts the veil one more time. Her fingers are gentle when she fastens the last comb into place.
“Do you feel ready?” she asks.
I look around the room. Lila, safe and glowing. Sharon, grinning through a half-eaten cookie. And my new friend, Roxy,is finally feeling included. Caroline, the woman who arranged for me to marry her son, is all smiles.
“I’ve never been more ready.”
When I finally step into the doorway, the Wedding March starts. The entire club has come to celebrate our wedding. Sitting proudly along with their women. There are even a handful of Caroline’s teary-eyed church friends, most of whom I recognize because I grew up in the church. Somehow, this all feels right to me.
Sharon waddles down the aisle first as the matron of honor. Roxy steps out next and proudly walks down the aisle with her head held high. Finally, my sweet sister does her own walk. She wanted to go last, on the off-chance that anything went wrong and she needed to use her inhaler. Her nurse hovers around snapping pics of her, which she will likely show off to her friends for years to come.
Patch’s father steps closer, ready to walk me down the aisle. He’s taking his responsibilities as the father figure stand-in seriously today. I loop my arm through his and give it a little squeeze. “Thanks for walking me down the aisle today, Mr. Patchett.”
He pats my hand and responds warmly, “It was an honor to be asked. And don’t you think it’s about time you started calling me George?”
I nod, “Of course, Mr. Pa—George.”
We follow them out and walk slowly, like we’re supposed to. There are so many people looking at me, but I only have eyes forPatch. He’s standing under the arch at the end of the aisle. Crow, Siege, and his friend Larry are standing by his side.
Patch goes still when he catches sight of me. His face changes to an expression of guarded adoration, making me feel like I’m the prettiest thing he’s ever set eyes on. When I get closer, I see his eyes, which usually hold back more than they give, carry all the emotion he usually keeps well hidden. He looks like a man who just realized the weight of the phraseuntil death do us part, and is all in.
George stops when we reach the front. He doesn’t say anything dramatic, he just leans in and whispers, “I think you, in all your flaming glory, just rendered my son speechless.”
I press my lips together to keep from laughing, because he’s not wrong about that.
When Patch takes my hands, his are warm, and if the firmness of his grip is any indication, he’s feeling extra possessive today as well.
Rigs stands between us with a black, well-worn Bible in one hand, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Wait,” he says with exaggerated confusion. “I feel like I’ve done this before.”
The crowd laughs, and Patch and I are all smiles. Rigs did do our quickie exchange of vows a while back, so his ice breaker lands perfectly.
Rigs lifts the book and clears his throat, the smirk still in place.
“We’re here today to do this right. The first time had to be rushed for reasons I won’t go into. This time, we’re doing it in a beautiful ceremony that all the people who care about you can witness and remember.”
I blink back tears, because Rigs is so down to earth and relatable. His words remind me that all these people care enough about Patch and myself to take time out of their busy lives to celebrate with us.
“Beth,” Rigs says. “You got anything to say to this man?”
I can hear whispers among the guests. The ones who grew up going to Mass are likely scandalized by the informality of our nuptials. But it’s what we felt most comfortable with. We’ve made a vow to be ourselves no matter what. So, I nod and take a breath before launching into the vows I wrote for him.
“A lot of people probably already know I grew up with a gigantic crush on you. But that was before I really understood what love was. All I saw was you running around, confidently doing your own thing. You were smart, attractive, and nice to little girls you barely knew. What I didn’t realize was that one day I would need a protector, a man who wasn’t afraid to step up and fight for me when I couldn’t fight for myself. I’m glad you turned out to be that man. I promise to love and respect you, in sickness and in health. I’m yours, every day, for the rest of our lives. Thank you for making all my dreams come true.”
