Page 77 of Screwed (Dad Bod Contracting 4)
“Dearly beloved,” she says, in a quiet, bell-like voice. “Family, friends…we’re together in this place to celebrate the joining of two lives, the marriage of two beautiful souls.”
Imogen is in a wheelchair, still connected to an IV and oxygen, but she’s in her dress, a veil draped over her shoulders, facing Jesse, eyes on his, reaching up to hold his hands; Jesse is in his tux, hair brushed to a wavy shine and loose around his collar.
James is beside and behind him, also in a tux. Nina and Ella are on one side of the minister, holding bouquets of fake flowers—real ones were a no-go, in consideration of Imogen’s weakened immune system—and Nate is on the other side, solemnly holding a pillow, on which are the rings. The rest of us are lined up as best as possible on either side of the bed, women on the left with Imogen, men on the right with Jesse.
Imogen had resigned herself to having to postpone the wedding, so Jesse’s surprise of having me scramble this together means she’s still crying with pure happiness. She hadn’t suspected a thing—when Audra, Laurel, and I had shown up with her dress, she’d been puzzled, and hadn’t believed us when we promised her she was marrying Jesse now, today, here in the hospital. We had to FaceTime Jesse so he could reassure her himself and then, once she believed it was real, she promptly lost her mind. She’d alternated between sobs of happiness and panic at trying to look her best, given that she’s been in the hospital for two days and was still so weak she could only stand up for short periods of time. The three of us had worked with the nursing staff to get Imogen showered and dressed, get her hair brushed and dried and curled, all without disturbing her IV or oxygen lines.
Now, here we are, gathered in a tiny hospital room, breathing each other’s air, with half the maternity ward staff and patients clustered outside the open door, watching the proceedings.
“I’ve done weddings in a lot of unusual places,” the minister says. “In churches of all kinds, in more than a few bars and restaurants, in courthouses, in fields, in barns, even in a cemetery, once. I’ve even done weddings in this very hospital—in oncology wards, usually. This is the first time I’ve performed a wedding in a maternity ward, however, and I have to say this is by far my favorite place to do a wedding.”
She turns to look at the iPad resting on Imogen’s knees: it shows a real-time feed of little Renée, sleeping in her incubator. The doctors said it was too early for her to be around this many people, so we’d had to improvise a way to have her be a part of the wedding.
“Love knows no boundaries, and I can’t think of a better place to marry you than a place where we can see, very literally, love come to fruition in the form of sweet, innocent babies.” She pauses, glancing from Jesse to Imogen. “I’ll keep this brief, and to the point. Love brought you together. Love will bind you through whatever comes your way—especially if you remember that love is a choice—an action, not just an emotion. Me marrying you two is nothing more than a symbol, and a civil, legal formality. You are, truly, wedded the moment you commit yourselves to each other to live your lives as one. All I’m doing is broadcasting that commitment to your family and friends.”
“Family,” Jesse puts in. “We’re family, all of us.”
“To your family, then,” she says, smiling. “So. On to the fun part.” She looks at Imogen. “Imogen—you’ve written your vows, I understand?”
Imogen nods, sniffles tearfully, and pulls a folded piece of paper tucked into the side of the wheelchair. She tugs on Jesse’s hands, and he holds tight as she shakily pulls herself to her feet. Audra and James both hover at either side of her, ready to help her stay on her feet. Imogen wavers, and then visibly draws on a reserve of strength, stiffening her spine and locking her legs, holding on to one of Jesse’s hands, clutching the paper in the other.
“I wrote this in about fifteen minutes,” she says, her voice quavering. “So…it’s not gonna be Shakespeare.”
Jesse chuckles. “Because I’m known for my eloquence,” he says. “From the heart, baby. That’s all that matters.”
Imogen nods, smiles, and takes a shaky breath. The paper shakes as she reads from it. “Jesse—from the moment I first met you, I knew. You showed up that day to fix a window that mysteriously broke…all by itself.” Everyone laughs, especially Jesse and James, who know the real story. “You didn’t just fix the window, that day—you fixed me. You repaired my heart. And every single day since then, you’ve made me a better person. You make my life better just by existing. You make me happy just by being you. Even if you do sometimes forget to take your stupid big muddy boots off on the porch.”
