“Shit!” The handle of her sign had snagged the lace on her wedding dress again. Sarah grimaced and waved her sign even more vigorously. CHOOSE THE KIDS IN NEIGHBORHOOD SCHOOLS, it said, and she hoped the secretary of education saw it.

Of course it was too much to go straight from her wedding to a protest but—it was the secretary of education announcing even more ways he planned to privatize education. She couldn’t not go say something for her coworkers and her kids. Mark had just laughed when she pitched it to him—the visit had only been announced a week and a half before the wedding. Not that there were that many weeks between their wedding and Mark’s accidental proposal.

Their pastor had asked lots of probing questions during their rushed premarital counseling. Her mom had been aghast until she’d seen the way Mark looked at her. And her garden suffered as she tried to be a good teacher and plan a wedding as soon as possible. They had both lived enough life that it didn’t make any sense to wait to start one together, but they still wanted to celebrate it. When Mark’s mama had come to town to meet Sarah, she was flustered to find out the woman of his dreams was older than him, but oddly, it was Sarah’s garden that sealed the deal.

“You’re a grow-er, just like my Nana. Of course Mark would love you.” And she’d taken her hands from being clasped at her heart and reached out to enfold Sarah in a hug.

After that, all there was to do was pull up the dead squash and cucumber vines, pick all the green tomatoes—Mark’s mama fried them, and they were delicious—plan a wedding, and re-plan everything with time to show up at the protest.

So they’d gotten married, kissed wildly in the foyer, ran into the fellowship-hall reception and invited anyone who wanted to join them. Not too many people took them up on it—it was a little bit chilly—but they were followed by their wedding photographer, who had just laughed.

What was more Sarah than switching up her wedding day to advocate for her children? She waved her sign again wildly and then shivered. Lace sleeves only did so much against St. Louis’s late autumn chill.

“Okay, you two—show me your signs and smile!” Mark’s sign said, I’M WITH HER. The photographer took one final picture as Mark put his arm around Sarah. She felt cold. He wanted to get her home. The secretary had gone into the building, and Mark didn’t plan on staying here until he came back out.

“Let’s go home.”

“Okay.” The word came out short and smirky, and the smile that came over her face made him get hot and bothered as they walked to the car. They were grown-ups, in charge of their bodies, subject to a higher call…but the last few weeks had been so fucking long. But now, there was a triumphant song in his head. “One flesh! One flesh! One flesh!” They were married. YES.

And then they were home. As they walked through her garden, she broke off some of the herbs, still standing despite the chill in the air—lavender, basil, thyme. She had to unlock the door, but then they got inside and headed up the stairs to the bedroom. They stopped, hand in hand, right before the door.

She looked over at him. “You ready?”

“Let’s do it.”

When they crossed the threshold, he took her to the center of the room. She dropped the herbs. The curtains filtered the daylight coming in, but the room was bright. She was trembling a little. She made as if to move her face towards him, but he reached out and held her face with two hands. “Wait. I’m going to kiss you first this time.”

Even though he moved slowly and deliberately, this kiss, like all their other kisses, went to heat so fast.

“Why are you in a dress?” he asked, his breaths coming quicker. “I can’t touch you.”

“Let’s just take it off.” She turned so he could undo the zipper and then she shimmied the dress off her.

His low-breathed and reverent, “Fuck.” made her blush all over—he could see it.

“Okay, it’s your turn now, mister.”

“Okay, Mrs. Jones.” He got everything off, and they fell onto the bed. She’d put the sheets on herself the day before, sneaking away from the hotel out in the “good part of town” where the wedding party was staying to do it.

“Finally,” he said. “Naked and unashamed.”

She pulled his left hand to hers and looked at their rings together. “Finally,” she said, her voice soft.

He pulled her to him. She resisted a little bit. “What, baby?”

“I mean…what if it’s not good? What if I’m only good at kissing?”

“If it’s not good, we’ll just practice until it’s better. We’re going to learn this together, Sarah. Maybe it’ll take a while to make the big no turn into a yes, but we’ll do it together, right?” He could be patient. He would be patient. He loved her. “Let’s start with kissing and see what happens, okay?”

They kissed, skin to skin, and the frantic note that had been building in his blood eased. He was home now. She was home, her arms were his home, her mouth was his home, her …he didn’t have any sweeter words. Her pussy was his home. He started sliding his hands over her body. Yes, her arms, the soft skin of her tummy, the heft of her butt, that was right: his to touch now. He squeezed it a little extra, just because he could. And then he slid upwards towards her breasts. Yep, they were his too.

“At all times.” he muttered. At all times. Yes. He rubbed his fingers over the tips and she squirmed. “Too much?”

“No—do it again. And what do you mean, ‘at all times’?”

He brought his face to hers again, continuing his slow caress of her nipples.

“It’s a Bible verse Pastor Louis made me memorize. Proverbs 5:19—‘Let her breasts fill you at all times with delight; be intoxicated always in her love.’” He kissed the corner of her mouth and then put his mouth around one peaked nipple.

She writhed wildly. Then, as usual, she grabbed the side of his head, pulled his face right to hers, and kissed him.

Sarah had done a lot that day, with almost everything planned, however quickly the plans had been made. She hadn’t expected to be quoted scripture as foreplay. She did expect this, though, when she kissed him, everything melted away: her worries, her fears, the reference of that damn Bible verse. Instead, heat, pleasure, desire, everything sizzled in and through her. And then she jumped when his hand stroked down her stomach and reached her pubic hair and kept going.

“Hey, it’s me.” Mark’s voice was deep and tender, and though she’d squeezed her eyes shut tight, she could hear the smile in his voice. “Your sister asked me some very pointed questions, and then gave me like five romance novels to read. There was a pattern.”

So she kissed him again, and let the fire take her away, and he slid his fingers between her legs into her. He found her clitoris and smoothed and circled it and she shivered in the fire, and then he reached further down and she realized she was hot and wet and that something was poking her. Right. That’s how this worked. She reached out to touch his penis and he shivered and swore. She wrapped her hand around it and stroked it and he prayed.

Okay, he just yelled out “Jesus!”

“Is that part of the pattern too?”

“No! Let go and let me concentrate. There’s a process, and I’m going to follow it.”

He followed it alright. His busy fingers worked and then he kissed her and she kissed him back and everything got fuzzy and fiery and when her tongue touched his, she shook and yelled and came. “Mark. Fuck.”

“Is that an imperative? Because it sounds good to me.” But first he kissed her cheek and whispered, “Hey, I love you.”

And then he grabbed the condom because they hadn’t decided about kids yet, gently pushed into her, and it was a little weird and stretchy, but his face and his first muttered expletive were enough for now, and when he started moving and moving and moving and then yelled “Oh Jesus Sarah” as he came with shuddering thrusts. And then he was heavy on her, his face in her neck. “Mmmmmm.”

“Hey, you’re squishing me.” But if she hadn’t needed to breathe again, she would have let him stay.

She was shattered by the intimacy of this moment after. No more expectations. Just skin to skin, peace together, them, him, home. It was enough. She wasn’t enough and he wasn’t enough, they probably wouldn’t change the world, but this moment, together, the one they’d waited for and struggled and sometimes had to explain to impertinent friends—she could carry this moment—and so many more, Lord willing—with her, and keep going, keep learning, keep loving her kids, and maybe he would apprentice with a tuck pointer, and work to restore the brick city, or maybe he’d get a counseling degree, and it would be hard and glorious and together. He rolled off her, slowly and carefully, and they both lay flat on the bed, their hands clasped, their sides touching.