Epilogue 1
Mrs. Coach D
Callie
Garrett and I met the first time in the fall, and we reunited in the fall . . . so it’s fitting that we get married in the fall too. He proposed on a sunny, summer Sunday, while we were on his bass boat, in the very middle of the lake . . . with the same ring he bought me all those years ago. After I said yes and Garrett slid that beautiful ring on my finger, I rocked his world—both our worlds—literally.
I flung myself into his arms so fast, the boat capsized.
But even when we fell into the water . . . Garrett didn’t stop kissing me.
When we eventually came up for air, he offered to replace the diamond with a bigger stone, but I shot that idea straight down. My ring is perfect, just the way it is.
Picking the location for the wedding wasn’t as easy. Garrett wanted to get married on the fifty-yard line on the high school football field.
Yes—really.
Because he’s a guy, through and through. A quarterback, so to him, the football field will always be a sacred place. I wanted to get married in a beautiful old theater about an hour away—because—guilty as charged—I guess I’ll always be the theater girl who loves the lights and smell of the stage. We toy with the idea of getting married on the lake . . . but neither of us like the thought of my dress dragging through goose shit, so that idea gets kicked to the curb pretty quick.
We settle on a beach wedding. One of Garrett’s old teammates from Rutgers, who did pretty well for himself, owns a big Victorian house with a private strip of beach in Brielle. It’s close enough, open enough, that the whole town can come . . . and they do.
I peek out of the white tent at the clear, churning blue ocean. I spot the football team taking up the last three rows of pale wooden chairs on the groom’s side. My theater kids are in the same rows across the aisle—David and Simone, Michael, Toby, and Bradley. Miss McCarthy is here, checking her watch and tsking that we need to get this show on the road. The whole faculty is here—Jerry Dorfman and Donna Merkle finally came out of the relationship closet and are actually holding hands.
The kids are going to lose their minds over that development this week.
My sister, Colleen, is my matron of honor. Cheryl and Alison and Sydney are my bridesmaids—all wearing matching silk pale-blue gowns.
Garrett stands beneath an arch of white roses—so tall and handsome in his black tux. He’s confident—not nervous like most grooms—his mouth settled into that relaxed, gorgeous smile. Dean stands beside him—his best man—because he couldn’t choose between his brothers. Woody sits at Garrett’s feet, adorable and perfectly behaved—wearing Snoopy’s blue collar around his fluffy neck—our something beautifully borrowed.
Layla agreed to sing at my wedding. And when the flute echoes and the string quartet joins in, and her beautiful voice starts to sing our wedding song—“After All”—I take my father’s arm and step out onto the red, carpeted aisle that covers the sand.
Everyone we care about—everyone we love, from our childhood days until now—is here to celebrate with us. They all stand, watching me with wide eyes and delighted faces.
Garrett’s gaze finds mine. His eyes drift slowly down over my long, white, strapless beaded gown. He pauses at my boobs—because they’re still his favorite. And then he gives me a devastating grin that makes my stomach flip deliciously and tears spring into my eyes.
They say you can’t go home again . . . but they’re wrong.
I did.
I came home and found the love I never really lost.
The air is September warm, the breeze is light, and the sun is just starting to set. Halfway down the aisle, I stop and turn to my dad.
“I love you, Daddy.”
He smiles back, warm and proud. “I love you too, my Callie-flower.”
I glance at Garrett and turn back to my father . . . because it’s unconventional, but it feels right.
“I think . . . I think I’m going to go the rest of the way on my own, Dad.”
My father nods. Then he lifts my veil and kisses my cheek. “Go get him, sweetheart.”
I turn back towards Garrett, kick off my shoes, lift the hem of my dress—and I run. I run to the boy who always had my heart . . . to the man who always will.
My bouquet bursts when I jump, showering us in white and indigo petals. And Garrett catches me, laughing. He’ll always catch me.
He kisses me long and deep. Then he sets me on my feet, and the priest from Saint Bart’s begins the ceremony. And I become Mrs. Coach Garrett Daniels.
At last.