Three and a half years later…
I blink as the light comes through the gauzy curtains. I feel Matt's hand slide across my stomach and smile.
"Having cold feet?" he asks. I look over to see him staring at me with one eye open and a devilish grin on his lips. "It's not too late to back out, you know."
I hear running footsteps down the hallway outside our door. "I think it is," I reply, as Peter pushes our door open and jumps onto our bed.
"Oof!" Matt says as Peter lands on his chest.
"When are the people coming?" Peter asks. Matt pushes his dark hair out of his eyes.
"You need a haircut," he says.
"Daddy, the people!" Peter insists.
"Not for a little while," Matt replies. Peter sighs.
"Did you make us breakfast yet?" Matt asks him.
"Daddy, I'm not big enough," Peter says, sounding exasperated.
"Ohhhh," Matt says. "When will you be big enough?"
Peter considers. "Probably when I get married, like you."
"I was hoping for a little sooner than that," I say, and plant a kiss on his tanned cheek. He's still a little fuzzy on the exact details of what's happening today. We explained to him that a wedding is basically like a party, one where Mommy and Daddy promise to stay together forever.
Of course, we would have done that anyway, but we still wanted to make it official. We would have done it earlier, but time just sort of got away from us. After we came down here, we had to find a place to live, start a business, and then there was the surprise of my almost immediate pregnancy. We were too busy living.
"Come on, we'll make breakfast today," Matt says, wrapping his arm around Peter and standing up with him.
I watch his broad back as he carries our son out of the room and then downstairs to the kitchen. I sigh happily and lay back against my pillow. As always, our room smells of the ocean, and I inhale deeply.
Our house sits one block back from the beach, and across from it, and bordering on the sand, is our small bar. It's frequented by a mix of expats, locals, and tourists. Sayulita Beach has excellent surfing, so we get a good amount of tourist traffic, though not so much that the local culture has been lost. Peter already knows Spanish, and Matt and I are struggling to keep up with him.
I stand up and stretch, then peer out the window at the bar. I can see Nicolas opening up the shutters and preparing the tables. They're all pushed together for the reception. Hanging on the back of the bathroom door is my wedding dress. It's white linen, with some lace around the bust. A local dressmaker made it for me, and it's perfect for a beach wedding.
"Breakfast!" I hear Matt call from downstairs.
A few hours later, and my friends Maritza and Nicole are sticking white wildflowers they found at the last minute in my hands. "Perfect," I tell them with a smile. They both nod to me, and head out of the restaurant and onto the sand. Peter reaches for my hand and tugs it excitedly.
He's walking me down the aisle. Our friends asked a little about whether or not Matt and my families would be coming down for the wedding, and we explained that we aren't close with them. I think some of them have guessed that there's something back home that we're running from, but no one really brings it up.
Matt and I still talk about it when we're lying in bed at night, our bodies turned toward each other… the things we miss, the things we were glad to leave behind, and the things we regret. When we first came down here, he cut his hair and shaved his beard in case anyone was looking for a runaway biker, but now it's shaggy again. I also took to calling him Matt instead of Ford, since last names are more distinctive.
"Now?" Peter asks, looking up at me with his father's dark hair but my own green eyes.
"Now," I reply, and we walk out onto the sand. A grin spreads across my face as I see Matt. He stands at the end of the aisle created by the rows of folding chairs filled by our friends, and the ocean gleams behind him. Tears prick at my eyes. I didn't think I'd be so emotional. Matt and I are already so bound together – what more could vows do? But they still mean something to me.
"You may be seated," Nicolas says as I reach the front of the aisle. He was our first hire at the bar, and he got ordained online so he could marry us.
Matt leans forward and brushes a kiss on my cheek. "You look beautiful," he murmurs in my ear. I shiver the way I always do, the way I still do, when he touches me.
Peter bounces happily over to his seat in the front row as the ceremony begins. It passes in a blur, though we've purposefully kept it short because he doesn't have much of an attention span.
"I do," I find myself saying. I'm rushed back to the present as I feel Matt's arm around my back and his lips on mine. A laugh bursts from my lips as I look up at him, and I feel Peter launch himself at our legs.
"Took a while, but we're finally a conventional married couple," Matt says with a laugh.
"I don't think we could ever be conventional," I reply.
"No, I don't think we could be."
* * *
THE END