Two Years Later
Leila
The groom is anxious as he waits for the rest of the procession to come forward so his bride can enter. This is the biggest moment of his life, and that feeling isn’t lost on him.
After what feels like hours of waiting, the best man and I make it to the front. The best man gives the groom a hug and then smiles at me. Throughout these years, I’ve enjoyed helping the groom get to this place more than almost anyone else. Anyone except the woman he’s going to marry.
The music changes and everyone stands.
The groom is starting to sweat.
His wife-to-be is stunning in her dress. It’s classy, but just revealing enough to get a couple of the parents in attendance to cover their children’s eyes.
The groom smiles when he sees this.
Today isn’t one of those things that just happened overnight. It took a lot of hard work and a lot of luck, but it’s clear enough that there’s nowhere else he’d rather be in the world.
The bride gets to the front and stands across from her fiancé.
She can see the nervousness in his body language, but she doesn’t seem worried. He smiles at her sweetly and she smiles back.
The judge starts the ceremony.
“Love is a powerful thing,” the judge says. “It can lift us up and it can make us feel and do things we didn’t know were possible. When two people love each other, as you do, every one of us finds ourselves uplifted.”
The judge is a bit long-winded, but the bride and the groom are too busy staring into their futures to mind.
“…we are here to celebrate the love of these two people, who have brought all of us together…”
After a solid 10 minutes of monologue by the judge, the best man nudges the groom, whispering, “Are you ready for this?”
The groom whispers back, “I’ve never been more ready for anything.”
“…now, take the ring and put it on her finger, repeating after me, I, Michael Jason Nielson…”
“I, Michael Jason Nielson,” the groom repeats.
The judge continues, “Do take you, Wrigley Samantha Moirea—Moire—Moireas—”
“Do take you, Wrigley Samantha Moireasdanach,” Mike jumps in.
“I’ve been practicing that all morning,” the judge says. “My apologies.”
The stumble is good for a laugh.
“To be my lawfully wedded wife,” the judge concludes.
“To be my lawfully wedded wife,” Mike says, slipping the finger onto Wrigley’s hand.
“And would you repeat after me, I, Wrigley Samantha, please state your last name.”
Wrigley’s smile is wide and beautiful and she giggles as she repeats, “I, Wrigley Samantha Moireasdanach.”
“Do take you, Michael Jason Nielson.”
“Do take you, Michael Jason Nielson.”
“To be my lawfully wedded husband.”
“To be my lawfully wedded husband.”
She puts the ring onto Mike’s finger and the two hold hands.
“Now, by the power vested in me by the state of New York, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
The two kiss and make their way back down the aisle, now as husband and wife. There may have been an order to the procession coming in, but on the way out, everyone just clamors to follow the newlyweds.
At the reception, an hour later, the best man sees me sitting at the bar, nursing a drink.
“That was a beautiful service,” he says.
“Yeah, it was really nice,” I answer.
“So, have you known the bride and groom for very long?” he asks.
“I’ve known the bride for a few years,” I answer. “The groom and I actually go way back.”
“Ah,” he says. “So today’s kind of bittersweet for you, then.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Well,” he says, “it sounds like the two of you have some history.”
“Oh, no,” she scoffs. “It’s nothing like that. We’re just old friends.”
“What are you drinking?” he asks.
“A tequila sunrise,” I answer. “I don’t drink that much anymore, but when I do, I don’t know if it’s the taste or the colors, but I just love these.”
“Mind if I sit with you a while?”
“Not at all,” I say.
“You know what I think is funny about weddings?” he asks.
“What’s that?”
“It’s so much buildup and the ceremony is always over so quickly.”
“I don’t know: that judge went on for quite a while. I’m pretty sure that at one point he compared love to a tollbooth.”
“Yeah,” he snickers. “I think I remember that part.”
“So, you’re saying you’d never want to get married?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t say that,” he answers. “I mean, I can understand the draw. I guess I just haven’t found the woman of my dreams yet.”
“Really?” I ask, smiling. “You look like the kind of guy who’s found dozens of women of his dreams.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he scoffs.
“It’s the tattoos,” I tell him. “They kind of paint you as a degenerate.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know that I’ve caught your name. Both the bride and groom told me, but I’m just terrible when it comes to people I haven’t had a conversation with.”
“Leila,” I answer. “Leila Tyler.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” he says. “I’m Dane Paulson. You know, I used to know a woman named Leila. She was into some pretty weird shit.”
I smack him on the arm and say, “I bet she was not.”
“No,” he says, chuckling. “She totally was. She used to have this weird ass fantasy about being picked up in a bar by her significant other.”
“I think that sounds very romantic,” I say.
“Yeah, if you’re weird,” Dane answers.
“You’re pushing it,” I warn, but my smile breaks through. “What are you drinking?”
“I don’t know,” Dane answers. “To be honest, I’m not very thirsty right now.”
“Oh? I would imagine a guy like you would be going insane over an open bar.”
“Not really,” he says. “I find people who drink to be rather boring. You know they only drink to put on the illusion that they’re interesting.”
“Oh, ha ha,” I mock.
“That’s not why I came over here, anyway.”
“Yeah?” I ask. “Why’d you come over here, then?”
“Because I think you’re absolutely gorgeous, and I know this may sound a little forward, but would you like to find a closet somewhere and fuck like bunnies?”
“A little forward?” I snort. “Does that line ever work?”
“At least once,” Dane answers, “I’m hoping.”
I down my drink.
“You know what?” I ask, “why not. Maybe I can teach you a few things. You come off a little inexperienced with women.”
“I am,” Dane says, and takes my hand.
I walk in front of him for fairly obvious reasons, but we’re delayed a minute when the bride and groom rush over, arms outstretched.
“Help me,” Dane whispers. “Wriggles,” he says, turning just enough to hug Wrigley with his upper body while I generously ease my butt against his front while I hug Mike.
“Dane!” Wrigley squeals. “I’m married!”
“I know! Congratulations! You two are going to have such a wonderful life together.”
“Thank you,” she says, and leans into his ear. “Real smooth with the positioning there, chief. I’m sure nobody’s figured it out.”
She gives him a kiss on the cheek and a moment later, she’s putting her arms around me, ever so gently, but ever so effectively moving me just far enough away from Dane to expose his rather embarrassing situation.
With gritted teeth and a smile, he casually rests his hands over the offending bulge in his pants and says, “Thanks, Wrigley. I’m so glad you guys came over.”
“Hey Dane, thanks for standing with me today,” Mike says.
“It was an honor,” Dane answers.
Fortunately for Dane, Mike is happy enough with a handshake.
“Well,” I say, “I’ve got to head out to the, uh—”
“The car,” Dane interrupts. “She forgot something, and I’m going to help her look for it.”
“Don’t forget to lift the hood,” Wrigley says, beaming.
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Dane says. “Congratulations, you two.”
We make their way through the reception hall and find the nearest unlocked door without anyone inside the room.
It’s a small room, full of flowers.
“Do you think Wrigley’s going to mind if we do it in the bridal suite?”
“I don’t mind,” Dane tells me, and we’re locked in a passionate kiss.
“Help me get my dress off,” I say.
“Leave it on,” Dane answers.
“Pantyhose?” I ask.
“Dealer’s choice,” he answers, kissing my neck and chest.
It’s a little tricky with Dane all over me, but I manage to slip off my pantyhose, and a moment later, I’ve got the front of Dane’s slacks open and he’s sliding my dress up my thighs.
I lean back against the wall and put one leg around Dane’s body, guiding him toward me.
He runs his tip against my opening, and I’m already so wet.
Dane puts himself inside and we let out a pleasured sigh together.
“You know,” Dane says, kissing my lips and neck, “we won’t be able to do it like this too much longer.”
“Shh,” I tell him. “You’re not supposed to know I’m pregnant. I’m not showing that much in this dress, and I haven’t told you that yet. I’ll probably wait until after you’ve got me to come a few times, so if you bail on me, at least I’ll have gotten something out of it.”
“You’re so fucking weird,” he says. “But I like that, whatever you said your name was.”
“Yeah,” I scoff between sharp inhales. “That’s attractive.”
I open the front of Dane’s shirt and kiss his smooth, firm chest.
“What does this tattoo mean?” I ask, pulling him tighter with my leg.
“It means ‘virile warrior,’” he answers.
I smack him on the chest, saying, “Oh, it does not.”
“Got it when I was 18,” he says.
“Gotta move,” I tell him. “Baby’s kicking.”
“Oh my God,” Dane gasps. “You’re pregnant?”
“Oh, shut up,” I say.
“Hold on, I wanna feel it,” Dane tells me.
He bends down and puts a hand on my stomach. Our daughter moves under his gentle touch.
“I really don’t think I’m ever going to get over that,” he says. “That is so amazing.”
The door to the bridal suite opens and Dane is quick to stand up. He’s facing the wall, but he’s still hanging out the front of his pants.
“Hey, you guys!”
Of course it’s Wrigley.
Dane mutters, “You wanna distract her a minute?”
I smirk. “We were looking for the bathroom. Would you mind showing me where it is?”
“It’s down the hall on your left,” Wrigley says. “So Dane, what are ya doin’ over there looking at the wall?”
“Oh, can we not do this?” he asks.
“It’s not like it’s anything I haven’t seen,” Wrigley quips. “I’m just kidding. I just wanted to let you two know that we’re going to be cutting the cake in about five minutes.”
“All right,” I tell her, “thank you.”
We hug.
I never thought I’d be so close with Wrigley of all people, but after hearing everything she did to help guide Dane and I together, all my enmity toward her dissolved.
“Thank you for everything,” I tell her.
“You’re welcome,” Wrigley says. “Thank you for introducing me to Mike.”
There’s the sound of a zipper going up, and Dane finally turns around.
“Five minutes, huh?” he asks. “Any chance I could talk you into making it 15?”
Wrigley and I both roll our eyes.
After the cake is cut and all remaining rice is thrown and the bride and groom are off for a weekend of marital debauchery, Dane and I get in the car for the drive home.
“You know,” he says, “I’m kind of glad you almost hooked up with that fireman.”
“Yeah?” I ask. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”
“Why? What?”
“Will,” I say. “You know, I see him in the store every once in a while, and I was thinking: I know we’re married and all, but maybe we could stand to spice things up a bit?”
“Darling,” he starts, “we just had sex in my ex’s bridal suite. I think things are pretty spicy as it is.”
“I guess,” I yawn. “Still, though, you’ve made all of my other fantasies come true. Even ones I didn’t know I had until you brought them to life.”
“Yeah, I’d say I’ve gone above and beyond,” he says.
“Meh,” I say. “You’ve done all right, I guess.”
“Oh, come on,” Dane protests. “I gave up my job in the city so that we could be closer together.”
“Tell the whole story,” I answer.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You know, the part about how l’Iris started doing so well after Wilks took over that Jim hooked you up with the seed money to start your own restaurant right down the street from where we live.”
“I hardly see how that’s relevant,” he answers.
He turns on the radio.
“Seriously? You’re still on the death metal?” he asks. “Isn’t that going to make our baby come out with hooves or craving blood or something?”
“Metal is closest in relation to classical music, and everyone knows that classical music makes babies smarter.”
“Oh, it does not. That was just a misquote, saying…” he trails off into laughter.
“Look,” I tell him, gazing up at the sky through the windshield.
“What?”
“The stars,” I tell him. “There are a lot of them tonight.”
“Leila?”
“Yeah?”
“I love the fuck out of you.”
“Thanks,” I answer. “Dane?”
“Yeah?”
“Have you ever given any thought to joining the fire department?”
He laughs. “I’ll be your fireman.”
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams