Now
The bomb Teller dropped about our nuptials isn’t received with the grace the baby was. Everyone remains on their feet, but instead of gasps and applause, we’re answered with groans and looks that kill.
“You’re joking, right?” Maby asks. Her cheeks are red, both hurt and angry she wasn’t let in on this part of the secret. “You can’t be serious.”
“It’s happening really fast, Maby,” I try to explain.
Teller laughs out loud, still searching for a nonexistent pack of Marlboros in his pockets. It’s a nervous habit he may never grow out of. “Who the fuck are you to talk? You gave us a month’s notice before you married Husher.”
“It’s not the same thing,” she replies between gritted teeth.
“This has been fun, but I need to go.” Theodore retrieves his phone from Mili and strides past us toward the door. Teller walks with the same style, bold and untouchable.
“Dad, your meeting is not more important than this,” Teller says. They’re two parts of a whole and not as different as they like to think. Teller’s audacity matches his father’s, and it hushes the entire apartment as senior and junior come to a standoff. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me, Pop. Now, I’m asking you to skip your fucking meeting to watch me get married.”
Dr. Reddy pushes his wire-rimmed glasses to the top of his nose, and he exhales deeply, averting his eyes from Teller. He chuckles. “You’ve done everything I asked? Is that what you call refusing Stanford, inking your skin, and getting arrested? Because, to me, son, that sounds like bullshit. That sounds like you feel sorry for yourself.”
“Stop,” I whisper, resting my hand on Teller’s arm so he knows I’m here. “It’s okay.”
He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “No, Ella, it’s not okay. We’re getting married. We’re not going to the fucking prom.”
My heart breaks for my man, because while Teller pushed back and fought every step of the way, he followed Theodore’s plan. He went to UCLA instead of Stanford, and he wears dark denim instead of tailored suits, but Teller’s on his way to achieve everything his father has. Despite this, he’s waiting for approval from the only person who refuses to give it to him.
“Where is this wedding taking place?” the critical dad asks.
“The Beverly Hills Courthouse,” Teller answers with the same confidence as if we’re tying the knot at the Four Seasons.
“For fuck’s sake,” Theodore voices under his breath.
My own father was an easygoing man who took advantage of every opportunity to apologize for his shortcomings and vocalize his pride in Emerson and me. He didn’t understand how to raise a daughter, but he let me know I was the prettiest girl in the world. There’s no doubt, if he was alive, he’d happily attend my courthouse wedding.
“Can I wear this?” Emerson asks, breaking the spell everyone is under. He’s dressed in athletic pants and a white T-shirt. “I can change into something nicer. It’s not every day I get to walk my sister down the aisle.”
My brother and Nic got married in Las Vegas without telling anyone what they were doing. I didn’t know how he’d react to my pregnancy, but I knew he’d understand why Teller and I want to skip the commotion and get straight to forever. Even if his complexion is on the pale side.
“It’s not so much an aisle as it is just a few steps,” I admit. Besides revealing my pregnancy, I’ve let this conversation go on without my input. But this is my life, my happiness, my family—it will happen with or without their blessings. Setting my attention to Dr. Reddy, I say, “I know this isn’t an ideal situation, and I’m very aware of the grief Teller and I have given you all, and I’m sorry for that. We love each other, and we’re going to have a baby. Please understand that we want to make this official as soon as possible because of those reasons and those reasons alone.”
Mili comes forward, holding her hands like a prayer in front of her. “We can put something nice together in no time at all like we did for Maby and Husher.”
Lacing my fingers between Teller’s, I look up at him and say, “No, thank you, Mili. I want to be Teller’s wife today.”
“What time is your appointment?” Maby asks. She checks her cell phone for the time.
“We have to be there in two hours.” Teller brushes the back of his fingers across my cheekbone.
Despite Maby’s request to do full hair and makeup on me before the ceremony, I arrive at the courthouse in the jeans and sweater I dressed in this morning. My left shoe is untied, and my hair is more frizzy than wavy. Nicolette braids it while we wait for the couple before us to finish up, and Mili buys me a bouquet of flowers from a street vendor outside to hold during the nuptials. Husher takes pictures with his phone, and Maby designates herself as my matron of honor. Theodore waits patiently beside his son, and Emerson still looks chalky.
This is the best day of my life.
“Last chance to back out,” Teller says as he approaches me. He kisses my forehead.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time, prick.”
“Our family would be so fucking relieved if you did.” He laughs playfully and presses his lips to the spot on my neck where he can feel how fast my heart beats. “Those insufferable bastards.”
“Because they have no cause for worry?” I ask sarcastically and roll my eyes. “We can only hope our kid doesn’t do to us what we’ve done to them.”
Teller sits in the chair beside mine, knees wide and head back. “No way. There’s no fucking way our kids are going to grow up like we did.”
“Kids?” I ask with a smile.
He side-eyes me and says, “We’ll have a dozen or two.”
“That sounds like a nightmare.”
Bright green eyes search my expression for signs of playfulness. “We’re done after this one is born?”
I shrug, unable to hide my smile. “We’ll get a couple dogs. Or another goldfish so Phish has a friend to swim with. He’s probably lonely. We’re horrible fish owners.”
“Smella, I’ll be the one who backs out of this wedding if you keep talking all that shit.”
“Says the person who slept inside of a tent in my backyard,” I fire back, laughing out loud at how ridiculous the memory is. Teller Reddy—untouchable Teller Reddy missed me so much, he was willing to brave the elements with nothing more than a sleeping bag and a two-person tent. If that isn’t love, it’s probably a very bad case of stalking. This might be Stockholm syndrome.
“I’ve slept in worse places just to be close to you,” he says, waving me off. He cringes sarcastically. “Like the streets of Venice Beach.”
“Those were the days,” I say wistfully.
Looking back on those times, I appreciate how good we used to have it now that I’m older and wiser. Teller and I acted like the sky was falling, but I lived on an iconic beach in Los Angeles—a true part of history. His family owned a mansion in Beverly Hills, where he never had to wash a load of laundry or clean his own room. We were dramatic at best, and senseless at our worst.
But that’s growing up.
Dramatic and senseless, wrecked and damaged, we’re moments away from marriage and months away from a baby, and I absolutely know this is supposed to be. Save the white dresses and tiered cakes for the couples who need their traditions and precision. Teller and I live on our terms, and our wedding day won’t change the pattern now.
Maybe I’ll deliver our baby outside of a hospital to keep things interesting.
The double oak doors to the small ceremony room open and a handful of people amble away, full of smiles and palpable joy due to legal togetherness. The justice of the peace follows them out in a floor length judge’s robe and clipboard in hand. “Are you Gabriella Mason?” he asks Maby.
Wishful thinking, I ponder to myself.
“No, I’m the matron of honor,” my soon to be sister-in-law announces.
Standing from my seat, I raise my hand as if I’m in a classroom and say, “I’m Gabriella Mason.”
“Are you ready to get married, Miss Mason?” the justice asks. If he’s disappointed by the way I’m dressed or by the poorly dyed red and white carnation I’m holding, he doesn’t show it. Instead, the person who will marry us today doesn’t break eye contact and beckons me forward.
“Yes,” I say. I’m unable to keep a smile from widening across my face.
People often say they’re married to their best friend, but it doesn’t always start out that way for everyone. It did for Teller and me, and I look forward to spending the rest of my life with the best friend I ever had.
The justice of the peace leads us to a podium at the front of the room, inviting our family to take a seat on any of the wooden benches provided for spectators. This isn’t the venue Mili would have chosen for her only son and his fiancée to get married, but it’s uncomplicated and honest. It’s exactly what Teller and I need for this new beginning.
“Let me start by congratulating you on your decision to be married today,” the justice says as he takes his place behind the podium. A microphone carries his voice. “This will be a very quick matrimony, and then the couple and their families can celebrate for the rest of the day in any way you decide.”
Teller cradles my hands in his and holds tight. “I’m here, Ella. I’m right here,” his assurance confesses. “Let’s get this over with and start forever.”
Do I say the words?
Do I go through the motions?
Am I married?
My hands tremble, my knees shake, and my heart flutters like hummingbird wings inside of my chest. Teller’s distorted by the tears in my eyes, so I blink them away as he comes closer to take my face in the palms of his hands.
“You may kiss the bride,” our officiant says.
His lips awaken me, and I remember promising to have and to hold through sickness and health.
I said, “I do.” Teller said, “I do.” And it was official. It was done.
Signed. Sealed. And a copy of our marriage license will be delivered in the next seven to ten business days.
“Is this real?” I whisper against Teller’s lips.
My husband laughs breathlessly and promises, “This is real, Ella.”
Husher takes a picture and the flash goes off, a bright sign that we’re not alone. The most important people alive watched us exchange vows in front of a representative for the state of California, in a beige-painted room the size of a closet. Hints of uncertainty on their faces are exchanged for proudness.
“We didn’t lose a son. We gained a daughter,” Mili says. It’s so effortless and so predictable, I start to cry and thank her for being the mother I didn’t have. She pets my hair soothingly and whispers, “Always, baby. Always.”
“Take care of my sister,” Emerson says to Teller. They’re mid-hug, clapping each other on the back. “Make sure she’s happy.”
Teller and I are in the center of congratulations and welcome to the family—officially. But then the justice of the peace announces, “We have another couple waiting to be married.”
We’re two families becoming one, just as happy as the duo who was joined before we were. Now I get their super grins and tangible happiness, because that’s us now.
Maby says, “That was a lot nicer than I expected.”
Nic says, “Our Vegas wedding was a lot like that.”
And Theodore announces, “I really need to be somewhere.”
We’re outside the courthouse, under the orange, pink, purple setting sun. There’s a wedding ring on my finger and a baby in my stomach, and I say, “Now what?”
Teller says, “Now we go home.”