“No no, it’s actually fine,” I said, stepping into his arms and bringing them around my waist. “Because here’s the thing. I had hours in an airplane, with nothing to do and no one to talk to, and the only thing I could think about was you. And us. And how much I love you.” I walked him, pushed him really, backward through the sand. “I also thought a lot about something else.”
“What’s that?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Garlic foam,” I answered, then spun him to face the beach.
I love me a speechless Wallbanger.
Hundreds of candles. Tiki torches dancing as far as the eye could see. Lanterns in shades of violet, indigo, emerald, and ruby bumping around on the breeze. The evening breakers splashing lazily against the beach. In the distance, an early moon lit up Ha Long Bay, with its ancient islands and peaks covered in mist and moss. And before us? An aisle lined with votives . . . with Jillian and Benjamin standing at the end of it. Along with them, the Vietnamese equivalent of a justice of the peace.
“Marry me, Simon. Marry me right here, right now, without any bullshit. Marry me, with just our two friends to see it happen. No parents, no work friends, no clients, no peppercorn-encrusted blah-blah, just you and me and the stars. I spent a night in a pod wondering if I was ever going to see your eyes staring back at me again, and I can’t manage that again unless I’m your fucking wife. And I don’t give one tiny shit about a big fancy wedding, especially without you getting to have your garlic foam. Which, I’d like to point out, is waiting for you back in the main house, for what I hope is our wedding dinner of giant prawns. I want you, only you, for the rest of my life,” I said, lips trembling but knees strong. “Marry me, Simon.”
He paused, the corner of his mouth lifting as he looked around at the fairy tale laid out in front of him. The fairy tale that was exactly right for us. On this very important day.
“One question,” he said, lifting our clasped hands to his lips and placing a kiss right below my engagement ring.
“Hit me.”
“What was that about spending a night in a pod?”
“Seriously? I ask you to marry me, and that’s the line you picked out?”
“Technically, I asked you to marry me first. Let us never forget this very important bit of information.”
“So noted.”
“Can I ask another question?”
“Just one more, and then I’ll need an answer.”
“Is this even legal?”
I laughed, then pulled him down to me for a soft kiss. “Not in the slightest. This is just for us.”
“You realize you own me, don’t you, Nightie Girl?”
“Is that a yes?”
“Hell yes it’s a yes, let’s get hitched,” he whispered, and I threw my arms around his neck. “Watch the rib, okay?”
“Shit!” I exclaimed, and then I heard Benjamin clearing his throat. “Dammit, I just swore at my own wedding. Dammit, I did it again.”
“That’s three times.”
“Can it, Wallbanger.”
And with those revered words, we walked ourselves down the aisle. Spoke the simplest of vows. Promised each other everything we could. Kissed under the stars. High-fived our witnesses on the way back down the aisle. Cut the strings on about fifty sky lanterns and set them loose towards the stars. Then headed inside for garlic foam.
Because that’s what my husband wanted.
Later that night, in the honeymoon bed . . .
“That feels amazing. Don’t stop what you’re doing there, please don’t stop. Right there. Right there. That’s it . . . mmmm.”
“How many is that?”
“I’ve lost count.”
“This is the big one.”
“I can feel it. Jesus that’s good . . . more . . . more . . . more.”
“We’re going to run out of calamine lotion at this rate.”
Here’s the thing about getting married outside in the tropics. Mosquitos. Big fuckers. We spent our wedding night scratching each other’s bites and applying calamine lotion by the gallon. And with Simon still on the disabled list sexy-times-wise, we spooned, scratched, and watched Goonies. With subtitles.
Best. Wedding. Night. Ever.
“Do you, Caroline, take this man, Simon, to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”
“I do.”
“And do you, Simon, take this woman, Caroline, to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”
“I do.”
And so we made it legal. Simon and I had our very best friends and our very favorite family members over to our house in Sausalito, along with a judge I’d done a remodel for. Simon wore jeans, I wore a sundress, and we got married for a second time. This one recognized by the U.S. government. Were my parents disappointed they didn’t get to throw me the huge splashy wedding they’d been planning? Maybe a little, but ultimately they understood. As did Mimi and Sophia, and why they didn’t even know about our Vietnamese wedding until after we’d flown home.
We kept our original wedding date, slashed the guest list by two-thirds, and with the exception of Simon’s friends from Pennsylvania and his old neighbors the Whites, everyone was local. At least local to Northern California. Viv and Clark were there, with Will in attendance as well, cute as a button in a tuxedo onesie. And Chloe and Lucas were there too, in town visiting Sophia and Neil. And get this, Chloe and Clark were cousins. How’s that for six degrees of Wallbanger? I was happy to have them all here on this very special day. This very special casual day. Because in the end, it wasn’t the lace and the tulle that made a wedding—it was about the couple saying their I do’s, and their friends and family being there to celebrate it with them. We threw a barbecue, opened up a bunch of wine and cold beer, set up a makeshift soda fountain to make egg creams and sundaes, and had a party. We dragged Simon’s old record player out onto the terrace, he did some audio nerd stuff with the speakers, and big-band music filled the Sausalito night.
Instead of having a wedding cake, I’d spent two solid days this week in the kitchen with my mom, my girlfriends, my aunts, and my cousins, and we made pans and pans of Ina’s Outrageous Brownies. She would have been proud. But for Simon, I made him is very own apple pie, which he smeared all over my face in place of wedding cake. We had wedding pie. Fitting.
I sat on a bench at the edge of our lawn, eating brownies with Mimi and Sophia and watched as our guys played Frisbee with Benjamin and Simon’s high school crew. I’d been holding Mary Jane until Sophia had to take over. Someone was hungry.
“Not really the wedding I pictured you having, Caroline,” Sophia said, switching boobs. “But it’s pretty fun.”
“Fun, I’ll take. Fancy, I’ll leave to you. How’s the planning coming along?”
“It’s coming along great! The binder is really filling out nicely,” Mimi said, interrupting. She was seriously considering starting a second business, and she should. She was damn good at it. “Speaking of the binder, I’ve got pictures to go through with you on ideas I had for your hair, Sophia. I’ve been cutting out stuff from magazines for weeks now. Did you know that Grace Sheridan has your exact same hair color and length? Hers is a little more curly than yours, but it’s essentially the same.”