I also feel awful. Barrett said I confided in Andy, and I had. I told Andy things that I should have been talking to Barrett about — months ago, if I’m being honest with myself. I haven’t been up front about everything with Barrett, but now he knows. Not that it was the right way for him to learn that but still, he knows.
When he walks over to the hope chest, I know exactly what he’s planning. A walk down memory lane. And I can’t agree more. We need to get back to what made us fall in love and remind each other that nothing is going to get in our way again. No one can come between us.
He pulls out all the photo albums that are in the chest and riffles through them until he finds the beginning.
“You ready?” he asks me. And I know what he’s asking. He’s asking if I’m ready for the emotional toll that this will take.
“Yes,” I reply firmly.
The first photo album he opens is full of us in high school.
“Look at your hair!” He laughs. It was so awesome. The big hair, the amount of Aqua Net we went through, the neon clothes. All the tight jeans, stonewash, jean jackets. The ugly sweaters the guys wore and their mullets. It’s so ugly that it’s awesome.
“I loved my hair that way. I thought I was smoking hot,” I say smiling at the memories.
“You were smoking hot. Hottest girl in school,” he says, smiling also.
I gasp as I point out a picture to him of us in the hallway. I remember his friend David was on the newspaper and yearbook committee, and he took it. We were standing in the senior class hallway by his locker. I’m smiling up at him, and he’s looking down at me, his hand on my waist and my hands on his chest. I was so happy in that moment. No one could have swiped the smile from my face. “Your letterman’s jacket. Remember that thing? Man, I felt like I’d just won a million dollars when you asked me to wear it. I remember walking into school that first day, and I wanted every single girl there to see I had Barrett Ryan’s jacket on,” I tell him, my voice all swoony.
“You’re such a dork. It was so huge on you, remember that? But I loved seeing you wear it. I wonder where it is now?”
“At Mom and Dad’s.” I smile at him, which he returns, but his is better because it’s followed up with a wink.
He smiles again, knowing his wink does it for me, then points to another picture of us, me in his red and black Bobcats football jersey. Apparently, I never wore my own clothes. It was after the homecoming game of our junior year. The night that he took me home from school and asked me to wear his jersey for the first time. He looks so much like Grady in these pictures. I’m smiling up at Barrett the same way Bri does to Grady. It may sound dumb, and I absolutely could be wrong considering they’re so young, and I don’t want it to happen for several years, but I see their future plain as I saw ours in those days. I never had love for any other man but him. Once we began dating, neither of us looked any other way but forward. Together.
“That picture right there. I was so damn proud whenever you wore my jersey but especially that first night. When I saw you after the game and knew you’d been in the stands cheering for me, wearing my number…” He shakes his head and grins at me then leans down and kisses me square on the lips before sitting back. “…man, I felt like I was on top of the world.”
“When Lauren picked me up for the game that night and I was wearing your jersey, her jaw about fell on her lap. You couldn’t erase the smile from my face if you tried.”
Lauren’s eyes are wide as she points to the jersey I’m wearing. “Tess! Oh my goodness, girl. When did this happen?! You’re wearing Barrett Ryan’s jersey? Barrett. Ryan! Seriously, this is so. Totally. Awesome! How did you get his jersey? Why are you wearing it? What does it mean?”
Lauren asks me question after question but all I can do is smile. I can’t believe it myself.
“He waited for me after the pep rally and drove me home, remember? After he walked me to the door, he asked me to wear it and pulled it off his back right there on my door step. I almost fainted, Lauren! He’s so hot!”
“I kept wanting to look up in the stands to make sure you were there and that you were wearing my jersey. I knew, though, if I saw you I wouldn’t be able to focus on the game. I just kept counting the minutes until the game was over so I could see you,” he says, the memory surfacing to the front of our minds. “Some days it feels like yesterday, you know?”
“I know what you mean. Time has gone so fast, right?”
“It really has.”
We spend the next four hours sitting on the area rug that covers the floor of the living room, pouring over old pictures of our lives together. Whoever says that teenage love can’t last can kiss it. The evidence of our love, that started so young but built over time, is right here in these books, staring back at us.
Our first prom together… that strapless, bright, sequined, purple, tea-length prom dress. There was a huge ruffle of material that went up the side. It was so beautiful then. My hair was enormous… I’m surprised a bird didn’t nest in it.
Our first summer together… when we first exchanged “I love yous.”
Our senior year of high school… So many memories wrapped up in that year. So many firsts.
Our years in college… Barrett wanted to play college football so badly but it just wasn’t in the cards for him. He ended up going to a two-year junior college because all he could see for himself was becoming an entrepreneur, and he didn’t want to “waste time in school.” I went to the same junior college and studied design. I knew I wanted to be an interior designer, but we both wanted to stay in our small town.
Even though my mom was healthy, I still wanted to be close to her. We were small-town people deep in our hearts, and we just couldn’t imagine making our home in any other small town than the one we both grew up in, and fell in love with each other in. I saw marriage and motherhood more than bright city lights or a big career.
Our wedding… My dress was enormous. So. Much. Fabric. And the butt bow? Wow. As much as I would change the fashion of the day, I wouldn’t change a single other thing. Our happiness was what I remember.
My arm is hooked through my dad’s behind the closed doors of the church sanctuary. My dress hangs heavily on my body, but I don’t care. I love it. The puffy sleeves sit wide on my bare shoulders, the bodice a beautiful, delicate lace. The satin skirt bells out widely, making me feel like a princess. The train that trails behind me is long and sprinkled with lace and pearl bead detail throughout, giving it a romantic and soft shimmer. Everyone told me that I shouldn’t wait to see Barrett until I walk down the aisle. That we needed to have pictures taken care of beforehand so that our guests won’t have to wait on us at the reception.
Barrett said he didn’t care what is better for our guests. “You’re not taking that away from me. I want to be standing at the end of the aisle waiting for her to take my name when I see her for the first time. It probably sounds stupid, but I’ve imagined it a thousand times in my head, and that’s how it’s going to be,” he said to my parents then walked out of the room like the discussion was closed.
My mom looked at me and said, “Okay then.” And apparently the discussion was, in fact, closed.