Minutes later, I’m walking down the aisle to the sound of the pianist playing Pachelbel’s “Canon in D.”
When I glance at Sol, Ivan, and MJ, my gaze lingers a little longer on my fiancé’s handsome face. He looks so hot in his charcoal gray suit.
I flash him a smile. He smiles back and mouths, “You are beautiful,” then seconds later, his brow furrows as he watches my face as if he can read me. I blow him a quick kiss, then look away when I feel my throat burn with tears.
My gaze moves down the rows on my right and lock eyes with my grandmother. I wave at her, and she waves back, a proud smile spreading across her face.
When she arrived in Portland two days ago—sans her husband—she told us that she and Richard have been separated for almost two weeks. Grandma couldn’t live with his ignorance any longer. And also, she couldn’t lose my mother and me for the second time, so she chose us over her husband of over forty years. I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult it was to make that kind of decision. Still, I’m so proud of her for being brave enough to walk away.
When I reach the altar, I take my position just as Mom appears at the far end of the aisle with Beverly at her side, her arm linked with my mother’s. Beverly was there for her when my grandparents threw her out of their home. And I believe something as special as a wedding should be celebrated with people who have loved you and been there for you through thick and thin.
My eyes land on Sol again, and I realize he’s still watching me. I glance away and focus on the wedding.
After the wedding, Mom and Chris linger outside, accepting congratulations from their guests. Sol catches up with me outside the church, with Ivan and MJ right behind him. He excuses himself, then heads in my direction.
Turning away from the newlyweds, I give him my attention, his mouth pulling into a smile despite the concern darkening his eyes.
“You clean up quite well, Callan.” I slide my arms around his torso in a hug and crane my neck to meet his gaze.
“Thank you.” Balancing on his crutch, he wraps his arm around me and hugs me tight. “You look really beautiful. I couldn’t take my eyes off you, Gracie.”
I hike on the tips of my toes and press a peck on his lips, then tuck my head into his chest. In his arms, I feel safe.
His chest expands and falls on a breath. “What’s wrong?”
I don’t waste any time telling him. “I’m not pregnant.”
He lets out a sound like someone punched him in the gut. “Look at me,” he whispers. I blink the tears away and do as he says. “Are you okay?”
“Not really. But I will be. Are you okay?”
He shakes his head. “But I will be. It wasn’t the right time.” He bites his lip and directs his gaze to the sky. I give him time, knowing he needs to process the information.
“We’re still young and you start college in the fall. And I have to finish college . . .” I trail off, waiting for him to look at me.
And he does. His eyes are red, tears lingering on the edges. “Yeah.”
I allow my lips to pull into a smile. “And you know what?”
“What?”
“When we are ready, we’re going to have so much fun making babies.”
All of a sudden, he grins brightly. “I’m going to knock you up so hard, Gracie. I can’t wait to see you carrying my children.”
I laugh, the heaviness in my chest lifting. “Children? How many do you want?”
“An entire soccer team?”
My eyes widen. “Are you serious?”
His cheeks flush a deep red, and he clears his throat. “Yeah. I have a feeling when we start, I won’t stop.” He ducks down until his lips brush the shell of my ear. “I love the whole process of making babies with you.”
My cheeks heat because the way he says it is so hot. “You’re such an overachiever. How about three?”
He squints, pretending to think. “Ten.”
I shake my head. “Four.”
He smirks. “Seven.”
“Six.”
“Deal.” He steps back and grabs my hand in a handshake. “Is it wrong that I’m praying for time to go fast so we can start our own family?”
I laugh again. “You’re going to make a wonderful father, Solomon Callan.”
“And you, Grace Miller, are going to be a badass mom.” He stuffs his hand inside his jacket pocket, his eyes never leaving mine. “And an even more badass wife.”
He pulls out a tiny velvet box, and before I can say anything, he snaps it open, revealing a white-gold ring with a single diamond on top. He plucks it and takes my left hand, slipping the ring on my ring finger.
“My first. My last. My everything.”
“Thank you for giving us a second chance,” I whisper around the lump in my throat. “My first, my last, my everything. My forever kind of love.”
Sol nudges my chin up with his thumb, his eyes locking with mine. “Love is not perfect. We are not perfect, but you are perfect for me, Gracie.”
I chuckle, but the sound turns into a sob. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Love doesn’t make sense. We just roll with it.”
I mull his words, then say, “Love is . . . love is messy. It’s trying and failing and floundering about, trying again and again. And when you give up, thinking you’ll never find it, it finds you.”
“Huh. Messy. I like that,” Sol murmurs, leaning down to brush his lips on mine. “Here’s to writing the rest of the chapters to our story.”
It’s been two months since Mom and Christopher’s wedding, and one since schools closed. I moved in with Sol, so I can give the newlyweds their space. She was glowing when they came back home from their honeymoon in Bali. I’ve never seen my mother so happy.
Today, I planned to spend the day with her, then meet with Sol at a Chinese restaurant in downtown Portland for an early dinner. Mom cut our time short and drove to the rented apartment my grandmother is living in to help her settle in. Emily filed for divorce after the wedding, and then moved to Portland permanently.
After my mother and I parted ways, I drove home and changed cars, then drove to St. Peter’s Church to surprise Sol.
By the time I arrive there, it’s almost three in the afternoon. He should be done with youth group any minute now.
I park the beat-up red Chevy in one of the available spots and dig out a tube of red lipstick from my purse. Reaching up, I pull down the visor and touch up the lipstick, then brush my fingers through my straightened hair. Sol is going to flip when he sees me. The memory of the way he couldn’t take his eyes off my mouth during Thanksgiving almost two years ago flashes inside my head.
Oh, yeah. The red lipstick is going to drive him crazy.
When I’m done, I hop out of the truck, walk around to lean on the side of the passenger door, and wait for my fiancé. The ring around my finger glimmers against the sun, catching my attention. I still can’t believe I’m wearing Sol’s ring. That one day, hopefully soon, I’ll walk down the aisle to the man who owns me body and soul. We haven’t talked about the wedding. Maybe in a few months. At the moment, he and I are getting used to this new incredible normal. We talked about what we will do once schools open, and decided we will take turns driving from Portland to Northford and vice versa on weekends.