Chapter 18
Scottie
FAIRYTALE ENDING
What does one wear to a courthouse wedding with her best friend’s brother?
There’s no guidebook for this sort of thing. I Googled it—don’t recommend. Every result assumes you’re either running away to Vegas or entering into a lavender marriage. Neither applies here.
I assume I should look like a bride. It’s not like we can tell the judge, Hi, we’re entering a loveless marriage so I can afford insulin and ADHD meds. First-world problems at their finest.
I stand in front of the mirror, holding the two finalists up by their hangers, switching them back and forth like a very underqualified stylist. Which one says cool, chic bride—but also this might be the only wedding I ever get, so I’d like to feel at least a little bridal, even if it’s all pretend?
It’s ridiculous. All of it. But if I’m going through with this, I at least want to look beautiful doing it. Glowy, even. Like every other bride—just minus the love part.
I end up choosing the white satin mini. Sleeveless, high neckline, a little sixties-inspired. In another life, maybe I’d wear the floor-length gown of my dreams, but that would be a little much given the circumstances.
So, mini dress it is.
No one is more surprised than me to realize I somehow own zero white dresses. Not one. Luckily, I was savvy with some online shopping and managed to overnight a few options.
Once I’ve zipped it up and paired it with an impractical pair of heels, I stare at myself in the mirror. The look is okay. Better than okay, technically. But something’s missing—something that would tie the whole ensemble together.
That’s when I spot it.
The veil.
The cheap little short one I ordered as a joke—a bachelorette accessory meant for drunk twenty-somethings doing karaoke, not an actual wedding. I didn’t plan to wear it. It was supposed to be funny, something to make this whole thing feel less serious.
But serious or not, I’m doing this.
So I reach for it.
The tulle catches the light as I settle it into my hair. When I meet my reflection again, I almost don’t recognize myself. There’s a moment—just one—where it hits me like a sucker punch: I’m actually marrying Gavin.
A tiny, traitorous part of me wishes it weren’t pretend. That we really were in love and doing this for real.
But my brain, being the overachiever it is, jumps in with every reason we’re not—and why we never could be.
It’s not like I even want to get married.
Real marriage would hold me back. Men like the idea of me—the free bird, the wild thing who makes them feel spontaneous—but eventually they all want the same thing.
They want to clip wings. Put the bird in a pretty cage.
Something decorative to brag about. Something that doesn’t fly away.
They want to keep the parts of me that shine, but not the parts that scare them.
I don’t think Gavin is like that. He’s secure—the kind of man who builds people up instead of boxing them in. The kind who would hand me the keys to the cage and tell me to go.
But his life is here. And mine isn’t.
And after all these years, if he’d ever seen me that way, I think he would’ve shown it by now.
Still, as I stand there in a cheap veil and a dress that fits too well for a sham wedding, I can’t squash that little crumb of hope.
Rather than dwell on it, I snap a quick picture and text it to Gavin.
What do you think? Does it scream Mrs. Ledger?
His reply comes through in less than a minute.
Gavin
Isn’t it bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?
I snort, even though I’m not sure he meant it as a joke. Before I can reply, another text pops up.
Gavin
You look beautiful, by the way. I should’ve started with that.
A blush creeps up my face. I should not be this affected by a harmless compliment. He’d probably say it even if I looked hideous. Because that’s Gavin—a genuinely good man. An anomaly, really. So nice he’s marrying me so I don’t die or drown in medical debt.
It’s completely selfless, and the gravity of it isn’t lost on me. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to repay him for doing this for me. But I’ll never forget it.
And one day, when he meets the right woman and slips a ring on the hand of the person he’s meant for, I’ll be there cheering him on—hoping to any higher power who gives a damn that she’s deserving of him. Because men like Gavin are rare.
If anyone deserves the fairytale ending, it’s him.
Even if it’s not with me.
Before I know it, Friday is here, and I may or may not be absolutely freaking the fuck out.
Gavin will be here any minute, so I need to get my emotions under control, which seems impossible considering my hands won’t stop shaking.
I’ve double-checked my bag. Triple-checked it. Gone through my packing list five times. There’s no way I’ve forgotten anything. Maybe it’s the mild case of mania coursing through me, but I’ve never been so organized in my life.
We had a video conference with the notary three days ago to get the marriage license started.
Apparently, Washington allows remote notarization now, which felt a little too easy for something that legally binds two people together.
After a few signatures, just like that, we’re one step closer to being married.
Gavin said he already has a courthouse in mind for the ceremony but wouldn’t tell me where.
A low rumble outside the window catches my attention.
Right on time. Gavin’s Subaru pulls up in front of my parents’ condo.
The one saving grace is that my parents are swamped and can’t act as a nosy audience.
They didn’t even question why I suddenly had a meeting in Seattle—which, let’s be honest, doesn’t make any sense. What meeting?
I take one last look in the mirror, swipe at my lip gloss, and take a deep breath.
By the time I step outside, Gavin’s readjusting some bags, making more room for mine. He glances up and gives me one of his small, easy smiles that makes my stomach swoop.
“Ready?” he asks.
“As I’ll ever be.”
Lily pops her head out the back seat window. “Hi, Scottie!” she shouts, grinning.
“Hi, Lil.” I open the door and climb into the passenger seat. “You ready for your big trip?”
She nods, buckling herself in. “Grandma said I might be tall enough to go on some of the big rides.”
“Seriously?” I gasp. “That’s huge. Are you scared, or are you like—nah, no big deal?”
“I’m ready,” she says immediately. “I’m not scared at all.”
Leave it to Gavin to have the world’s most fearless little girl.
“You’re way braver than me.”
Lily smiles at that, proud and a little shy about it.
We pull out of the driveway, and within ten minutes, Lily’s got control of the radio. Gavin doesn’t fight it, but the way his eyes keep flicking my way tells me he’s worried I’ll be annoyed.
The opening notes of some well-known pop song blast through the speakers. I recognize it instantly—one of those kid anthems you hear on social media with a dance challenge to go along with it. Without thinking, I start singing along.
Lily freezes, eyes wide. “You know this song?”
I nod, still singing.
Her jaw drops. “You know the words.”
“Oh, Lil,” I say, adjusting my seatbelt strap like I’m about to perform at the Grammys. “I know all the words.”
Not going to lie, it’s pretty great to blow a little kid’s mind with my singing skills. If only casting directors looked at me the way Lily is right now.
I launch into the chorus with full dramatic flair—hand movements, inflection, the works. My voice practically bounces off the dashboard. Years of stage training have made me incapable of doing anything halfway, even when it’s a silly pop song.
Lily stares at me like I’ve just turned into a Disney princess. Gavin glances over once, eyebrows slightly raised, but there’s the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth.
When the song ends, Lily lets out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a squeal. “You can sing! Like really sing!”
“Just a little,” I say, pretending to inspect my nails. Singing is one of my weaker skills—the main reason I’ve always steered clear of musicals. But if Lily’s enjoying it, that’s good enough for me.
“Do another one!” she begs.
I scroll through the playlist and find another upbeat track—something from a newer animated movie because obviously—and start singing again, softer this time but still keeping the rhythm. Lily joins in, her small voice trailing behind mine.
By the second verse, she’s giggling, trying to match the pitch. I exaggerate the notes, overly theatrical, and she dissolves into laughter. Even Gavin chuckles under his breath.
Somewhere around Ellensburg, Lily falls asleep, her head tilted against the window in a way that can’t be comfortable. I turn down the music and glance back at her.
“She’s out,” I whisper.
“Always happens around this stretch,” Gavin says quietly.
“You’re kind of incredible, you know that?
” His gaze flashes toward me for half a second before returning to the road.
“Actually, I take it back—you are incredible. That was…I don’t even have words.
You’re her new hero now, in case you were wondering. ”
My lips press together, fighting a smile. “That was fun. I think I needed it. I’ve been kind of freaking out about everything, and now I feel a little better.”
He nods, swallowing. “Yeah. Same here.” His smile is small, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I feel a little better now too.”
The cab goes quiet except for the traffic noise of the highway. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, just aware. Every mile we drive is one step closer to us making one very big decision.
Outside, the flat farmland slowly turns into trees. The farther we drive, the taller they get. A sure sign we’ve crossed into the western part of the state.
By the time we reach Seattle, Lily’s awake again, listing every single thing she wants to see and do in Disneyland.
Gavin pulls into a quiet, tree-lined neighborhood. The house is big but not showy, with bright flowerbeds out front.