Twenty-Three #2
I glance across the field to see my daughter happily dancing along the tree line next to my ute.
She’s been planning today for weeks. She made Colt show her how to tie a perfect lasso so she could ‘complete her ceremony’.
No matter how many times we tried to explain that a handfasting is traditionally for weddings – and between lovers – she was not having it.
Billie had made her rope during art class at school, weaving together her favourite colours to represent us.
Annabeth’s rope is a faded purple, Billie’s is a muted cream.
And mine, mine is a khaki green. She intertwined the three ropes together in a twisted braid, wrapping the ends with bronze tips, and hanging a Celtic love knot from the end pieces. It really is gorgeous.
This little ceremony alone is a perfect example of who my girl is.
Bold, kind, and full of love. She told me one night, after Annabeth went home, that she wanted to do this under the bridge outside of town at sunset, and she wanted to sing us a song that she’s been working on.
She wouldn’t tell me anything about it, aside from it being a celebration of us – of our family.
She explained that the handfasting was to protect us, to connect us in spirit and soul.
I’m sure you can imagine my surprise when my eight-year-old came to me after school and said this to me, completely unprovoked.
Her blue eyes were so full of joy as she told me exactly how she planned to do the ceremony.
“Daddy, A.B., I’m ready for you.”
We both get whiplash turning to face Billie, who’s appeared out of thin-air in front of the ute. She’s beaming from ear to ear, her hands expertly hidden behind her back to conceal the braided rope.
Annabeth smiles, and I’m starting to feel as giddy as a kid with a lunch order, because she has no idea what we’re doing. I – brilliantly, I might add – have lured my woman here under incredibly false pretences. She thinks we’re having a simple family picnic. And we are… kinda.
“Daddy, A.B., please stand in your flower circles,” she begins, her voice rings out with purpose as she commences her speech.
“We are gathered here today to perform a ritual that I have prepared,” Billie says, her eyes fixed on Annabeth and me. I thought we might eat first, but just like her mother, Billie’s straight into it. I suppress a laugh, but I can’t fight the proud smile that’s sweeping across my lips.
“Daddy, please hold this,” she continues, handing me one end of the rope.
“A.B.,” she adds, passing the other end to Annabeth. I stifle a laugh at Billie’s use of Colt’s nickname for Annabeth.
“What’s going on?” Annabeth asks, wearily.
“Please do not interrupt the mating ceremony,” Billie interjects, completely straight-faced. Annabeth and I burst into laughter, with Annabeth’s eyes going as wide as saucers.
“Princess, it’s a bonding ceremony,” I tell her.
She scowls at both of us, clearly unimpressed with our lack of seriousness. She purses her lips, clearing her throat before continuing, “This is supposed to be special.”
“Sorry, lovebug. Go on, please,” Annabeth says through a laugh.
“Annabeth, Daddy, please put your right hands together and hold your rope,” she explains, entwining her own hand inside the braid. As she knots the tri-coloured cord around our hands, she continues, “We; Annabeth, Billie-Mae, and Daddy, vow to love each other forever.”
Annabeth and I watch in awe as Billie recites her script, wrapping the cord into a figure eight knot around our hands. She’s careful, deliberate in every movement, her voice never faltering. I can feel Annabeth’s hand shaking as Billie pulls the cord, and the three of us fall silent.
The intricate ropes are tied around our hands in a perfect knot, binding us together.
It’s such a simple and pure moment. My girl, my tiny little princess, planned this on her own.
She memorised the script, worked with her uncle to learn how to tie the knot, and then made sure everything was packed and ready to go before she left for school this morning.
I’m not joking, she wrote me instructions.
Billie explains to us that we need to slip our hands from the ropes so she can fasten the knot, which effectively will conclude the bonding ceremony. We do as we’re told, and watch in silence as the braids curl together, and the knot seals.
“I love you,” Annabeth blurts, her free hand flying to her mouth as she realises what she’s said.
My heart stops, or is it beating faster?
I don’t know. I’m sweating. My hands shake, my breath either stops, or gets faster, and I can’t fucking move.
I’m frozen, standing next to two of the most important people in my life – not including from my brother – and I can’t speak.
I must look like a right dickhead. I’m pretty sure my jaw is touching the floor; at least it feels like it is.
I’m waiting for someone to speak, then I realise that both Annabeth and Billie are staring at me like I’ve grown two heads and they’re both waiting for me to say something. What do I even say? How do I say anything to that except ‘I love you too’? Because, of course I do.
Annabeth is everything I’m not. She’s wild, she’s brave, she’s not afraid to go after what she wants.
I knew from the second I saw her that she would be my undoing.
It’s everything. From her pink hair that glows in the dark, to the way her jeans always fit just a tad too perfectly, showcasing every curve.
Her voice – despite being about an octave lower than you’d expect – sounds like the most beautiful symphony I have ever heard, and that’s just when she speaks. I may have only heard her belt out a few songs, but she’s always humming to herself.
She smells like home. She feels like home. There is no doubt in my mind that I am uncontrollably and irrevocably in love with this woman. So, the question that remains is, how in the ever-loving fuck do I tell her that?
“Anna—” I don’t even get her name out before I hear Billie’s voice.
“Dad, are you gonna just stand there, or are you gonna do something?”
Annabeth flashes me a sheepish look. Meanwhile, Billie has her hands on her hips and is scowling at me.
I take a deep breath, then the words start flowing. “Annabeth, you are, without a doubt, the most incredible person I’ve ever met. I don’t know how to not want you near me. I feel like an idiot saying the words now, but I do. Of course I do. How could I not?”
Annabeth’s eyes lock onto mine, like she’s searching for answers.
Her lips move slowly and it takes a minute for me to realise she’s mouthing, “I’m sorry”.
I move closer to Annabeth, extending my hands until they rest on her freckled cheeks.
Somewhere in the heat of the moment, I sense Billie create space between us, her blonde curls shining in my peripheral vision as she creeps away slowly.
“No, don’t do that, don’t apologise. You are brave, beautiful, kind.
Fuck, you’re everything, Annabeth. I didn't know I could love someone after Sam, let alone be loved. I thought that was it for me, until I met you. I don’t know what gods I prayed to in another life that brought you to me, but I know that I am never letting you go.
I love you, Annabeth Harrington. I love you. ”
She stares at me, her expression laced with a mixture of confusion and relief. Her lip quivers, and it takes every ounce of restraint I have not to sink my teeth into it. Tears well in the stormy-green pools beneath her lashes, making them even more breathtaking.
We don’t speak, the silence an eerie comfort as we stare at each other. The only sound is Billie’s faint humming and the echoing nature around us; birds chirp in the trees, frogs croak somewhere in the distance, and the creek flow echoes through my ears. This town is my home. My safe place.
I press my nose to hers, my heart pounding in my chest. Is it normal to forget how to breathe after you tell a girl you’re in love with her? Fuck, she’s probably about to punch me in the face. Dear god, Dallas, why do you always go there?
“I love you,” Annabeth says again.
That’s all I need to know. I reach for her, claiming her in my arms. Her body moulds into me instantly, like she was made for me. Her bubblegum strands tickle my chin as she rests her head on my chest. I feel the steady rhythm of her heart beating against me.
“Are you two gonna smooch already? I’m starving,” Billie yells from somewhere behind us.
Annabeth’s cheeks turn a shade of pink brighter than her damn hair, her freckles threatening to disappear beneath the blush. I squeeze her tighter, just for a moment, before leaning in and placing a single kiss on her forehead.
My firefly smiles at me, her expression softening now. I take her hand, guiding her to the picnic Billie has so graciously planned for us. We take our seats on the tartan rug, and as we sit, eat, and laugh, I feel a piece of me, that I didn’t even know was broken, heal.