Chapter Thirty
Lily
R apha?l, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold—”
“Yes, always to hold,” Rafe replies.
I wipe a tear from my eyes as Sparrow laughs. I’m annoyed at the bride and groom for being so sweet, but I’m also so happy for them that I can’t even be mad about it. They continue their vows. While I try to stay in the moment and commit all this magic to memory so I can chat with Sparrow about it one day, my eyes keep wandering to Graham. Because he is my moment. He’s the one that I know I want to share vows with one day too. The thought of standing at the altar with him one day (hopefully sooner rather than later) makes my eyes burn. When the mist clears and I peek over at him, I see that Graham’s eyes are filled with tears as well.
Sparrow and Rafe have a way of getting to you. Their love is so pure and so healing for each other that I wouldn’t want anything more for my best friend. As I hold Sparrow’s bridal bouquet and my own, the heady, floral scent now infusing my thoughts with sweetness, I think about the roses in my hand. Despite their presence, the thorns along their stems never stood a chance of destroying their beauty. I think that’s how it is with Graham and me. I’ve had many thorns that have gotten in our way. In the past, I’ve wounded him to protect myself, but he saw what was possible all along. Together, maybe we’ll be able to remove all the thorns so I can heal more too. Because isn’t that love? The ability to go through the mess and hurt each other just for being human, only to remain steadfast in love and choose each other again and again?
When we were together in the bridal suite earlier this morning, Sparrow told me it’s up to me to decide what the future holds. She gave me a koala hug as we’ve termed it. (I’m scared of bears, so koala hugs are what we call the alternative). And she’s right. Witnessing the fulfillment of her love as she marries Rafe, like the brave and fearless woman she is, makes me want to write my own love story.
Sparrow’s vintage wedding gown is so stunning I could squeal just thinking about it. With a deep V-neck and capped sleeves overlaid with lace, it molds to her frame, tapering at the waist and flowing out into a dreamy mix of floor-length tulle and lace. Rafe is in a suit hand-tailored by his father’s fashion house. Even though they still haven’t reconciled fully, the suit was a nice gesture from his parents. It’s a slim-fit suit with a button-up, no tie. Of course, he is wearing a pair of fresh high-top sneakers. He planned to wear loafers, but Sparrow wouldn’t have it.
Pastor Wilfred continues, “Sparrow, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold— ”
“I do.” Her serene voice speaks with bold surety, her hands clasped in Rafe’s.
A soft laugh echoes throughout the church. They’re so sure that Pastor Wilfred need not even finish the words. He does it anyway and makes them repeat it, but the scene is so sweet I don’t know how to process it. I think if I didn’t work with sugar all the time, acclimating me to such a syrupy lovefest, the sight of it would make me ill.
“Sparrow,” Rafe begins, “you’re my favorite song. If I only get to hold onto one thing in this life, it has to be you. It must be you. If I only get to sing about one thing, it must be our love. Thank you for seeing me. I promise to always save you a dance.”
I pull a tissue from the middle of my bouquet, glad that I had the foresight to stuff them in there for these moments. I’m not typically a crier, but the emotion of my life these past few weeks has wrecked me in so many ways.
“Rafe,” Sparrow says with a content smile, “I think from the first time I saw your hair sticking out of the back of your baseball cap on that train from Boston, my soul knew. You’re my person. God is so kind to have given me you. I know . . . I know my parents would’ve loved you. You’ve proven to me that we can have both what we want and what we need in a person. Thank you for loving me so well. You’ve given me the full kind of love—and I promise I’m fully yours forever.”
Now, everyone is a wreck. Sniffling can be heard throughout the stone church, which is covered in flowers and candlelight. Looking around through clouded vision, I see the shiny evidence of tears on faces all over the room.
I’m choking thinking of how Sparrow’s dad would have gleamed with pride watching this—so proud of them both. The bride and groom have both experienced heartache. They knew what was at stake when they fully committed to loving each other. And they both chose each other above all the doubts and fears.
I lift my eyes to look at Graham. His eyes are still brimming with tears, a blink away from falling. If I was close enough, I would catch them when they do.
Sparrow and Rafe exchange their rings while my mind starts to race. Hungrily, I take in the sight of Graham in his suit, his posture perfect, his intensity devastating. I suck in a breath, watching as he pulls something from his pocket and slowly adds it to the boutonniere on his jacket lapel. It’s a tiny bunch of chamomile flowers.
Like a veil lifting, I see our future all so clearly. I see myself in a white gown with black trim. Graham is in a suit. (Well, he’s almost always in a suit, but a suit on his wedding day? Unprecedented.) I picture nights by the fire, his fingers weaving through my hair. I imagine bowls of soup and babies in our arms. I envision card games and chocolate cake clinging to our lips and our memories. I picture fighting and then making up in ways that cause my bones to ache with need.
When it comes to the rest of our lives? I want all of this with him. The truth, even when I couldn’t see it, is that I’ve wanted this with him all along. And this time, I’m not going to let myself get in the way.
“You may now kiss the bride!” Pastor Wilfred yells, and the church erupts with applause and shouts, the loudest cheers being from Gladys, Ivy, and Grey. I can hear their joy as they celebrate from the front row .
Rafe holds Sparrow like she hung the moon, and their kiss is anything but PG. I almost expect the pastor to need to step in, but he’s forced his attention to the ceiling. He looks back toward the happy couple in time to see Rafe holding Sparrow so closely that it’s like they’ve become one heart. I’ve never seen anyone hold someone like they hold each other—as if they’re holding on for dear life while also completely content to never let go. My eyes travel again to Graham. He is clapping and giving some sort of whooping sound that surprises me, coming from his smiling mouth.
When the newlyweds release each other enough to face the back of the church, I hold out the bridal bouquet to Sparrow. Her eyes are loaded with a reflection of so much history and friendship between us. Tears threaten to pour from my eyes again, but I hold them back, nodding to let her know that it’s okay. I give her a shooing motion with my head and watch as the newly married couple hustle down the aisle. All the way, Rafe’s arm is up in the air like he’s on top of the world. And I know he truly is.
I’m watching their exit, but I catch Graham’s arm reaching for me from the corner of my eye. His suit creases at his elbow, his arm extended, waiting for me to take it. I look up at him and feel in every way that this moment could’ve been ours. I believe it still can be. I know if Cricket is catching any of this on camera, what she will capture is the longing I feel for this to be permanent.
“Go on, you two,” Pastor Wilfred encourages.
I face the back of the church and try to figure out how I can kiss Graham before we make it down the aisle. When we burst through the exit into the spring air, whose warmth swirls around us with a hint of dusk at the edges, I’m ready for my own forever to begin. In the evening glow, I can feel winter finally relenting, and it feels like love would whisper for us to wake up from the ground covered by frost.
With the newlyweds on the move toward their car, we follow. We’ll be heading to Wicked Good Farms to get some pictures before everyone arrives for the reception at the big white barn. The next few hours will be glorious. Still, I know that all night, I’ll be holding my heart up with a string still in knots over Graham.
∞∞∞
Graham hasn’t stopped staring at me. During every photo, whether we are in the shot or not, his intensity breaks my concentration. After my little revelation in church, I’m struggling to maintain my composure.
It was a gorgeous wedding, a beautiful and perfect wedding. But I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit how much I long to be alone with Graham for a few minutes to show him how much I love him. Finally, at the end of what feels like a thousand clicks of the camera and enough photos taken of us that I’m going to make one of those photo books to ensure I can hold onto all of them, it’s time to get ready for the reception.
Sparrow and Rafe huddle close to each other, whispering things that—if I heard them—I probably would need to have my ears cleaned out or extensive therapy to recover from. I feel the countdown clock ticking in my bones. They wander along the path, the distance between us growing. I’m left with no choice. I decide to make a move that I know I won’t regret.
“Okay, you! I need to talk to you now.” I’m a woman on a mission, and I can’t linger here another moment without laying all our cards out on the table. “I love you, Graham.”
He blinks, giving no other expression or emotion. He merely stands on the path . . . blinking.
“And I know people say all this stuff about love and blah, blah, blah,” I continue. Of course I’m using words that aren’t words to express my love for him on my best friend’s wedding day, of all days. “You’re my favorite. I did a terrible job of showing you that.”
Graham still hasn’t moved. If not for the rise and fall of his chest under his suit and the steady blinking, I would think we lost him about thirty seconds ago.
“Fine, you want me to keep going?” I ramble. “When I stood at the altar in church, watching our two best friends declare their love for each other to the world, I saw it. You. Me. Babies. Are you scared yet? Because you should be. Because I’m scared. I’m so scared. Last night and that little display of yours this morning knocked some sense into me, you know? And so did the sight of you in that suit, because . . . wow. But that’s for another time.” I inhale, trying to catch my breath from the heady rush of words.
“The point is that you’re worth everything, Graham. You’ve always been worth everything. Every doubt and every fear is soothed by your presence. I’m so sorry that you ever had cause to doubt that.”
At this point, tears are streaming down my face unbridled. I know my makeup has been shot to sticky streaks. As evidence, I glance down to see a concealer and mascara-tinged droplet stain on the bodice of my dress. I’m going to have to do serious damage control before we enter the barn for the reception.
“And you were right,” I whisper. “You’re not the Wickham of this story. You never were. That is who I meant, by the way, when we met in the movie theater. The truth is, you’re the Darcy of it all. You make me want to go on those adventures we talked about. I think my heart knew it didn’t want to go without you. You make me want to tell my mind to stop warring against what I want. Because you’re all that I want.”
A pulsing suddenly begins to move through his jaw. I can see the evidence of my words sinking in. His hands clench and unclench. His weight shifts, like he wants to move closer, but something is still holding him back. Finally, his throat clears.
“Lily, I’m only going to ask this one time,” he says, his voice gravelly and delicious. “I thought we said what we needed to say last night. I was giving you time to be sure. But this—what you’re saying . . . I need it confirmed. You know how my mind works.”
I have a suspicion that what he’s about to ask me is going to change the trajectory of my life and our lives if my wishes are answered. I take a deep breath and nod, using the back of my hand to dab at the tears streaking my face.
“What do you want?”
“I want you to fight with me,” I urge.
The tone of my voice is almost begging him to hear the layers of what I’m trying to say. I don’t mean to fight in a violent, unsavory way. I mean, I want him to fight with me like he shows up every time I see him with a fire in his eyes and an unbreakable composure that urges me to unravel him in the best way. When we struggle, I want my body to get a few degrees warmer and my heart to beat faster just from being near him.
“Why on earth would I want to do that?” His brow is furrowed, his breathing heavy. Graham isn’t messing around.
I know all my cards need to go on the table. It’s now or never. “Because when you fight with me, it feels like you’re fighting for me.”
He takes a short step forward, his hands shoved into his pockets, his eyes sparking with a look I know will burn for a lifetime. “Lily,” he whispers, a cross between a plea and a prayer.
Already, my eyes are filling again with tears. He pulls one hand from his pocket and extends it toward me. It’s all there, just as when I wrestled myself to sleep. The watch wrapped around his wrist, the crinkle of his shirt where it’s rolled up to his forearms, the rise and fall of his chest as I wait for his response.
Tilting up my chin, I imagine what it might be like to feel Graham’s kiss again after the affection we’ve witnessed today. I want that affection to grace my life more than anything I’ve ever wanted. His long strides carry him to me, and Graham’s warm hands rise to cradle my face. My eyes close from the sensation.
“Open your eyes, love,” he says into the air between us.
I take a ragged breath and open them, staring into piercing blue eyes that never left my soul. Their rims are wet. Tenderly, I try to wipe his tears away with the edge of my hand. There’s a soft smile on his face, paired with a lingering look of disbelief.
“You called me ‘love,’” I whisper. “Still.”
“I did,” he says without hesitation.
“Even after all this time . . . you still look at me like I’m somehow made of magic.”
“Yes. I believe you are. ”
“We’ve lost so much time,” I whisper. The weight of my words settles between us. “Are you sure there can be forgiveness for what I did to keep us apart? I couldn’t take it if you woke up one day and realized that you can’t get over it.”
“Lily, I’ll never get over it.”
My breath catches, his tortured blue eyes tearing me apart.
“Only because I’ve never gotten over you,” he continues. “The past is all part of our story now. We can’t change it. We won’t forget it, try as we might. There’s time lost that we won’t get back. But we can love each other with all we have now. We can choose to give grace to each other.”
Lifting my hand, I wrap my fingers around the back of his neck, caressing the ends of his hair. I feel it when he relaxes into our embrace. My investigative, protective angel finally trusts that I’m not going anywhere. I know I’ll reach for him for the rest of my life.
“At the altar, I . . . I wanted it to be us standing there.”
His eyes widen, searching my features. “Sweetheart, I—” he says, and I stop his words with another kiss.
The kiss is urgent, and it’s hungry, the weight of it wrapping through my spine like tendrils on a vine. It’s the fragrance of tulips in the spring and the creamy look of pastel-colored roses. It’s chamomile tea with extra honey. It’s the stuff that fairy tales are made of.
His lips move sweetly over mine, savoring, testing, asking me without words if I’m still the woman who remembers the bolt of lightning that struck us both. We have stories to remind ourselves of what’s possible. All the tales of old hold an element of universal truth—we want to be loved. We get caught up in our own humanity and stumble over obstacles of our own making. If we’re brave enough, we may be able to make it to the other side, holding onto something or someone who looks an awful lot like what we wanted all along.
Maybe I wasn’t born at the wrong time after all. My own love story is found not in the past but in the present.
I know this to be true: While Sparrow and Rafe are celebrating their love tonight, so are we.
We part. Graham’s fingers lightly caress my collarbone, his thumbs casually turning downward, creating a makeshift heart near my chest.
Finally and truly, our love is made new.