4. Aubrey
Istood in the middle of my walk-in closet, looking between the dresses and blouses and skirts and trousers…
This shouldn’t be a hard decision. It was likely Clint would be fine if I wore the same thing he saw me in this morning. I should be fine with it.
Instead, I was fighting an internal war, with one side insisting I was getting married for the first time and the other side pointing out this was married in name only. Sure, the whole thing had been my idea, and it was the right decision, but this wasn’t how I saw my wedding happening.
Then again, for a long time when I pictured myself getting married, Deacon was waiting for me by the altar, and there was no fucking way that was going to happen. Even if he abruptly stopped loving the two people he had fallen for, I wasn’t into him. And it wasn’t as if I was holding out to get married at all.
So what did I know about what my wedding should be like?
I called a ceasefire in the mental civil war, and grabbed a button-down top with a cinched waist and a pair of denim capris. I pulled my hair into an updo, securing it with a bow that matched the top. The short sleeves of the top showed off the ink that decorated both my arms, and I loved the contrast of classic-meets-me.
A few hours after agreeing to tie the knot—such cold language for something that should be a warm and loving moment—Clint was in front of my shop in his pick-up.
His Chevy looked like almost every other in town, except that he’d worked with Cash at the automotive shop to do a biodiesel conversion, based on a fuel formula Clint developed.
I didn’t understand all the chemistry behind it, but he did and that was enough for me.
“You ready to do this?” His voice was too bright.
“Absolutely.” Then again, so was mine.
I couldn’t help but study him as I climbed into my seat, despite the fact I’d seen him almost every day for more than half my life. With light brown hair that always looked slightly mussed, framing pale eyes and a solid jaw, he drew the eye immediately. It didn’t hurt that he’d kept in shape, even though he didn’t dance anymore—the man moved with grace and strength. Then again, he did most things that way.
Within a few minutes, he had us on the freeway, heading toward our destination. Salt Lake City was about an hour away, and according to what we’d found online, that was our best bet to get everything done in the same place at the same time.
I didn’t have an issue spending that much time with Clint—he was great company—but today it felt like there was a weak fist around my lungs, squeezing the air out oh so slowly and tortuously.
“You okay?” Clint asked after a bit of silent driving. He brushed a light touch over my hand.
I looked down to see I was clenching my pocketbook so tightly, I’d crunched the corner into a new shape. “Yeah. Fine. Good. I’m good.” I smoothed out the rectangle leather satchel as best I could.
“Having second thoughts?”
“No. Definitely not.” Because this was the right thing to do and an easy solution. A business arrangement between friends. Something Dee needed, and really, she was such a great kid, she deserved the world. “It’s just not how I saw myself getting married, you know?”
“You’ll still have a chance to do it right, when you meet the right person,” he said. “Besides, the perfect wedding doesn’t always mean much.” A sliver of sadness slipped into his words.
“Fair point,” I said.
He and Regina had a fairytale wedding. She came from a wealthy family, they were both members of Ballet West at the time, and that gave her access to an amazing costume designer who made her a literal fairy dress. Gauzy, light, and with flowing wings for a train.
I’d never cared for Regina, she was too much mean girl for me, but I’d always been jealous of the way she looked. She was petite and lithe. Dark hair. Pale skin. Snow White brought to life and given incredible grace.
I was average. Average height. Average weight. Average build. Boring. Blond. A big ass that drew more attention than my face, and no other curves, except when I found a bra that let me pretend I had great cleavage.
Those thoughts wouldn’t serve me today and this wasn’t the time to wallow, so I shoved the negativity aside with the moping about this isn’t how my wedding should go. I was doing a good thing for a good friend.
Sure, I had the Nerd Herd, and my girlfriends were the best. But Clint and I had a different kind of friendship. He’d be my best gay friend, except he wasn’t gay. He was pansexual, and in high school, he got teased a lot about being gay, because he was the only male cheerleader the school ever had until recently.
But like me, he appreciated a gorgeous body and mind, regardless of who wore them.
“Tell me more about what happened with Dee,” I prompted.
I’d done dance once upon a time, and the stresses—both physical and mental—were part of the reason I never pursued it after the drill team in high school. Seeing Dee enjoy the sport was always incredible, because she did seem to enjoy it.
If it took a toll on her health, she’d be heartbroken to stop.
Clint sighed. “Like I said, we don’t know much yet. She was doing her thing on Saturday night, and collapsed on stage. We took her to the hospital, and the emergency room people didn’t see anything immediate. Heart problems maybe, but we can’t say for sure.”
“That’s not very helpful.” I didn’t expect it to be—their jobs were to fix emergencies, not to fix everything—but the experience sounded frustrating.
Clint sighed. “Yeah. So we took her to her doc yesterday, and he suspects some sort of cardiomyopathy.” The word rolled off his tongue like it was a part of his standard language. “I spent the rest of yesterday reading up on it, but there are so many possibilities and causes and types… We have to go through a series of tests for a real diagnosis, and to see if this is temporary or long term.”
I didn’t like the sound of long term. I didn’t suspect he did either.
“It could keep her from dancing.” Clint seemed to add the statement as an afterthought.
“That’s horrible.”
“Is it?”
I glanced at him, searching his face for some hint that his question was sarcastic. “What do you mean?”
“Sometimes I worry she’s only doing this to make Regina happy. Through the entire thing, Saturday night and Monday, Dee looked terrified that Regina was going to yell at her. Like this was somehow Dee’s fault or something she’d done on purpose. I tried to talk to her about it on the way home, and she assured me she wants to dance because she likes it.”
But if Dee was worried about disappointing her mom, of course she’d say that. It was a feeling I knew all too well. For years I’d tried so hard to do right by my grandma—the family matriarch—and it was never enough for her. I was never enough.
“This morning Dee was furious at me that I told her the only practice she could do was stretching, no cardio until we had more answers.” Clint’s frustration was audible.
He was one of the big reasons I’d—mostly—moved past my grandmother’s reproachful attitude. Alys and Evie helped a lot too, but Clint seemed to understand the pressure a lot more. “You figured out the right thing to do to help me,” I said. “And if Dee needs the same, you’ll figure it out with her, too.”
“Yeah, but you’re my best friend and she’s my daughter. There’s a difference.”
Fair point. “I could talk to her if you want.”
“No. Rather, I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want us adding to any pressure Regina puts on her, by ganging up on her.”
“So we’ll keep an eye on it together.”
Clint’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah.”
I squeezed his knee. “You can’t have all the answers all the time, but as long as you’re looking for them, you’re doing something right.”
“Maybe.” He let out a heavy exhale. “Did you catch the latest episode of Dance Queens?”
Subject change. I could do that. Especially when it came to our favorite reality tv show—drag queens competing in a dance competition. Fashion. Moves. Music. What wasn’t to love? “I’m an episode behind. No spoilers.”
“The Swan Lake episode?” Clint wrinkled his nose. “I can’t believe they went so cliché on the ballet, but what they did to Gemma was the worst.”
“Ugh. Exactly. Telling her she was too creative? What the fuck is be yourself, but not too much of it?” Beside something I’d gotten tired of hearing a long time ago.
“Her performance was awesome. Jazzing it up? Perfect solution.”
“But this is a classic. This is grace and elegance,” I mimicked one of the judges. “Dude, it’s a reimagining. There are a lot of ways to honor the classics.”
“Besides, that costume made her ass look incredible.”
I huffed and glared at Clint.
He shrugged. “You were looking too.”
“I was checking out the costume.”
“Uh-huh.” He didn’t believe me.
He was right not to. She made that outfit look incredible.
Clint and I kept up a steady stream of back and forth the entire way to the courthouse. As we walked up to the front door, Clint squeezed my hand, and didn’t let go.
For show, I assumed. But having him here to ground me reduced the number of butterflies in my stomach a tad.
I was grateful he told the clerk at the window what we wanted—license and wedding—because I wasn’t sure I’d say the words right.
“Did you fill out the forms online?” she asked.
We could do that? I shook my head.
“No,” Clint said.
Her grunt was one of displeasure. She handed us a clipboard, pointed to various fields on the form and told us to fill them out as if she did this a hundred times a day.
Which I assumed she did.
We took a seat to fill out our form. It wasn’t too bad, and there wasn’t a line of people. Apparently not a lot of people were getting marriage licenses on Tuesday afternoon in August. We were back at the window quickly, handing the clerk our form.
She gave it a glance, clicked a few things on her computer, and started typing. “So, how’d you two meet?”
Her question was delivered with the same flat tone as her form explanation had been, but it instantly made me feel like I had to pass a test. What if we got the answers wrong? What if they found out we weren’t really in love?
What if they didn’t care?
“We’ve known each other most of our lives,” Clint said. “Since before high school.”
The clerk looked over her glasses at us and stared for a moment. “Took you a while to figure it out, huh?”
I bristled at what sounded a lot like a dig at our ages. So what if we were in our mid-thirties? We could have been high school sweethearts.
We weren’t, but we could’ve been.
The clerk stopped typing, and scowled.
She clicked a few times, did a lot of backspacing and retyping, and muttered some things I couldn’t hear.
“Is there an issue with our paperwork?” I shouldn’t ask. That might tip them off to the fact that we weren’t doing this right.
This was why I could never be a criminal. Even something like this made me terrified we were going to get caught.
“No. It’s not…” Her frown deepened. “You were married previously, Mr. Marsh?”
“I was.” Clint’s reply was measured.
The woman drummed her fingers on the keyboard, but didn’t press any keys. Her gaze darted between us and the screen. “And you’re still married to Regina Greene?”
“No I’m not. Because our divorce was finalized.” Irritation crept into Clint’s voice.
“The system says?—”
“The system is wrong.” Most of the time Clint was sweet. Unassuming. But angry-Clint was that quiet kind of terrifying, and that version of him was creeping out.
The clerk shook her head. “It says here you filed divorce paperwork years ago, but it was never finalized.”
“I assure you it was.” Clint ground out the words. “Do I need to call my attorney’s office and have them send someone down to speak with you?” He phrased it as a threat rather than a question.
“I’ll be right back. Give me a minute, please.” The clerk slipped from her chair and hurried toward one of the offices behind her.
This time I was the one squeezing Clint’s hand for reassurance. I understood still being married to Regina was one of those worst things ever that could happen to him. We both knew it wasn’t true, so we just needed to get things sorted out here.
The clerk came back a few minutes later, with another woman I assumed was the supervisor. They muttered between themselves, and the supervisor took over the computer. Her fingers flew across the keyboard with practiced confidence, and every few seconds she would point to the screen and quietly explain something to the clerk.
A few minutes later, she pulled a piece of paper from the printer and slid it across the counter. “Here you go, Mr. Marsh. Miss Lantrey. You’re all set and I’m sorry for the inconvenience. Congratulations, by the way.”
“Thank you.” Clint’s sweet side was back, along with his smile.
“That’s it?” I asked.
The supervisor pointed behind us. “Follow the hallway down, until you see the sign for weddings. They’ll call your name when it’s your turn.”
“Oh. Okay. Thank you.” I smiled as well, and let Clint lead me from the room.
Our destination was right where the supervisor said, and we picked two of the chairs to wait in. There was no one else here, and they called our name within a few minutes.
Everything that came next happened in a sort of surreal blur. We didn’t bring any witnesses, but they had two on hand we could borrow. The judge asked if we had any vows of our own to exchange, and we didn’t. He recited a line for each of us to repeat, about being lawfully wedded, then pronounced us husband and wife.
“This is where you can kiss, if you’d like,” he said.
What now? If we were in love, we’d probably kiss. What should we?—
Clint cupped my face between his palms, cutting off my thoughts. He pressed his lips to mine, in the softest, sweetest kiss in the history of kisses.
At least until he deepened it. I couldn’t help but kiss back, and fall into the intensity and the way it tingled through all of me, from my fingers to my toes.
This wasn’t what we had. It wasn’t what we’d ever had. How had I never kissed this man before?
Clint pulled away, and I let out a soft sigh before I could think about what I was doing. My fingers flew to my mouth, but if I touched my lips, would this feeling vanish?
The smile he gave me was a dangerous combination of playfulness and sin.
The judge cleared his throat, drawing our attention, and heat spread across my cheeks.
We still had to sign the final paperwork, so we did. Our official certificate would arrive in the mail in a week or so, but in the meantime, they had a pretty, frame-able one for us to take with us.
Clint and I headed out to the truck, and now my mind was on a whole new race. This marriage was basically a business arrangement.
But that kiss.
All for the insurance.
So incredible.
Clint opened the passenger door for me and offered me a hand as I climbed in.
What’s going on?
“As soon as we get home, I’ll add you to the insurance,” I said the instant he dropped into his seat. “Crap, I’ll need info from you. You can help. We’ll grab my laptop. Do it in the shop. At your house? Not if Dee’s there. And not do it, but fill out paperwork?—”
Clint grasped my fingers, and my mind stopped. “Thank you for this,” he said.
Right. “Of course. Always.” It was a simple exchange, but it was enough to reset my brain, so we could talk like normal on the drive home.
This was the right choice. I may have little nagging doubts, but none of them were significant compared to what this would do to help Dee and Clint. They were what mattered.
“Do you mind if I pick up Dee from her friend’s on the way home?” Clint asked as we got closer to our exit.
Of course I didn’t mind. “Totally fine.”
We reached Haddarville, and within moments, Clint was parking in front of a house a few blocks over from his own. “Be right back…. Wife.”
I laughed awkwardly with him, and he headed inside.
A moment later he emerged with a ten-year-old version of him at his side. Dee ran ahead of him and climbed into the truck through the driver’s door, to sit on the bench next to me.
“Hi, Bree.” She grinned, and grasped the sleeve of my top. “You look really pretty today.” She was always complimentary of my clothes, and one of her favorite things to do in my shop was mix and match items to make her own outfits.
I didn’t blame her—that was one of my favorite things too.
“Thanks, Dee. I like your bag. Did you do this?” I pointed to the new embroidery on the backpack she had in her lap. It was an intricate flower design.
She nodded. “I was bored at Mom’s. It’s the flowers growing outside my window.”
“It looks incredible.”
Dee’s smile grew.
Clint rejoined us, and pointed the truck toward their place. As he drove, he asked Dee about her day, and she gave him all sorts of details.
Watching the two of them together, it was clear how much he adored his daughter, and that she loved her dad. He’d raised a bright, kind child, and Dee was going to be a force for good in this world.
I’d made the right choice doing this.