29. Fran #2
The exchange of rings is brief, we’re still wearing our original ones, so this is mostly symbolic, and then Maria pronounces us “renewed, recommitted, and ready for the next chapter.”
“You may kiss your wife,” she adds.
Logan pulls me in and kisses me like we’re not standing in front of thirty people, like the whole world has narrowed down to just the two of us. Someone wolf-whistles, probably Theo, and Gertrude honks what I choose to interpret as approval.
“Hi, wife,” Logan murmurs against my mouth.
“Hi, husband.”
“We did it.”
“Twice, technically.”
We turn to face our guests, hands clasped, and everyone is clapping and crying and making the kinds of sounds that mean we did something right.
The reception is exactly what I wanted, informal, warm, full of laughter and good food and people who actually care about us.
The potluck table groans under the weight of contributions from both towns: fried chicken and salads and three different kinds of pie. Someone has set up speakers in the corner, playing soft music that mingles with conversation and the occasional goose honk.
Bree finds me near the dessert table, loading my plate with things I probably shouldn’t be eating at forty weeks pregnant.
“That was beautiful,” she says. “I cried approximately seven times.”
“I counted eight.”
“The last one was a false alarm. Rosie stepped on my foot.”
I laugh, leaning against the table for support. My back has been aching all day, which I’ve been attributing to stress and the weight of the belly, but it’s getting harder to ignore.
“How are you feeling?” Bree asks, and there’s something in her voice that suggests she’s noticed more than I’ve let on.
“Fine. Tired. Normal forty-weeks stuff.”
“Uh huh.” She studies my face. “You’ve been rubbing your back every five minutes since the ceremony.”
“It’s a heavy baby.”
“Fran.”
“I’m fine, Bree. It’s probably just Braxton Hicks. I’ve had them for weeks.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but she’s distracted by Rosie tugging at her sleeve, demanding cake with the urgency of someone who has waited their entire life for this moment.
Logan appears at my side, sliding an arm around my waist. “Dance with me?”
“I can barely walk.”
“Then we’ll sway. Slowly. With strategic pauses for sitting.”
The music shifts to something slower, softer, a song I don’t recognize but that feels exactly right for this moment. Logan leads me to the small clearing we’ve designated as a dance floor and pulls me close, my belly pressed between us like a very insistent chaperone.
“Hi,” he says.
“You used that one at the altar.”
“We’re married. Still.”
“Still and again.” I rest my forehead against his chest. “Thank you for this. For all of it.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I want to.” I tilt my head up to look at him. “Two years ago, if someone had told me this is where we’d end up-”
“You would have laughed in their face.”
“I would have thrown something at their face.” I smile. “But I’m glad I was wrong. About what we could become.”
Someone nearby starts singing along with the music, badly, enthusiastically, and others join in, and soon the whole greenhouse is filled with off-key harmonizing and laughter and the particular joy of people who love each other celebrating something good.
“They’re terrible,” Logan observes.
“They’re wonderful.”
“They can be both.”
We sway together, the singing getting louder and more chaotic, and I think: this is it. This is everything I wanted and didn’t know how to ask for. A marriage that means something. A family we’re building together. A life full of flowers and laughter and a goose in a bowtie.
And then my water breaks.
It’s not dramatic, no gushing waterfall, no movie-moment splash. Just a warm trickle down my leg that makes me freeze mid-sway.
“Fran?” Logan’s voice is suddenly alert. “What’s wrong?”
“Um.” I look down at the puddle forming on the dance floor. “I think we might need to cut the reception short.”
“What do you-” He follows my gaze. His face goes white. “Is that-”
“My water just broke,” I say, with the strange calm of someone whose brain has left the building.
“Your water just broke.” He repeats it back to me like the words are in a foreign language.
“On the dance floor,” I add, unhelpfully.
“At our wedding.” He’s still not blinking.
“Technically after our wedding.” Because apparently that’s the detail I need him to have.
“FRAN.” He’s gripping my arms now, looking approximately seven seconds away from complete panic. “You’re in labor. You’re in labor at our wedding.”
“I noticed.”
“We need to - hospital. We need to get to the hospital.” He looks around wildly. “brEE. brEE, HER WATER brOKE.”
The singing stops. Thirty heads swivel toward us. Someone drops a plate.
“Oh my God,” Junie says.
“The baby’s coming!” Rosie shouts, correctly summarizing the situation.
“Everyone stay calm,” Logan announces, despite being the least calm person in the room. “This is fine. This is - we planned for this. The bag is in the car. The car seat is installed. We just need to-”
“Breathe,” I say, putting my hand on his chest. “Logan. Breathe.”
He takes a ragged breath.
“Good. Now - help me to the car. Bree, can you call the hospital and tell them we’re coming?”
“Already on it.” Bree has her phone out, Rafael beside her with both kids, everyone mobilizing with the efficiency of people who’ve been through this before.
Logan wraps his arm around me, supporting my weight as we make our way toward the door. Guests part like the Red Sea, offering congratulations and well-wishes and the occasional unnecessary piece of advice.
“This is not how I expected the reception to end,” I say as we reach the car.
“What did you expect?”
“More cake. Less bodily fluids.”
He laughs, a slightly hysterical laugh, but a laugh nonetheless, and helps me into the passenger seat.
“Ready?” he asks, climbing behind the wheel.
I look at him, this man I’ve married twice now, this man who’s about to become a father. His hands are shaking on the steering wheel, but his eyes are steady, focused, completely present.
“Ready,” I say.
He starts the car and pulls onto the road, leaving behind a greenhouse full of wedding guests and a goose in a bowtie and the best day of my life, so far.
Because the best part is still coming.