Chapter 13 #3
“What’s the point in putting it off?” Charlie argues.
“If you really think it’ll last forever, what’s a few more years? You should focus on finishing school first.”
George grunts from the head of the table. Charlie’s younger brothers, Luke and Max exchange Oh shit! glances as they keep their heads bowed and their wily grins hidden. My body heats to the surface of the sun and I wish I could melt into Katherine’s expensive upholstered dining chairs.
“I never knew you to be so . . . impulsive.” Katherine’s peaked-brow concern slides to me at the word impulsive and her eyes squint, as if it was a poison I slipped beneath her son’s tongue the first time we kissed.
Charlie’s fork clatters as he drops it on the plate, voice sharp as a knife. My body goes rigid and I remind myself this family is nothing like mine. “We didn’t come here asking for your blessing, Mom,” Charlie says. “This is between me and Win—”
“A marriage might be between two people, but a wedding is about family, Charles,” Katherine slices right back.
The blood drains from my cheeks as it dawns on me.
I’ve been mentally toying with a few ways I could get away with keeping my family separate from this—my mom’s ill or a nervous traveler, dad’s overseas for work—but Katherine is nothing like her son.
She pushes and pushes and pushes until she gets what she wants.
If she wants my family there, she would find a way to make it happen.
I can’t risk that. This life I’ve built for myself out here is too sacred to spoil with my ugly past.
From the first time I met his parents, the sixth sense in my gut that reads people before my brain can has whispered that they don’t approve of me.
Their opinion of me will plummet if they meet my family.
My parents, who most certainly haven’t kept their marriage between two people, and who are all rough edges compared to the smooth veneer of the Rosenhoths.
Katherine and George will take one look at us and determine the thing I’ve been trying to hide the most: we’re trash. And their son only deserves the best.
And for as ashamed of my family as I am, I am equally protective of our shared imperfections. The thought of watching the perfect Mr. and Mrs. Rosenhoth inspecting my parents like frogs on a dissection plate, trying to determine what makes them tick, makes me nauseous.
The rest of dinner is tense. I keep quiet until I’m forced to say polite goodbyes.
“I’m sorry about that,” Charlie mutters, knuckles white around the steering wheel. “I had a feeling they wouldn’t be exactly thrilled, but I thought they’d at least trust my judgement.”
A buzzing tension radiates off him as he shakes his head, still in disbelief—the tortured look of the fallen golden boy.
I reach over and squeeze his shoulder, letting my hand rest there, grazing my fingers up and down the back of his neck in a soothing gesture I know he loves.
“It’s okay. I’m sorry too,” I whisper. “I get it if you don’t want—”
“Don’t even go there.” He brings my hand to his mouth, kissing it intently. “Nothing’s changed. Not for me. I’d marry you tonight if I could.”
My eyes widen as my shoulders lift with a sharp breath. That’s the solution. “What if we do?”
He snorts. “Get married tonight?”
“No, I mean—elope. Just you and me. Our families don’t have to be involved.”
A slow smile spreads on his face. “You know, Garrett became an ordained minister when he lost a bet. Long story. But I mean, if you’re serious . . .”
“I am. I don’t care about a big, fancy wedding. All I care about is you.”
We roll to a stoplight and he looks at me with overflowing tender adoration, utterly pleased to hear me say that. “Okay.” He nods once, decisively. “Let’s do it. I don’t care what my parents think. Every day I don’t get to call you my wife feels like a goddamn waste.”
Garrett agrees to take part in our scheme.
We buy a matching set of gold bands at a local jewelry store—his thicker than mine.
Charlie promises to buy me something sparkly when he’s had a chance to save up.
I tell him his last name on my license is all I care about.
I find a simple white silk dress with thin beaded straps and a cowl neckline and match it with an old pair of flats.
Naturally, Charlie already owns a deliciously well-tailored navy suit.
For a steal, we hire one of his friends who does photography on the side to take photos.
Three weeks after he proposed, we secure a slot in the Poetry Garden at the Dallas Arboretum for a few hundred bucks on a Tuesday.
Everyone around us, even Garrett, thinks this is a rash move.
We’re so young, how can we possibly know ourselves well enough to choose who we want to spend forever with.
Hasn’t it only been four months? And isn’t that sort of quick?
But to every wide-eyed reception, Charlie—no, my fiancé—smiles and says, When you know, you know.
We both skip class to attend our wedding.
He realizes we have no flowers first—typical florist’s son.
But the Texas wildflowers are in bloom so I beg him to pull off the side of the road and let me pick a few.
He insists it’s illegal, but I tell him that sounds crazy and besides, there’s no cops around.
I palm a handful of Bluebonnets and some vibrant vermillion Indian Paintbrushes for contrast.
Under the warmth and rain of late May, the gardens at the Arboretum are back in bloom after a chilly winter.
Verdant vines set back against the white stone castle-like walls cocoon the space, bursting with colorful florals even Katherine Rosenhoth would be impressed by.
Music plays from a Bluetooth speaker as we walk, hand in hand, into the small space.
The garden is small and intimate and somewhere birds are chirping and everything inside me bursts with joy.
We exchange our vows, and I don’t even make it through two sentences before tearing up.
The line we both say, which engraves itself directly on my heart, is: I choose you today, and for the rest of forever, as my best friend, my love, my partner.
He gets his wish of taking off my white dress with his teeth in a fluffy hotel bed.