No Perfect Hero(111)

I’m standing on the verge of it, looking out over this great cliff of Heart’s Edge, ready to take the leap.

When we can’t breathe anymore, when it’s just a mess of us clinging together, we break apart...and I realize we’re still clutching our flowers. His is crushed against his palm and my back, mine crumpled in my fingers. Leaning into him, unable to stop smiling, I nuzzle my nose to his.

“Hey,” I whisper. “Let’s make a memory.”

We’re holding hands when we do it.

Just me and him and the sky, plus the town that changed my life and made me who I want to be. Together, we send soft, pale pink petals streaming over the edge of the cliff.

We don’t have to say anything.

The promise is in the ring on my finger, in the clasp of our hands.

And those petals flutter away, carrying wishes, hopes, and dreams, each one a whisper of what our future might be.





*



I wouldn’t call our wedding a shotgun wedding, but it’s close.

If only because the moment Ms. Wilma found out I was pregnant, barely months into our engagement, she practically threatened to kill Warren with a turkey baster if he didn’t make me an honest woman quickly so the baby wouldn’t be born halfway into our honeymoon.

I’m not sure I want to find out how she’d actually pull off murder by baster, but I know she’d do it.

So she’s a little old-fashioned.

I don’t really think she cares that we were definitely being indecent out of wedlock, but she’d like to at least pretend her great-grandchild wasn’t conceived months before Warren actually put a ring on my finger.

I don’t mind. I don’t need a huge fancy wedding. I don’t need bridesmaids dresses and fitting rooms and shitty grooms throwing money every which way just because they can.

I just need me. And Warren.

The light, wispy summer dress that makes me feel young and sweet and fresh and new, as I step from my old life into my new one.

And my family all around me, gathered on the cliff at Heart’s Edge where we made our promise, and where we’ll now make our vows.

I don’t just mean my blood family, either. Ms. Wilma is family to me now, and so are Warren’s friends, Blake and Doc, who’ve already started treating me with familial warmth.

But my sister's here. John, too. They’re still wearing their wedding rings, though they’re not technically married. They hold hands anyway, and they look happy, and I’m so glad they found a way to stay a family both for their sakes and Tara’s.

Tara’s my flower girl, pretty and strewing petals all over the silk runner laid over the grass, but it’s Marie who gives me away.

And the last thing I expect as she walks me down the aisle toward the priest is for her to burst into tears and give me a tight, fierce hug.

“I’m so glad for you,” she whispers. “So glad. And I’m so glad you’re my sister.”

I feel myself tearing up, too, as I hug her close. “So am I,” I choke out.

God, am I ever.

So many new beginnings, leading into the brightest future.

When I let her go, I have to wipe my eyes delicately, trying not to ruin my makeup, before I make my way up to what’s less an altar and more huge stands of flowers gathered around, setting the backdrop for the priest, for Warren’s friends as his best men, for all the waitresses from Brody’s as my bridesmaids.

And for Warren himself, standing there waiting for me in a crisply tailored, gorgeous suit that looks far better on his thick bulk than a stuffy tux ever could.

It works. It’s us. We came together in this confused crazy jumble, and even our wedding’s a patchwork of things thrown together. But what we made out of all these jagged pieces is so beautiful.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

And I wouldn’t have anyone else, as I look up at Warren and the way he smiles just for me and only me.

His hands in mine.

The bouquet forgotten so we can clutch at each other so totally, fingers tangled, drawn in close.

The ceremony’s short. We don’t need the hour-long droning, the recitation, that’s not us. It’s as quick and crazy as we are, and as the priest makes his way through our vows, we’re grinning, mouthing them along with him, almost racing him, until we get to that breathless moment.

I do.

We say it almost in tandem, and a chill sweeps through me.

Then it’s laughter, music, the lock of our lips, the touch of hands made just a little heavier by rings that bind us with more than just a legal vow.

They bind us in heart’s blood, in heart’s promise, in heart's pain, and heart's soul.

In the future waiting here for us in Heart’s Edge.





*



“Careful! You're going to tear it if you –”

“Darlin', please. I've spent the last eight hours watching you prance around in the hottest fucking dress I've ever seen you wear. Excuse me for the hurry.”

His rough fingers go to work. Somehow, he pushes my dress off intact a second later, without tearing it to shreds.

I step out in my ivory lace, into his arms, pulling on his tie. “Good things come to those who wait.”

Warren smiles, all snarly promises in his eyes. “I'll show you good, Mrs. Ford. Turn the hell around.”