You Deserve Each Other(97)

It takes six days for the marriage license to be granted after we apply, and for now we’re just holding on to it until the right moment.

Nicholas and I are driving back from an afternoon of laser tag, thanks to him taking a sick day at work. His hand rests on the gearshift, and he’s facing straight ahead at snow gusting across the road. It’s not snowing right now but it has been all day, white drifts rising twelve inches on either side of us. I cover his hand with mine and feel that barely discernible flex, an automatic response that feels like reassurance and unity.

“I vote we invite your parents next time,” I say, imagining Deborah and her fresh manicure holding a laser gun like a dead spider. Harold huffing and puffing, trying to shoot her.

He cackles. This fits perfectly into our plan of changing up how we spend time with his parents—finding a way to make it entertaining for us so that family togetherness doesn’t feel like a draining obligation for the rest of our lives. We have a long list of weird experiences we’re going to subject them to, and last night we drank too much wine and fell off the bed (okay, maybe I’m the only one who fell off the bed) laughing at each other’s suggestions while trading the notepad back and forth.

We haven’t breathed a word about the marriage license to them. We’ll break the news after we’re already married and throw a reception at a bowling alley in Eau Claire. Or maybe we’ll write a letter to Dear Deborah at the Beaufort Gazette and tell them that way. If she doesn’t have a meltdown about our imperfect ceremony, she definitely will when she hears we’re combining our surnames to create a brand-new one unique to us. Rosefield.

I shiver and crank up the heat. The paperwork that says Nicholas and I are legally allowed to marry within the next thirty days glows from the glove box, and I pick up the conversation where we left it off before laser tag. “Plane tickets this time of year are going to be expensive.”

“True. I’m not sure I want to fly in this weather, anyway. I’m already such a bad flyer, and if it’s snowing I’ll be freaking out up there.”

“That rules out Bridal Cave in Missouri and that glacier in Alaska.” We’d been considering courthouse nuptials, but then I typed interesting wedding destinations into a search engine and the results inspired us to be more imaginative when it comes to eloping. Eloping is fantastic, by the way. I highly recommend doing it if you ever get the chance. All the fun of getting married, none of the stress of planning a traditional wedding.

“Do you have a favorite day of the week?” I ask. “For example, I would not want to get married on a Monday.”

“Oh?” He slides me a brief glance. “Why is that?”

“I think it would increase the chances of anniversaries falling on a Monday. Which are never good days.”

“I don’t have a preference for the day of the week,” he replies, “but I’d rather not get married in the morning. My hair looks best when it’s had a few hours to breathe.” I nudge him, and he makes a show out of combing his fingers through his brown waves. He’s only half joking; his hair is indisputably peak-glorious in the latter half of the day.

I love talking about wedding details. I love hearing Nicholas casually discuss spending the rest of his life with me. I don’t bother to hide my happy dance, and while I don’t look over at him I know my elation is contagious and he’s smiling.

“I have some of Wisconsin’s waterfalls mapped,” I suggest. “Might be cool to get married in front of a waterfall.”

“Or on a scenic trail. Plenty of those around here.”

“If we’re going to get married on a scenic trail, we might as well just get married in our own backyard,” I joke. Then we both freeze and stare at each other, because it’s perfect.

“Why is that not the first place we thought of?” Nicholas says wonderingly.

“Right?” I’m dumbfounded that it’s taken us this long. “The pretty trees. The pond. Imagine the barn in the background, all those icicles coming down. And snow everywhere! Oh, it’ll be a fairy tale.”

“Walking to our honeymoon will take thirty seconds. Free lodgings. We won’t have to pack.”

“Yes.” I clap. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“And to think, we were considering getting on a plane and flying all the way to Juneau to stand on a glacier and be just as cold as we are here. And we own the venue!” He swings a look at me and grins. “Naomi, we’re getting married.”

We pass the Junk Yard, and I crank around in my seat to peer out the back windshield. “Wait! Turn around.”

“What? Why?”

I pat his arm repeatedly. “Turn around, turn around!”

“You turn around first, crazy lady, and then I will.” He reverses in a driveway. “Where are we going?”

“Right here.” I point at the Junk Yard. There are two cars out front—Leon’s and Mr. Howard’s. I don’t know right away why we needed to turn around, but I know it, and wait for the reason to catch up to me. My instincts were right, because I remember:

“My old boss, Melvin, is an ordained minister.”

Nicholas parks and stares at me. “Seriously?”

I’m so excited, I can’t speak. All I can do is nod. It’s not a Monday, it’s not morning, and opportunity knocks. Mr. Howard walks out of the shop carrying the sign from above the register, It’s the little things, and stops when he sees me. I wave, opening my passenger door.