I’d decided not to have a bouquet, not to make too big a deal out of this. Out of today. That’s fantasyland, but I can pretend with the best of them.
I bring the bouquet up to my nose. It smells like summer. “Thank you, Jack, they’re beautiful.”
“Shall we go?”
With my heart in my throat, I walk with Jack, hand in hand, to the lobby. We ride the elevator to the fourth floor and follow the signs to the room where the weddings are taking place. Ms. Cooper is standing at the entrance with her usual clipboard in hand. She checks off our names. “You can go right in.”
Jack thanks her, but I can’t speak. Is this really about to happen?
Jack squeezes my hand tightly as we enter the room. There’s a wall of windows at the far end, looking out over the cerulean ocean. The view is spectacular, beautiful, peaceful. A classical processional plays quietly—Pachelbel, I think.
We walk slowly down the aisle toward a small altar. A dark-skinned man in his mid-forties stands in front of it, holding a small black book. He introduces himself as Pastor Rodriguez and asks if we’re ready to begin. When we nod, he begins reading the simple ceremony. I feel an odd urge to laugh, which I try hard to contain.
Jack notices me struggling. “What is it?” he whispers.
“Nothing.”
Pastor Rodriguez keeps going, repeating the ageless words. I’m barely listening. Then he says something that gets my attention.
“Do you, John Graham Harmer, take this woman, Anne Shirley Blythe, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, and forsaking all others as long as you both shall live?”
“I do,” Jack says firmly.
“And do you, Anne Shirley Blythe, take this man, John Graham Harmer, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, and forsaking all others as long as you both shall live?”
I look at Jack. He takes my hands in his and looks into my eyes. I feel weak in the knees. But I take a deep breath and say, “I do.”
“Do you have the rings?”
Jack reaches into his suit jacket. He takes out a small ring box that contains two simple silver rings and hands one to me. I hold it tightly in my right hand.
“Now repeat after me. ‘With this ring, I thee wed.’ ”
“With this ring, I thee wed.” Jack slips the ring onto my finger. It slides into place next to the one he gave me yesterday.
“Now you, Anne.”
“With this ring, I thee wed,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, pushing Jack’s ring onto his finger.
The pastor smiles. “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Jack puts two fingers beneath my chin and tilts my head. He kisses me like he did the first time yesterday, gently, but longer. His lips are dry and warm, and that same tingling feeling starts to flow through me.
We break apart.
“Congratulations,” says Pastor Rodriguez.
“Thank you,” we say together.
Jack and I stroll in a fog to one of the smaller restaurants in the resort. We take a seat among several other dressed-up couples with dazed looks.
My ring finger feels strange under the weight of the two silver bands. I keep twisting them around, trying to make them sit comfortably. We eat our lunch slowly and make small talk about the people we see out the window, trying to distract ourselves from the hugeness of the occasion. We just about manage it.
“Hey, look, there’s another one,” I say, pointing to a large woman wearing a T-shirt printed with a fake slim body in a bikini. “They must sell them in the gift shop.”
“Lady, that’s so not making you look thin.”
I push the leaves of my salad around on my plate. “Jack?”
“¿Sí?”
“Did we just get married?”
“I think so.”
“So this isn’t some insane dream I’m having?”
He frowns. “It isn’t that bad, is it?”
“I didn’t say bad, I said insane.”
“My insanity threshold shifted the minute I walked into Blythe and Company’s office.”
“Good point.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I guess . . . this wasn’t what I thought my wedding day was going to be like.”
“Not the groom you imagined?”
“No, no. I just always thought I’d be with my friends and family.”
“And wearing a white dress?”
I smile. “Yeah, maybe. Did you ever think about that? What your wedding would be like?”
“You do remember I’m a man, right?”
“Yes, yes.”
He takes a swig from his beer. “Well, maybe. That my parents would be there. I guess I always thought that.”
“How did . . . Was it a long time ago?”
“Yeah. When I was twenty-three. Car accident.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” Jack puts a piece of his burrito in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “I have an idea.”
“What?”
“Why don’t we try not freaking out and see how that goes?”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve both had our moments—you last night on the beach, me this morning on the beach—so I was thinking, it’s not really helpful to overanalyze this, right? The deed is done. Let’s try to enjoy ourselves.”
“And you can do that? You can just . . . not think about it?”
“I’m not sure. But aren’t you sick of thinking about this sort of stuff all the time? Isn’t that part of the reason you did this?”
“Yes, it was part of the reason.”
“So are you with me?”
“Just shut off my brain and have fun, huh?”
“You think you can do it?”
“I can try.”
He grins. “That’s my girl. Hey, there’s another one!”
I turn and watch a three-hundred-pound woman walk by inside the T-shirt body of a woman less than half her size.
“When do I move in?” Jack says.
My head snaps around. “What?”
“Should I move my stuff into your room now or after dinner?”
“Are you being serious?”
“Is there a reason I shouldn’t be?”
“There’re probably a hundred reasons, but sure, why don’t you move right on in and we can have—wait—you’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”
Jack starts laughing. “I didn’t mean to pull it that hard.”
My face turns red. “I’m very gullible.”
“I noticed.”
“Please don’t take advantage of me.”
“Not without getting you liquored up first.”
“Nice thing to say about your wife.”
He wrinkles his nose. “Wow. That’s weird.”
“I know.”
“Okay. Moving on. I saw catamarans down by the beach. Do you want to go sailing?”
“I don’t know how to sail.”
“That’s okay, I do.”
I hesitate. “I’m kind of afraid of open water.”
“That’s cute.”
“No, it’s pathetic.”
“It’ll be fun, I promise. And if you don’t like it, we’ll come back.”
“Okay, then.”
Jack rubs his hands together. “Great! And then afterward, I’ll move my stuff in.”
“Jack . . . Shit! I almost fell for that again.”
“God, you are gullible.”
“I told you not to take advantage of me.”
“Sorry, it won’t happen again.”
“You’re such a liar.”
When I get to the beach, Jack is already there, wearing the same red bathing shorts he had on this morning and a fresh layer of zinc on his nose. He’s standing near a black and yellow catamaran, talking to one of the resort staff. The staffer—a young guy in
a pair of blue swimming trunks—says something that makes Jack throw back his head and laugh. He looks so relaxed and happy, it’s infectious.
I walk up to them.
“Miguel, this is my . . . wife, Anne.” Jack smiles in a shy way as he says the word “wife.” I smile back, feeling happy.
We exchange nice-to-meet-yous, and Miguel gives Jack a few final instructions. We buckle the plastic straps of our orange life jackets, and Jack shakes Miguel’s hand and helps me into the boat. Jack takes the tiller, and Miguel pushes us off into the ocean. There’s a good wind blowing, and the boat skims quickly over the water toward Isla Mujeres, an island a few miles off the coast.
I grip the edge of the rubber hull with my hands, making sure my feet are tightly secured under the black canvas straps. Jack controls the large white sail with a thick rope that he lets in and out with his right hand.
The pontoons hit a wave. The boat rises and falls with a loud thawp. I lace my hands through the cords holding the hull to the frame. “Um, Jack. We’re going pretty fast.”
“You want me to slow down?”
I nod, and he turns the boat away from the wind. We slow to half speed.
“How’s that?”
“Better, thanks.”
I start to relax and look around me. The bay is dotted with other boats and people on Jet Skis. There isn’t a cloud in the sky, and the water is very blue, chopped by small waves with the first signs of whitecaps. I glance back at Jack. He’s leaning back so far, his head touches the water.
“What are you doing?”
He brings his head up and shakes the water out of his hair. “Taking a dip.”
“Shouldn’t you be paying attention to where we’re going?”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it under control. Why don’t you stretch out on the deck?”
“Will you keep the boat going slowly?”
“Of course.”
I unhook my feet and scamper forward, stretching out so I’m looking back at Jack. I place my life jacket under my head and close my eyes, letting the rocking boat soothe me. I fall into a half-drowsy state while the sun licks my skin.
“Having fun?” Jack asks.
I prop myself up on my elbows. “Yeah, I am.”
“Too bad we didn’t bring any beer.”
“Dos cervezas por Señor Harmer, por favor.”
“Impressive.”
“Gracias. Though that’s about all the Spanish I know.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
I look over Jack’s shoulder. Our hotel looks small and far away.
“Jack, I think we should turn around. We’re really far from the beach.”
“We’re not that far.”
“Doesn’t it take a long time to go back across the wind?”
He cocks his head to the side. “I thought you didn’t sail.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t know anything about sailing.”
“Pretty and smart. Well done, Blythe and Company. Okay, get ready, I’m going to turn around.”
“Wait, let me get back in.” I take a seat next to Jack and hook my feet under the straps.
“I’ll need to speed up to make the turn. Don’t freak out.”
Jack turns the catamaran so the wind is behind us and lets out the sail. We pick up speed, and Jack pulls the tiller toward him in a jerky movement. “Oh, shit!”
The left pontoon dips beneath a wave and stays there. A moment later, the right pontoon does the same thing. My heart starts to pound as the back of the craft leaves the water, tipping up toward the sky. Something squeaks and whistles toward me and—smack! The boom clocks me in the side of the head and sends me careening into the water.
“Motherfucker,” I hear Jack saying as I break the surface, coughing and disoriented.
My ears are ringing with the blow from the aluminum boom. A white wave breaks over my head, half drowning me. I kick my legs hard, gasping for breath, cursing myself for taking off my life jacket. I bob once, twice, and Jack’s arm circles my waist, pulling me out of the water and against his wet skin.
“Are you all right?”
“Jesus, Jack, I told you to go slow—”
“I’m so sorry, Anne. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“It’s okay. I’m not hurt.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Miguel told me not to jibe. Fuck.” He splashes the water with his hands in frustation.
“Hey, you’re splashing me.”
He reaches up and wipes the water out of my eyes. “Sorry, babe.”
My anger melts. “Babe?”
“Do you mind?”
“No, I don’t mind.”
He smiles and leans toward me. His mouth is cold, his tongue rough against mine.
“You taste salty,” I say when we break apart.
“And you’re turning blue. We’d better get this boat up.”
“Tell me what to do.”
I follow his instructions, and we lever the turtled catamaran right side up. He drags himself back into it, reaches down, and grabs my arms to pull me in beside him. He kisses me again, holding me to him until our lips are warm.
“You know, I think blue’s a good color on you,” he says.
“Can we go back to shore now?”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
We spend the rest of the afternoon lounging by the pool, trying the different concoctions listed on a handwritten sign above the bar, from Bahama Mama to Tequila Sunrise. By the time the sun goes down, the buildings are starting to soften around the edges.
At seven, we get back into our wedding clothes and go to the Blythe & Company reception. It’s being held in the same restaurant as the dinner last night, though it’s been reconfigured with larger group tables. There’s a band in the corner wearing matching glittery outfits, and the room has been decorated with centerpieces, soft lighting, and candlelight. We check the seating plan. We’re sitting at a table with Margaret and her husband, along with two other couples.
Margaret introduces us to Brian, who’s a soft-spoken guy with kind brown eyes beneath his round glasses. She chats away brightly as he eyes the breadbasket.
Over dinner, Jack entertains us by telling the table about our sailing adventure. I fill in some of the details. It feels like we’re already a long-time couple with a pocketful of similar stories, even though we have just the one.
After dinner, the band starts playing typical wedding songs—mashups of ABBA, the Village People, and the Jackson Five. A few couples throw their hands up in the air until the band transitions into sappy love songs. This is that time at weddings when the emcee usually asks all the couples in love to go to the dance floor. If you’re in a couple, good, bad, indifferent, you have to answer this siren call; you have to act like you’re in love and dance. Tonight there is no emcee, but the tables empty anyway, leaving behind white cloths stained with crumbs and spilled wine.
“Wanna dance?” Jack asks, slurring his words.
“Sure.”
Jack guides me to the middle of the floor and takes me in his arms. The band is playing “Endless Love.” We turn in circles to the schmaltzy music.
Jack leans back. His face is flushed, and he’s obviously having trouble focusing. “You look pretty.”
“You’re drunk.”
“I may be drunk, but you still look pretty.”
Jack brings his lips to mine, pressing firmly, urgently. Dr. Szwick’s admonishment flashes through my brain, but I quickly dismiss it. This feels too good to be wrong. I kiss him back, closing my eyes and slipping my hands from his waist to his neck. He puts his tongue against my lips, running it along my teeth, and soon my tongue is tangled with his, our bodies tight against each other. Feeling woozy and exposed in this roomful of just-married couples, I pull back. We look at each other as we spin slowly. The band is playing a sweet song about mockingbirds. This singer’s voice is raspy.
“I can never remember who sings this,” I say.
He concentrates, listening. “It’s Bob Dylan. ‘I’ll Be Your Baby Tonight.’ ”
“Really? I thought he only sang angry songs about women.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know. ‘Don’t Think Twice.’ That’s a pretty angry song. Or ‘Idiot Wind.’ ”
“I guess it depended on his mood.” He starts singing quietly along with the song, a line about a big, fat moon. He has a good singing voice, rich and deep.
“You can sing.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I’ve never had a man sing to me before.”
“And?”
“I kind of like it.”
Jack rubs the small of my back. His fingers feel hot, or maybe that’s my skin.
“You want to get out of here?” he asks.
“Yes.”
Outside, the air is warm, and there’s a gentle breeze blowing. The pool is lit up by tiki torches. The water reflects their acrid flames. Jack wraps his arms around my waist from behind. I lean back against him, enjoying the feeling.
“Where do you want to go?” I ask.
“How about your room?”
A shiver runs down my spine. My room’s a very tempting option.
“Jack . . .”
“I was kidding. Sort of. Let’s go to the beach.”
We walk to the place we went last night, where we had our first kiss. The moon is still nearly full, and the beach looks like a film set. Jack stumbles at the edge of the sand and falls on his knees. I try to help him up, but he loses his balance again, this time landing ass-down on the sand.
He looks up at me. “Hello, wife.”
“That sounds weird.” I put my hands on his shoulders. “Hello, husband.” I run my hand along his chin. “You know, I like your shaven face.”
“Oh, you do?”
“Yeah.”
“So, what are you doing all the way up there?”
“Where should I be?”
“Down here with me.”
He tugs at my arms, and I fall on top of him. Laughing, I shift over so I’m lying on my side, facing him. He props himself up on one elbow. “Much better.”
I watch his lips as he talks. I want them closer. I want him kissing me.
“What’re you doing all the way up there?” it’s my turn to say.
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