(Elle)

MONDAY

I never spent much time as a kid imagining my wedding, but when I did, Lee was always the groom. We were in agreement on those plans, back then. Marriage meant living together, and who better for that than the friend I already spent all my time with? And then we got older and started getting some notion that marriage also involved liking someone like that, and... no. For a few years I thought maybe that would change, that one day the idea of kissing Lee wouldn't seem so bizarre, but it never did. By then I was past the age of daydreaming about fairy princess weddings anyway, and marriage faded into the background as something I figured would happen... one day. When I was much older. And Lee would still be there, but as my best friend. I rarely thought about the groom part of the equation; that part I'd figure out later.

Perhaps ironically, I thought about weddings even less while Noah and I were dating. At first because I was sixteen and the idea was absurd, but then it became intentional avoidance, especially after I got to Boston. We'd made it through the long distance, we'd gotten over the summer breakup, so... now what? Either this was it, we'd be together forever, or at some point there'd be a worse breakup, a real one, and then it would all just be over. The first outcome was too hard to believe, too much to hope for, so that left only the latter. And since I really didn't want to think about our inevitable end, I simply refused to think about anything beyond the immediate.

Whatever I had or hadn't imagined about my wedding, its reality is fast approaching. Sometimes I can't help but laugh at the idea that on Saturday Noah and I will be married. Not because it's ridiculous, but because I can't quite believe that hazy, far-off, impossibly unlikely, day is suddenly so close. Turns out both of those potential outcomes came true, the dreaded breakup and the forever.

Of course, if we want Saturday to end with us legally married, we need a wedding license, which is why I'm meeting Noah downtown this afternoon. I spent the morning with June and Mickey at the Flynn house, trying on my dress and checking what alterations were still needed, and after lunch June drops me off at the coffee shop where Noah and I agreed to meet.

Noah's eyes gleam when he sees me, and he looks like he's biting back a grin.

"Jesus, Elle, I hope you brought ID."

"I have all the paperwork the website said we'd need to get the license," I assure him.

"And you're absolutely certain that includes some form of ID with your birthdate on it?" He's doing a terrible job of containing his laughter, and I'm really not sure what's so hilarious.

"Yes, of course. Why are you so worried?"

"It's just—I don't want to go to jail. For trying to marry a sixteen-year old. And being responsible for said sixteen-year old's pregnancy. Are you trying to get me in trouble with this outfit?" Noah laughs.

I look down, and... he has a point. I should maybe have glanced in a mirror before leaving the Flynn house. I'd worn a cute dress this morning, but after managing to spill food on my always-in-the-way belly I'd grabbed a clean shirt from Lee's room and a pair of shorts I'd left at the Flynn house. Except that shirt happened to be one of Lee's old Country Day gym shirts, and I'll admit that in combination with the denim cutoffs the look is rather... youthful. Especially in comparison to Noah's distinctly more adult polo and khakis.

"It's really the braids that put the look over the top," Noah gestures, and my hands fly to my hair, suddenly remembering that Mickey had been trying out updos for the wedding, leaving my hair in twin braids down my back.

"Crap. I look about fourteen, don't I?"

"More so than usual, yeah. And while I have the benefit of having known you for all twenty-three of your actual years, the folks at city hall might be more skeptical," Noah grins.

I yank the elastics from the ends of the braids, quickly running my fingers through my hair to shake it loose before twisting it back into a low bun, and then I stand and tug Noah up with me as I head for the back of the coffee shop.

"Elle?" Noah asks me with a curious look as I push him into one of the bathrooms.

"Give me your shirt. We're trading. Then I'll look older."

"No, then we'll look insane. I'm guessing that shirt is Lee's, so I'm going to be the weirdo in a tiny shirt, and you'll be the very pregnant woman wearing an oversized polo shirt and no pants. Because there's no way those shorts will still be visible if you steal my shirt. Anyway, relax. That thing you just did with your hair helped a lot."

"You're sure? I could go buy a shirt that doesn't literally scream high school."

"Yes, Shell, I promise. I didn't mean to make this sound like an actual problem, I just thought it was funny."

I stare into the mirror. Yeah, he's probably right, although I really should have raided Lee's closet more carefully. I add a quick swipe of lipstick and some mascara, and now I should at least look legal to vote.

Noah squeezes my hand. "You look great. I'm sorry for panicking you. I was just teasing."

It's as we're walking into the county registrar's office that Noah looks at me again with an innocent expression.

"But you did bring proof of age, right?"

I very maturely flip him off.

TUESDAY

I only make it a few laps of our apartment complex's pool before retreating to its entry steps for a rest. I've been trying to keep up some kind of daily exercise, but these days that involves fewer and fewer laps and longer and longer rest periods. There are worse things than sitting on the cool stone steps with water up to my chest and watching Noah swim, though. He takes his own break after a while, sitting behind me on the steps so I can lean back against him.

I wasn't much of a lap swimmer before Dad's accident. I grew up spending endless hours in the Flynns' pool with Lee, but we were always just hanging out, and soccer provided more than enough exercise. The same was true at BU, plus I never could get used to New England's indoor pools and their clammy, chlorinated air. All that changed once I was back home. June inspired it. I visited her almost daily while Dad was hospitalized, usually while Brad was in school; she'd make me tea and we'd talk—about Dad, about Brad, about Lee, about ourselves, but never about Noah. June has swum laps in the morning for as long as I've known her, and eventually I started showing up early enough to join her. Swimming helped, a little. I felt less antsy, less anxious afterward. I kept it up at UCLA; as much random luck as was required for Noah to have seen me at the campus aquatic center, it was also one of the better places he could have tried, if his goal had actually been to find me. And now here I am, and here we are.

Noah's playing with my hair as we talk, and after a minute I realize he's also tracing and retracing loops over my right shoulder blade. It's not the first time I've noticed him fascinated by my tattoo, but I've always been too embarrassed to ask if he's heard the story. Which is ridiculous, and which is why I make myself finally do it.

"Did Lee tell you about the stars? The tattoo, I mean."

"He did."

I'm not surprised. I don't know if I should ask what Lee told him.

"I love them, and I hate them," Noah unexpectedly continues. "I love what they mean, but I hate knowing why you did it. Why you were so sad."

"So sad, and so drunk. I assume Lee mentioned that detail, too. I should have called you. It was all so stupid. But that's ancient history."

Noah stays silent as his fingertips keep circling at my shoulder, so I go on.

"I've never regretted it, though. Even if it wasn't a particularly well-planned decision, and even if back then I didn't want to think about why I'd added the third star. Lee really has always been there, and you've... always belonged there, even when I didn't let you."

Noah lets out a short huff, but I keep going before he can say anything; I don't feel like another round of dissecting our misadventures.

"If you're going to get angsty every time you see it, though, I could always add a bunch more stars as a background for that unicorn tattoo I always wanted as a kid."

My joke elicits the intended chuckle from Noah.

"Or are you just jealous that you don't have your own matching tattoo? I'm sure Lee would be honored if you included him and put three stars in yours. Or he'd tell us how bizarre he still finds all of this. One or the other."

"Definitely the latter, and for once I'd agree with him," Noah laughs. "But tell me more about this unicorn. Rainbow, or a tasteful monochromatic purple?"

"Rainbow, obviously. And I assume there's a way they can add glitter to tattoos."

Noah wraps both arms around me, pulling me closer.

"I wouldn't actually want you to change it. You know that, right? It's not like without the stars I'd forget those years, or feel less frustrated about them. And like I said, I do love seeing them."

"Yeah, because seeing them means my shirt is off."

"Fringe benefits, Shelly."

WEDNESDAY

By Wednesday we've basically run out of things to keep us busy. I do have my weekly prenatal appointment, but it's just as boring as last week's. Everything still looks good and Dinah continues to show no rush in meeting us, which is fine with me. We're also as ready as we can be for the wedding—we've picked up Noah's wedding band from the jeweller, the seamstress has promised to drop my dress off tomorrow, my favorite suit of Noah's is back from the cleaners, and there's an envelope on which I've written Wedding license - do not lose! hanging from a magnet on our fridge. All the other details, June's got covered.

Getting the wedding license ended up rather anticlimactic. This whole marriage business feels monumental to me, and yet there was clearly nothing more boring to the clerk who checked our paperwork, asked a few questions, and then handed us an ordinary-looking sheet of paper. And just like that, we'd gotten the green light from California to get married.

The closer Saturday gets, the more surreal it seems. June's judge friend will say some stuff, we'll exchange vows and rings, we'll all sign the license, and voila, married. It seems impossibly simple for something so momentous. But then again, it's not like when we wake up on Sunday everything will have changed. It's an important formality, a legally-significant moment, but on the personal level, it's nothing compared to what it took to get here.

We end up spending Wednesday making plans for next week, trying to make sure we take advantage of that last bit of calm before the storm. We also impulsively book a hotel for Saturday and Sunday; it won't be much of a honeymoon, but I like the idea of not just going straight home from the wedding like it's any other day. Then I get it into my head that we need to make food. A lot of food, to fill our freezer for the weeks after the baby. Noah reminds me of the million take-out options nearby, but he humors me as I work myself into a frenzy looking up recipes and making a lengthy grocery list. And then I realize that although we've got a nursery full of tiny clothes, they've all still got tags on, and aren't you supposed to wash new clothes before putting them on babies? I'm pretty sure I read that somewhere, and so that's my next project to tackle.

Near midnight, Noah looks up at me from across the mountain of clean laundry I've just dumped on the couch between us. The coffee table is covered in neat piles of washed, dried, and folded onesies and pyjamas.

"How are you not exhausted yet?" Noah asks curiously.

"Because we're not done yet. There's this batch, and then one more load washing right now, and then we can sleep."

Noah's giving me a look, but he doesn't reply, merely picking up a tiny shirt to fold.

I glare at him. "You're smirking. Your I'm-not-telling-you-something-but-I'm-thinking-it smirk. I hate that one. Spit it out."

Now he's just laughing at me.

"What?"

"You're very cute when you're nesting. Terrifyingly bossy, but also cute."

Oh, I will kill him. He is sitting there laughing while I try to get all this laundry folded, because this baby will be here soon and there is a lot I've just realized we still need to do, and — oh.

"You were about to deny it, weren't you? Except you can't, because I'm right." Noah smugly adds.

I try to keep glaring at him, but I give in and laugh.

"How long were you going to let me keep going?"

"I mean, the cooking was a good idea. And I've never seen you this enthusiastic about laundry, so that was entertaining. But you're also very cranky when you don't get enough sleep, so... maybe let's finish this tomorrow?"

The calendar catches my eye as I silence my phone before getting into bed. It's past midnight now, which means June is over and all of a sudden it's July. July has been the magic milestone for most of this year, the month when everything was going to change, the critical deadline by which I needed to have my shit together. I'd only had my due date in mind when I'd first circled July in red on my mental calendar, but now there's more. Two more days and we'll be married. Two more weeks and we'll be parents. The urge to go fold more laundry, fill the fridge, organize something, anything, hits again, but this time I ignore it. We've got this, and what I need now is sleep.

THURSDAY

June hosts dinner for the whole family on Thursday night, including everyone in town for the wedding. It's weirdly reminiscent of long-ago Thanksgivings, except this time Noah and I are the occasion. It's fun, and I'm thrilled to see them all, but it's also exhausting being the center of attention. I keep finding excuses to make Lee talk about what he's up to, about the trips he's planning this summer and his upcoming move to Seattle, and eventually I succeed in getting everyone paying attention to him for a few minutes.

Noah squeezes my hand with a sly smile, and I think he knows exactly what I was up to and why I'm now breathing a sigh of relief. I grin back, giving him a wink.

"We're really doing this," I say only loud enough for him to hear.

"Yup."

"In two days. In two days we're getting married. Legally. Officially."

"Don't go getting cold feet on me, Shell," Noah teases.

"I'm not! I'm just... amazed. I'm going to keep repeating it until it sounds real."

"Is it that hard to believe?"

"Not hard to believe... but really really weird. In a good way."

"Yeah, well, please don't change your mind, because I'm afraid of your grandma now."

"Grandma Melanie?" My mom's mom is a tiny bird of a woman, and she's always loved Noah.

"She cornered me before dinner and told me she was glad you and I were taking responsibility for our—and I quote—youthful folly. And then she lectured me about birth control."

"She did not."

"If only I were lying, Shelly."

"You could have told her we weren't actually foolish, just unlucky."

"I don't think that would have made the conversation any less awkward. Besides, it'd be a lie."

"How?"

"Because I don't think we were. The opposite, actually."

I know that playful grin. "We got lucky, huh?"

Noah is the only person I know capable of a heartfelt smirk, and it makes my stomach flip every time.

Everyone lingers over tea after dinner, and I'm enjoying getting to know June's sister. Jen is twelve years younger, and for most of my childhood she was off at college or working abroad. I cringed at first when she started talking about her kids' births, girding myself for another round of the horror stories people love sharing with pregnant women, but her stories have turned out to be hilarious. She's also keen to hear more about Noah's and my history; she's been getting tidbits from June through the years, but apparently June's not nearly enough of a gossip for Jen's liking.

"Look at my sister," Jen whispers conspiratorially. "I'm shocked she hasn't literally exploded with joy, she's wanted this for you two for so long. And she didn't even have to do any nagging for a baby."

I blush. "Yeah, Noah was kind of banking on that when we told her. That a grandchild would buy us a lot of forgiveness for being such idiots about all of this."

"Oh, she'd have been thrilled even without the baby, I promise. I'm amazed she managed not to meddle all that time you two were avoiding each other, because believe me, she wanted to."

I shrug ruefully. "June also knows we're both stupidly stubborn. Nagging wouldn't have helped."

"Bodes well for this little one, doesn't it?" Jen laughs, and I'm glad she doesn't seem interested in dwelling on that part of our story.

"My dad delights in telling me the same thing."

Jen and I are still chatting about her own unreasonably stubborn kids when Noah appears, a hand on my shoulder to get my attention.

"Come tell me which cufflinks I should wear."

I give him a puzzled look. "For the wedding?"

"Yeah. Mom wants me to borrow something nice from Dad. I figured you might want a vote."

"Wear whatever you want."

I'm fairly sure that even if we spent an entire year planning an elaborate wedding, I still wouldn't have strong feelings about what cufflinks Noah wears for it.

Noah persists, however. "I don't want to clash with what you're wearing. Come take a look."

"You're seriously going to make me get up for this? Fine. Give me a second."

I grumpily set down my mug and lift myself from the couch. It's possible I am somewhat exaggerating the effort required to stand up and then follow Noah up the stairs, but my level of caring about Noah's accessories really is far exceeded by my desire not to move from this comfy couch. At the top of the stairs I'm confused to see Noah turn in the direction opposite his parents' bedroom, and then I giggle as I follow him into his bedroom, finally realizing.

"Help me pick cufflinks? That has to be the weakest story you've ever come up with," I comment as Noah shuts the door and leans in to kiss me.

"Is that a challenge? We've got a lifetime of family dinners ahead of us... I bet I can find even worse excuses to sneak away with you."

"Do we really still need to sneak around? Everyone is aware. In two days it'll even be legally recognized."

"So you're saying from now on I can just do this in the living room?"

This so far involves managing to simultaneously lift me onto his lap as he sits on the edge of his bed and wind a hand through my hair to give him better access to the curve of my neck. He's very fond of that spot, and I'm very fond of that fondness.

"Mmm, on second thought... yeah, we're going to need to keep finding reasons to come up here." And sneaking around is more fun.

I settle myself more comfortably astride Noah's lap, following him as he scoots back to lean against the pillows. I'm looking forward to not having to maneuver around this belly soon, although I'm sure Dinah will present a whole new set of obstacles to romantic activity once she arrives. For now, though, we've definitely gotten resourceful. I busy myself proving that I can still release shirt buttons one-handed and without looking, and I'm wondering exactly how soon our absence will be noticed. Noah certainly seems to believe it'll be awhile, or maybe he just doesn't care.

Suddenly there's a yelp and a slamming door, and I startle back. Noah looks equally dazed, and then he pulls me back in, laughing.

"Lee."

"Lee?"

"I, ah, may have forgotten that Mom gave Jen Lee's room for the weekend. Which means he's crashing in here."

That would explain the awful paisley shirt draped on the chair, a detail I wasn't exactly paying attention to when we got here.

There's an overly-loud knock, and then Lee's voice from the other side of the door.

"For the love of God, you have your own apartment. I want my headphones. I am opening this door in ten seconds. Please don't make me regret that."

There isn't actually much needed to get us back to fully decent, and by the time Lee knocks again before walking in Noah and I are sitting a respectable distance apart, our clothes only slightly rumpled and our expressions only slightly guilty.

"I hate you both. I was supposed to sleep here tonight, you know. Now I'm going to have to sleep on the balcony or something, to be safe from the cooties."

There's a dangerous twinkle in Noah's eye, and I slap a hand over his mouth before he can break it to Lee that the balcony isn't any safer on that front. Or really anywhere in this house; we did have it to ourselves for three days after two years apart.

"Sorry, Lee. I promise, nobody was naked. Come on, you've walked in on worse." I point out.

"Reminding me of that does not help."

Noah is far too amused by all of this, but at least he's staying quiet, and I pull him behind me as I sheepishly walk to the door.

"I don't suppose there's any possibility you two would reconsider this whole gross infatuation of yours? As a personal favor to me?" Lee's put on his most aggrieved voice, but he can't hide his smile.

"Not a chance. But we'll try to be better about locking doors."

"Seven billion people, Elle. Seven billion."

"Yeah, but this one's my favorite."