JENNIE
I landed in Hanoi with a phone full of messages from Jisoo, Rosé, Jaehyun, and Haein, but I listened only to the ones that came in from Benjamin. Lisa had woken up, albeit briefly. She was still heavily sedated, and was getting ready to go in for another MRI to determine whether she'd need surgery. Depending on how quickly I could get to the hospital, I might be there for the results. I managed to get through customs without screaming, stuffed my overnight bag into a broken-down taxi, and barked out orders to take me to Hanoi French Hospital, where Lisa was being treated.
This entire time, I hadn't cried a tear. Not when I called my parents to tell them where I was going. Not when I packed a bag in such hurry that I ended up with ten pairs of pants, and only two pairs of actual panties. Not when Jillian dropped me off at the airport, and not when I barricaded myself in the first-class lounge ladies' room, the first place I could be alone and where I'd already given myself permission to fall apart. But no tears.
And now as I rode pell-mell across the crowded streets of Hanoi, heading toward this hospital, still no tears. But the panic was beginning to build. I'd been running on sheer adrenaline until this point, but since my phone died and I hadn't been able to get any new information, I was ready to come out of my skin.
We pulled into the hospital and I gave the driver at least five times as much as he needed because I hadn't yet converted anything over from U.S. currency, but I didn't care. I raced inside, looking for a directory of any kind. Neurology. Benjamin had said she'd be in neurology. But she also said intensive care . . . so where did I go? Where was she? I spun in place, looking for anyone who might be able to help me.
"Miss?" a soft voice asked, and I turned to see someone sitting at an information desk. "May I help you?"
She had a southern accent, for pity's sake. I don't know what I was expecting, racing into a Vietnamese hospital, but a tiny blonde who sounded like Delta Burke wasn't it.
"I'm looking for a patient, Lisa Manoban. I'm her fiancée, and she was in an accident. I was told she was here? But I don't know where, or which floor, or—"
"Lisa Manoban, yes, she's here. She's up on the fourth floor. Would you like me to take you up there?"
I burst into tears, giant, shaking, sobbing tears. I couldn't help it, my body simply let go all at once and everything poured out of my eyeballs. "Yes. Please," I managed as she handed me several tissues, and then finally the entire box.
"Lisa Manoban, she's the photographer, right?"
"Yes!" I warbled, letting her lead me toward the elevator. "How did you know?"
"We only have so many foreign patients here at a time. The staff sort of knows who's who pretty quick. Took a fall, right?"
"Yes! But I haven't spoken to anyone since I landed. How is she? Do you know?" I asked, wiping my face as the elevator door opened on the fourth floor.
"I think you better talk to her doctor. Let me get you to her room, okay?" she said, ushering me toward the nurses' station. Once there, she spoke quickly to the nurses, who pointed us toward a room. Not even bothering to thank her, I raced for the door, seeing her name on the chart just outside.
I prepared myself. I took a deep breath, steeled myself for whatever I might find inside, and opened the door. Strong, strong, strong. I'd be strong. Whatever I found on the other side of that door, I'd be strong for her.
Yeah. Not so much. Because when I saw Lisa lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by tubes and machines and buttons and beeping, I almost came out of my skin. She lay there with bandages wrapped around her head—asleep? Unconscious? It didn't matter, I was grateful for two things. One, that she wasn't awake to see me fall apart against the doorjamb. When she did wake up—and there was no "if," only when—she'd find a pulled-together Jennie. And two, and more important, I was just . . . grateful. Grateful that I was here, now, with Lisa. So I allowed myself two more minutes of losing it, said the quickest of thanks to whoever might be listening, then swept her hair back from her forehead, gently, barely touching her skin. Her face was covered in tiny cuts and scrapes, butterfly bandages covering the deeper ones on her left cheekbone. Bruises bloomed here and there, and down along her neck and upper torso, surgical tape was wrapped tightly. I let my breath out in a slow shudder, then pressed the tiniest of kisses on a cheek that still smelled familiar even under all the antiseptic. Then I started looking for a nurse, a doctor, anyone with a stethoscope who could tell me what was going on.
I checked in at the nurses' station. Benjamin had already made sure that I was cleared as a visitor, and that I could speak with the doctor as fully as he could. Since Benjamin retained power of attorney, he'd have to be the one to communicate with the hospital staff if any decisions needed to be made. I knew that any decision would be made with me, but my brain could only accommodate this thought in the abstract, not as something that would actually happen.
I spoke with the doctor who was caring for Lisa, and she explained more about what Benjamin had told me. They were waiting for the results from her most recent MRI. Lisa had been waking up intermittently all morning, and if I wanted to catch her when she was awake, I could stay in her room, and the doctor would come get me when the results came in.
So I did just that. I checked in with Benjamin back home, plopped my bag down, sat in the chair next to Lisa's bed, and watched her sleep. I held her hand, marveling once more at the length of her fingers, the strength in her hand, the handsomeness of just her forearm. I ran my fingertips up and down her arm absently as I held her hand, watching as her eyelids fluttered a bit. Was she dreaming? What did she dream about? Likely the photo she was getting when she took her fall . . .
As I was thinking these random thoughts, I felt her hand squeeze mine, as it had done a thousand times before. I looked from our hands to her face, where those brown eyes were open and blinking at me.
"Hey," I whispered, and watched as her eyes wandered confusedly for a moment, then focused on mine.
"Hey, babe," she whispered back, and my eyes filled with tears. Hey and babe were now officially the most beautiful words in the English language. "You look pretty." Go ahead and add three more words to that list.
"I'll grab your nurse, okay?" I said, reaching for the call button.
"So glad you're here," she murmured, and was back to sleep before the nurse even left her chair at the station. But that was okay.
Lisa slipped between asleep and awake the rest of that day, and most of the night. The last round of scans showed that although she had suffered a significant concussion, the effects would not be lasting and she'd have a full recovery. Benjamin spoke with the doctor as well, confirming that I'd be staying with Lisa at the hospital until she was ready to be released.
Lisa finally began to really wake up around three in the morning, preceded by the funniest twenty minutes of my life. Banger on pain meds isn't like any show I've ever seen. Starting with:
"Hey. Jennie. Did I ever tell you how much I love you?"
"All the time, babe, but I never get tired of hearing it."
"I'll say it more often."
"Sure, Lisa. You can tell me whenever you like."
"Hey. Jennie. Did I ever tell you how much I love you?"
"You sure did, about two minutes ago."
"What's a minute?"
This also happened . . .
"And at the bottom of the cave, it was like, the world opened up, and there were stars . . . but it was like . . . we were the stars . . . there were stars everywhere, but like . . . we were the stars . . . and you know what else?"
"What's that, Lisa?'
"We were them."
"What?"
"Them."
"Them?"
"The stars. . . . we were them . . . the stars . . ."
And if you liked that, you'll love . . .
"Babies. I want to fill you up with babies. Like, make you pregnant with babies. And have some of the babies. Babies. Babies. Jennie? Babies."
And finally . . .
"Jennie, I'm so glad you're here. But why'd you bring so many leprechauns?"
My stomach hurt from trying hard not to laugh at how silly she was on pain meds. But as they wore off into something a little more manageable, she began to make a little more sense. She sipped at some water that I held, nodding when she was through.
"Go ahead and lay back; you shouldn't sit up so straight," I said, urging her back against her pillow. The doctor said she might be dizzy for a while.
"I'm good right now, actually." She frowned, watching as I stretched my back out. "How're you feeling? Don't you want to get some sleep?"
"I slept on the plane."
"You did not, you never sleep on planes," she corrected.
Caught, I smiled ruefully.
"I'm fine—really. Tell me how you're feeling. Are you super sore?'
"A little, yeah," she admitted.
"And the rib?" I asked.
"Rib?"
"You cracked a rib, and a bunch more are bruised," I said.
"I did?"
My eyes widened. "How much do you remember?"
"All of it. At least, I think I do," she said, her eyes searching as she remembered. "Oh yeah, I bet I did crack a rib."
"You tell me everything that happened. Right now," I said, reaching for her hand and holding it tightly. "And don't you dare leave anything out."
She told me about the incredible cave and the scale of photographing such an amazing natural space. And of the rickety bamboo structure she used to scramble over to get her motherfucking photos. And the fact that she was hurrying to get the last bit of light before they had to move on to another shot. And the fact that she was not entirely secured into the safety harness she'd agreed to wear. And the fact that she tumbled ass over camera more than fifty feet down the side of a limestone cliff, knocking herself out in the process, and bringing down most of the scaffolding with her. She remembered falling, she remembered hitting the floor of the cave, and she remembered she'd saved the camera from any serious damage. Unbelievable. She also remembered how sure she was that she'd gotten the shot. Double unbelievable.
My tears had started again somewhere during the story, and now I sat next to her on the bed, holding her hand tightly and refusing to look anywhere but directly at her. Taking in her face, her hands, her arms, her legs, her toes twitching underneath the hospital blanket. I touched her wherever I could, wherever she didn't have a bruise or a cut, which didn't give me a lot of space to work with. But I held her as best as I could, and I stroked her hair lightly and I kissed between the scrapes and I told her how much I loved her. I couldn't help it. And in between it all, with me comforting her, she of course held on to me as tightly as she could. Whispering words like, "I'm okay, babe," and, "Everything's going to be fine," and, "Don't cry."
The don't cry tipped me over the edge. Because now, with her in my arms as much as she could be, I was finally feeling everything I'd fought to keep at bay. My panic, my terror, my helplessness, my horror at going through life without her next to me, cracking jokes and copping a feel.
"I could kill you, you know," I said suddenly, breaking free of her hold and sitting back to look at her in the eye. "Seriously. I love you, and I love what you do, and I would never ask you to give it up. But you're not a cartoon superhero, with a devil-may-care smile on your face as you wrestle fucking lions before lunch, just to get the shot. Okay? If you ever do something like this again, get hurt because you're getting the fucking shot, I will kill you myself," I said, pointing my finger. "Without pain meds."
"I promise, I'll be more careful," she said, telling me what I wanted to hear, but also promising me with her eyes that she was taking what I said seriously.
"I love you so much," I said, threading my fingers through her, still needing the contact.
"I love you too," she said, her voice becoming thick as the fresh round of pain meds kicked in. "So glad you're here."
"Eh, I wanted to come back here anyway. Maybe we could go spelunking?"
She chuckled, which made her ribs hurt, but she continued to smile. Which made me finally smile.
By the end of that very long day, which started for me on the other side of the world, Lisa was feeling much better. By the end of that week, Lisa was released from the hospital. She was born under some kind of lucky star. She had to continue to take it easy, with lots of rest and light activity, but she was cleared for release. The doctors recommended that we stay for at least another few days before attempting to fly home. Flying after sustaining a concussion, especially one as severe as the one Lisa had, could prove uncomfortable at best. Seizures and nausea at worst, so I made the decision to stay over as long as we needed to, making sure she was up to such a long flight.
After spending that first night in the city, I hired a driver and took her away to recuperate. There was an island we'd explored one afternoon the last time we'd been to Ha Long Bay, and I'd been fascinated by the accommodations there. A tiny hotel, remote and isolated. More of a collection of luxury bungalows than a hotel, it offered the kind of piece and quiet we needed. Each bungalow was situated on the beach, with gorgeous sea views all around. There were sumptuous beds, complete with requisite mosquito netting, European-style bathrooms, and twenty-four-hour room service. The drive was only a few hours, followed by a short boat cruise to the hotel.
When we docked, I helped to make sure the luggage was carried straight to our bungalow, and we headed inside to get checked in.
"This is incredible, babe, but unnecessary. We could have stayed in the city, wouldn't have been a problem."
"I realize that, Lisa, but since we were here, your very dramatic accident and all, I thought we'd treat ourselves a little bit. Have a few days of rest and relaxation before heading back home."
"A prehoneymoon honeymoon?" she said, bumping my hips with her own, her hands resting lightly on my waist.
"Something like that." I smiled, but shook my head. "But no honey with this moon; you heard the doctor," I said, and Lisa growled. She had delicately suggested that certain things should wait perhaps until Lisa had fully recovered from her accident. Between the cracked rib and the head dent, I was in full agreement. Lisa was not.
"You wait and see. Tonight, when the breeze starts blowing and the waves start lapping at the sand, you'll change your mind," she murmured, sweeping my hair up to kiss the back of my neck. "Besides, you know I look good in the moonlight. You'll be all about getting into my pants."
"Uh, yes, here are your keys, Miss Kim." I felt Lisa tense behind me as I smiled at the desk clerk.
"Yes, thank you so much." I smiled, smothering a laugh.
"You'll be in bungalow seven; just follow the path. Your luggage should already be there."
"Thank you," Lisa piped up from behind me, and this time I didn't smother anything. Gathering up my purse and the keys, I took her by the hand and led her back out onto the beach. It was late in the afternoon, almost evening, and the light was beginning to change, taking on that magical glow that twilight seems to have. All the edges soften, the colors bleed, and even the air changes a bit. A warm breeze was blowing in off the sea, bringing with it a salty tang that crinkled my tongue. We passed six other bungalows along the rock-lined path, finally coming around a bend to see our own. Lit with hurricane candles, with white linen curtains puffing through the windows, it looked like heaven. Heaven . . . with the option of air-conditioning. Which in the tropics was sometimes a very good thing.
"Hey look, no neighbors," Lisa said, scanning the corner of the beach we'd been given. It was true, there wasn't another soul to be seen. A light or two peeked through the trees here and there, hinting at other humans, but other than that it was us and the waves.
"Let's check it out," I said, tugging her by the hand and up onto the porch. Deep, comfy-looking chairs anchored by pillows flanked the ornately carved front door. "Here's the key, open it, would you? I'm going to see if these chairs are as comfortable as they look."
"Sure thing," she said, taking the key from me and turning it in the lock. Just before she pushed open the door, it opened from the inside. "What the—"
Benjamin stood in the doorway. Jillian stood next to him. Both were smiling.
"Wait a minute, how did you guys get—What's going on?" she asked, looking back and forth between them and me. I just grinned.
"Good to see you're still in one piece," Benjamin said, pulling a still-surprised Lisa into a fierce hug. "And don't ever do that to me again, you hear me?"
"Move over, move over," Jillian said, sweeping her husband aside to grab on to Lisa and wrap her arms around her as well. "So, so, so glad you're okay. No more caves, promise me that!"
"Hey, watch the ribs," Lisa protested, confused but still happy to see them. "But seriously, what are you guys doing here?"
"We came over to make sure Jennie had everything she needed. She kind of took off like a bat out of hell when she found out you'd decided to examine the cave with your face. That's a bossy girl you got there," Benjamin said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and walking her back down the steps to the sand. "Come on back with me to our bungalow; we're just down the beach, I'll tell you all about it. Let the ladies settle in a bit."
"Okay, yeah, sure. Jennie, you good with that?" Lisa asked, still curious.
"Go ahead, Jillian brought me some things, new changes of clothes and stuff. I'll powwow with her and then we can all head back up to the main house for dinner, sound good?" I nodded, walking over to the front of the porch, leaning down to kiss her once, then twice.
"Sounds good, babe," she said. "Did you know they were coming?"
"I did," I said, kissing her once more. "Surprise."
"You're kind of terrific, you know that?"
"I do know that," I nodded, then turned her back around. "Go play with Benjamin, I'll see you in a bit."
The pair of them walked off down the beach, and I turned to Jillian.
"Thank you so much for coming all this way."
"You got it. I've always wanted to see this part of the world. And Benjamin has been pacing up a storm. He hated not being over here," she replied, looping her arm through mine and walking with me inside. She handed me an overnight bag I recognized from home.
"Did you bring it?" I asked, unzipping the bag.
"I did," she nodded, and watched as I pulled a long flowing dress from the bag. A long flowing white dress.
"Perfect."
An hour later, Lisa and Benjamin came out of the bungalow to find Jillian and me waiting for them.
"Hey, where have you—Hey. You look gorgeous," she said, whistling. I stood before her in my white dress, thanked her for the compliment, took her hand, and walked with her down to the beach, leaving our friends behind.
"What's going on? Aren't we going to dinner with those guys?" she asked.
"Not just yet," I answered, looking ahead to the beach, where I could see a few candles lit and a tiki torch or two. "I wanted to talk to you, before they join us."
"What are you up to, Jennie?" she asked, looking carefully at me.
"I bought this dress a year ago in a little boutique in Mendocino, when I was visiting Viv. I was on my way out of town, and I was stopped at a light when I saw it in the window across the street. I couldn't take my eyes off of it. And without having any reason to wear it, and not a clue why I was doing it, I bought it, straight off the mannequin. It didn't even fit me. I had to take it to a tailor to have the hem lengthened; it was too short for me. The tailor told me it was vintage, probably from sometime in the 1930s."
"It looks great on you," she said, holding me at arm's length to get a better look. "Go on, gimme a little twirl."
I laughed, and then twirled. The dress was ivory, bedecked with old lace along the bodice, with a gauzy lace overlay along the skirt. An afternoon dress, it was made for lazy strolls in town, or a trip to the gardens. It was likely worn with stockings and lace-up shoes. I was rocking it barefoot. And in those bare feet, I tugged on her hand once more and continued on the path toward the beach.
"When Benjamin told me something had happened to you, I went into crisis-management mode. I didn't think about anything other than getting to you. To have you that far away, and not be able to know exactly what was wrong or how to help you—I can't think of the words to tell you how that felt. How it felt to have someone you love so much possibly taken away from you." I stopped then, just before the pebbles gave way to sand. "But then, I don't have to give you words. Because you already know what that's like."
A stormy expression stole across her face, and she grasped both of my hands in her. "Jennie, I'm so sorry that you had to go through all of that."
"No no, it's actually fine," I said, stepping into her arms and bringing them around my waist. "Because here's the thing. I had hours in an airplane, with nothing to do and no one to talk to, and the only thing I could think about was you. And us. And how much I love you." I walked her, pushed her really, backward through the sand. "I also thought a lot about something else."
"What's that?" she raised an eyebrow.
"Garlic foam," I answered, then spun her to face the beach.
I love me a speechless Banger.
Hundreds of candles. Tiki torches dancing as far as the eye could see. Lanterns in shades of violet, indigo, emerald, and ruby bumping around on the breeze. The evening breakers splashing lazily against the beach. In the distance, an early moon lit up Ha Long Bay, with its ancient islands and peaks covered in mist and moss. And before us? An aisle lined with votives . . . with Jillian and Benjamin standing at the end of it. Along with them, the Vietnamese equivalent of a justice of the peace.
"Marry me, Lisa. Marry me right here, right now, without any bullshit. Marry me, with just our two friends to see it happen. No parents, no work friends, no clients, no peppercorn-encrusted blah-blah, just you and me and the stars. I spent a night in a pod wondering if I was ever going to see your eyes staring back at me again, and I can't manage that again unless I'm your fucking wife. And I don't give one tiny shit about a big fancy wedding, especially without you getting to have your garlic foam. Which, I'd like to point out, is waiting for you back in the main house, for what I hope is our wedding dinner of giant prawns. I want you, only you, for the rest of my life," I said, lips trembling but knees strong. "Marry me, Lisa."
She paused, the corner of her mouth lifting as she looked around at the fairy tale laid out in front of her. The fairy tale that was exactly right for us. On this very important day.
"One question," she said, lifting our clasped hands to her lips and placing a kiss right below my engagement ring.
"Hit me."
"What was that about spending a night in a pod?"
"Seriously? I ask you to marry me, and that's the line you picked out?"
"Technically, I asked you to marry me first. Let us never forget this very important bit of information."
"So noted."
"Can I ask another question?"
"Just one more, and then I'll need an answer."
"Is this even legal?"
I laughed, then pulled her down to me for a soft kiss. "Not in the slightest. This is just for us."
"You realize you own me, don't you, Nightie Girl?"
"Is that a yes?"
"Hell yes it's a yes, let's get hitched," she whispered, and I threw my arms around her neck. "Watch the rib, okay?"
"Shit!" I exclaimed, and then I heard Benjamin clearing his throat. "Dammit, I just swore at my own wedding. Dammit, I did it again."
"That's three times."
"Can it, Banger."
And with those revered words, we walked ourselves down the aisle. Spoke the simplest of vows. Promised each other everything we could. Kissed under the stars. High-fived our witnesses on the way back down the aisle. Cut the strings on about fifty sky lanterns and set them loose towards the stars. Then headed inside for garlic foam.
Because that's what my wife wanted.
Later that night, in the honeymoon bed . . .
"That feels amazing. Don't stop what you're doing there, please don't stop. Right there. Right there. That's it . . . mmmm."
"How many is that?"
"I've lost count."
"This is the big one."
"I can feel it. Jesus that's good . . . more . . . more . . . more."
"We're going to run out of calamine lotion at this rate."
Here's the thing about getting married outside in the tropics. Mosquitos. Big fuckers. We spent our wedding night scratching each other's bites and applying calamine lotion by the gallon. And with Lisa still on the disabled list sexy-times-wise, we spooned, scratched, and watched Goonies. With subtitles.
Best. Wedding. Night. Ever.
--
"Do you, Jennie, take this woman, Lisa, to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?"
"I do."
"And do you, Lisa, take this woman, Jennie, to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?"
"I do."
And so we made it legal. Lisa and I had our very best friends and our very favorite family members over to our house in Sausalito, along with a judge I'd done a remodel for. Lisa wore jeans, I wore a sundress, and we got married for a second time. This one recognized by the U.S. government. Were my parents disappointed they didn't get to throw me the huge splashy wedding they'd been planning? Maybe a little, but ultimately they understood. As did Jisoo and Rosé, and why they didn't even know about our Vietnamese wedding until after we'd flown home.
We kept our original wedding date, slashed the guest list by two-thirds, and with the exception of Lisa's friends from Pennsylvania and her old neighbors the Whites, everyone was local. At least local to Northern California. Viv and Clark were there, with Will in attendance as well, cute as a button in a tuxedo onesie. And Chloe and Lucas were there too, in town visiting Rosé and Haein. And get this, Chloe and Clark were cousins. How's that for six degrees of Banger? I was happy to have them all here on this very special day. This very special casual day. Because in the end, it wasn't the lace and the tulle that made a wedding—it was about the couple saying their I do's, and their friends and family being there to celebrate it with them. We threw a barbecue, opened up a bunch of wine and cold beer, set up a makeshift soda fountain to make egg creams and sundaes, and had a party. We dragged Lisa's old record player out onto the terrace, she did some audio nerd stuff with the speakers, and big-band music filled the Sausalito night.
Instead of having a wedding cake, I'd spent two solid days this week in the kitchen with my mom, my girlfriends, my aunts, and my cousins, and we made pans and pans of Ina's Outrageous Brownies. She would have been proud. But for Lisa, I made her is very own apple pie, which she smeared all over my face in place of wedding cake. We had wedding pie. Fitting.
I sat on a bench at the edge of our lawn, eating brownies with Jisoo and Rosé and watched as our guys played Frisbee with Benjamin and Lisa's high school crew. I'd been holding Mary Jane until Rosé had to take over. Someone was hungry.
"Not really the wedding I pictured you having, Jennie," Rosé said, switching boobs. "But it's pretty fun."
"Fun, I'll take. Fancy, I'll leave to you. How's the planning coming along?"
"It's coming along great! The binder is really filling out nicely," Jisoo said, interrupting. She was seriously considering starting a second business, and she should. She was damn good at it. "Speaking of the binder, I've got pictures to go through with you on ideas I had for your hair, Rosé. I've been cutting out stuff from magazines for weeks now. Did you know that Grace Sheridan has your exact same hair color and length? Hers is a little more curly than yours, but it's essentially the same."
"Who's Grace Sheridan?" Rosé asked, and Jisoo and I both looked at her in surprise.
"You totally know who she is," I said, shaking my head. "She's on that TV show."
"I totally do not know who she is. Sesame Street and Haein's broadcasts, that's all I ever watch anymore. My brain is mush," Rosé said, shaking her head right back at me.
"Okay, I got this," Jisoo said. "She's Jack Hamilton's girlfriend. You know, the—"
"—the Brit? Hello, now I'm right there with you. Holy shit, he is hot. We have to go see the new Time movie when it comes out; we'll let the guys stay home with Mary Jane while we go have some sweet British hunky time," Rosé said, already plotting her girls' night out.
"Yes yes, she's with Jack Hamilton, but more importantly, she's got great hair. And it's exactly the same shade of red as yours. So I found this picture of her on the red carpet and—"
Rosé interrupted Jisoo again, unable to stop herself. "—when she walked with Jack down the red carpet? Ahhh! I fucking loved that! Remember how everyone was gossiping about who he was dating?"
"But wait, we were talking about her hair! Listen to me, I've got the perfect updo based on—"
"Oh updo this, let's talk about Jack Hamilton's hair instead. It always looks freshly fucked, you know what I mean? I wonder if they do it in the limo on the way to appearances . . ."
"Stop it—just stop it! We're talking wedding hair here, dammit, and—"
I tuned them out mostly, drinking my beer and listening with one ear as Rosé and Jisoo began a heated conversation about updos versus long and flouncy. The other ear was tuned to the Glenn Miller currently crackling through the speakers. And within seconds, Lisa appeared.
"Mrs. Manoban?" she said, extending her hand.
"Ms. Kim." I winked and stood. "Bye, girls."
"Bye," they said in unison as I followed my wife out onto the impromptu dance floor. Taking a cue from our original, if not technically legal, ceremony we had lanterns hung all over the backyard, bringing a little bit of fairy tale home with us from Ha Long Bay.
"Are you happy?" she asked as she spun me across the brick patio.
"Ecstatically. You?"
"Oh yeah. Especially since I got some news from my doctor today."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously, babe. I'm good to go," she whispered, pulling me tighter into her body. Oh boy. She wasn't lying.
"Well lookie here," I murmured, sneaking a hand down to cop a feel around what was pressing into my thigh. "Um. Wow. You're, like, really, really hard, Lisa."
"Hmm? Oh jeez, that's a bottle in my pocket. Literally." She laughed, pulling out a glass bottle from her front pocket and showing it to me. Thank goodness. Not only was she frighteningly hard, the bottle was also . . . hmm . . . how do I say . . . considerably thinner than Lisa was.
"Why are you carrying around a bottle?" I asked.
"I thought I'd grab some dirt, maybe from the edge of the dance floor over there, put it with our other bottles. I know it's technically not sand, but there should be something there for tonight."
I grinned and told her it was a very sweet idea. Years ago, Lisa had started collecting sand from the beaches she'd visited all over the world, storing them in little labeled bottles and displaying them on a narrow shelf. We'd started a second shelf for beaches we'd visited together. I'd brought some home from the beach where we were married in Vietnam, and I was touched that she'd thought to commemorate tonight as well. But back to her pocket. . . .
"I'm liking where this night is going," I said, deliberately bumping my hips into her, where there was something else taking shape. Definitely bigger than a bottle. "How fast do you think we can get everybody out of here?" I asked, only half joking.
"As soon as the ribs run out they'll leave, right?"
"We are so classy. Serving ribs at our wedding."
"And potato salad. Don't forget the potato salad."
"And pie."
"That pie was great. Never stop making that pie. Dammit, I should have written that into the vows," she said, dipping me low and making me giggle upside down. And there, in our own backyard surrounded by everyone we loved, she kissed me. My wife."
--
"What a mess."
"I think one of the wedding presents should be cleaning up after," Lisa groaned, surveying the damage in the kitchen.
"I don't think that was on our registry, babe," I said sadly, patting her on the shoulder as I walked by to the dining room. Which was still wedding gift central. "We do, however, have the latest in immersion blenders, electric carving knives, and . . . what the hell is this?" I asked, holding up a white box.
"That's the Mr. Bacon." Lisa said proudly.
"Who is mister bacon?"
"No no, Mr. Bacon. You cook bacon in it."
"I gathered that. Why is this necessary?" Every cat in the house had gathered either on the dining room table or underneath. They knew the word bacon. They understood the word bacon. They loved the bacon.
"You use it to cook bacon in the microwave, easy as pie. Which is appropriate, because if you drape the bacon over this little cup here, you can microwave it into the shape of a little pie. Now you've got a bacon pie thingie that you can fill with other stuff!"
"Who the hell bought us this?"
"Trevor and Megan."
"No way. No way that Megan, a former Food Network gal, gave us this for our wedding."
"Actually, they gave us two presents. They also got us the new white serving dishes you had to have from Williams-Sonoma."
"Atta girl," I praised, and looked once more at the box Lisa was now cradling. "Trevor must have gone rogue with that one."
"Keep making fun of my Mr. Bacon. It still doesn't solve the problem of this mess."
"How about a post-wedding-party party? Where we invite many of the same people and put them to work cleaning up? That way we don't have to spend our honeymoon working," I suggested, and Lisa's eyes lit up.
"Yeah, why are we spending our wedding night talking about bacon?"
"Well, you were the one that—"
I was silenced by a kiss as Lisa crossed the kitchen in two strides, gathered me against her, and pressed her mouth to mine. I ignited instantly.
"You sure about this?" I asked, breathless as she kissed the stuffing out of me.
"You're kidding, right?" she asked, her voice thick and impossibly sexy as she trailed kissed down along my jawline, headed for my neck. Once those lips hit below the chin, I was pretty much done for. "I missed our first wedding night, I'm not missing the second."
"Let's go slow though, okay?" I insisted as she backed me toward the stairs. Her doctor had cleared her, sure, but that didn't mean we needed to swing from the chandeliers.
"I like slow," she murmured, gathering a handful of backside.
"We started out slow, you know . . ." I sighed as her lips found my sweet spot just below my ear. We were walking up the stairs now, shutting off lights as we went and kissing like teenagers.
"That's not how I recall it," she said, turning me at the top of the stairs, positioning me in front of her as she walked me down the hallway. Her arms were wrapped around my waist and her lips tickled at my ear, making me giggle a bit. I was a little tipsy from beer, but not so tipsy that I was going to be railroaded.
"We did so start out slow—we were friends first. Friends for a while, actually," I reminded her, stopping just outside our bedroom door. I leaned in the doorway, keeping her from going inside.
"I don't recall us being friends first. I recall us being something else entirely at first." She nipped at my earlobe. More specifically, at what was hanging from my earlobe. Her wedding present to me.
That morning when I woke up, there was a jewelry box sitting on top of the pillow where Lisa's head usually was. I could hear her brushing her teeth in the bathroom as I looked around, wondering what she was up to. Since we already felt we'd been married on that beach, there was no "can't see the bride before the wedding," today and I wanted her next to me in our bed.
"What's this?" I asked, scrunching back down into the pillows, tugging the comforter up around me.
"Sahfing for mah brud," was the answer I got.
"I'll wait until you spit, babe," was the answer I gave.
She spit.
She joined me on the bed.
"Just a little something for my bride," she repeated.
"But I thought we weren't doing presents," I protested. We'd discussed it before and agreed that we weren't doing anything special.
"Oh hush up, will you, and open it," she instructed, and I did as I was told.
Blue.
Flashing.
Fire.
Earrings. Drop earrings filled with diamonds and sapphires, exactly the color of her eyes. Teardrop sapphires hung from a delicate diamond-encrusted base.
"Lisa, what did you do?" I breathed, my hand shaking.
"I figured this could be the something old, since they're old; the something new, since they're new to you; something blue, obviously; but technically not borrowed, since they're now yours. You're borrowing them permanently."
"From who?" I whispered, already knowing the answer.
"My mom," she replied, and my eyes filled with tears.
"I could not possibly love you more," I told her, bringing her down to me for a sweet kiss.
"You like?"
"I love them."
I promptly put them on, and wore them all day. Which brings me to now, where I had a Banger nibbling on my ear as I stood in a doorway.
"The way I recall it, you hated me on sight that first time we met," she said, switching from my ear to the back of my neck as she held my hair up high.
"I didn't hate you, but I sure wasn't your biggest fan," I admitted, thinking back to her opening her door after I'd been banging at it relentlessly. "I was missing sleep."
"You were missing more than sleep, babe," she said, nuzzling my shoulder. Her hands pulled at my dress, gathering the fabric and bunching it high around my hips. "Pretty sure you were missing this too." And she placed one hand over my sex. Entirely. My body responded as it always did, with full abandon.
"I really was missing this," I replied, sinking my hands into her thick, dark hair and twirling it under my fingertips. "But you brought it all back."
"We brought it all back," she reminded me, and pushed me into the bedroom.
"We. I like we," I moaned, feeling the bed hit the back of my knees.
Lisa and I had never gone this long without sex since we'd been together. And under her hands once more, my body came alive for her. I yanked at her pants as she tugged at my dress. I worried off her shoes as she wriggled me out of my bra. My breasts were full in her hands, heavy, and sensitive. And she took my garter down with her teeth, leaving a trail of openmouthed kisses in her wake.
When we were finally naked, tangled, and panting, I scrambled backward on the bed, moving toward the headboard.
"Where you going, sweet Jennie?" she asked, crawling across the bed to get to me.
"I wanted to hold on for this," I quipped, arching an eyebrow and my back as I grabbed on to the iron headboard.
"That's my girl."
She covered me with her body, all long limbs and strong muscles, as I wrapped my legs around her waist.
"I love you, Lisa. I love you so fucking much," I said, sweeping back her hair and holding her face in my hands, her eyes staring down at me.
"I love you too, Mrs. Manoban." And then she pressed into me. Our bodies adjusted to each other, remembered each other, uniquely designed to fit perfectly, sinking in and synching up. She held perfectly still for a moment, feeling me wrapped around her in every way.
"Christ, I've missed you," she groaned, her voice strained with the sweet tension of holding back, taking things slow, making sure she was okay.
But that night, our wedding night, we learned the loveliness of taking things exceedingly slow, with precision and quiet effort. Bodies barely moving, sweet sweat collecting between us, adjusting and readjusting, and then coming together quietly in the night.
Quiet.
Slow.
Sweet.
Perfect.
It was romantic and wonderful, our first time as an official married couple.
The second time, however?
Lisa couldn't help herself. She brought it on home. Hips thrusting, arms flailing, biting, licking, sucking, fucking. Hands intertwined, then holding fast to the headboard once more.
"You're really going to want to hold on for this one, Nightie Girl."
And she was so very right.
Thump.
"Oh, God."
Thump thump.
"Oh, God."
Good god damn, I loved this girl.
And I would continue to for the rest of my life. For our lives. Because Banger was the only one who could give me my happy ending.
. . .
. . .
. . .
Ahem.