WHEN WE WERE kids, my sister always wished upon stars. She swore that all of her wishes came true because she did that. Being that she was older and wiser, I believed her, and I too started doing the same. When I was five, I wished for toy dinosaurs. When I was seven, I wished my dad would come back home. When I was eight, I wished my mom would work fewer hours. When I was nine, I realized wishing upon stars was a waste of time because none of my wishes came true.
Still, when I was nineteen, I sat on the roof of a pretty girl’s house and wished for things to be different. When I was twenty-one, I realized that circumstances were everything, and I wished we met under different ones. At twenty-six, I wished things had turned out differently, and that I hadn’t lost her. At twenty-eight, when life brought us together again, I stopped wishing and started doing.
And here I am, at twenty-nine, watching as she walks over to me in a long white dress, in front of a crowd of our loved ones, wishing I could freeze frame this moment in time. I want to remember the one where her expressive, hazel eyes find mine, and she’s visibly taken aback by the emotion she sees on my face. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I will never tire of watching her walk toward me. I hear the clicking of the camera beside me, and smile as a gust of wind hits us. It awakens the waves behind us, and makes Estelle’s long, dark hair splash across her face. She takes a moment to gather it in one hand and push it aside, as I give her father a huge hug.
“I don’t need to welcome you to the family that you’ve been a part of all along, but I’m proud to call you my son. Officially. Again,” Thomas says with a hearty chuckle and a squeeze.
I don’t respond, opting to smile instead. I’m not a crier, but his words make a surge of emotions rise inside of me. I turn to the woman who has been my wife for the past four months and grin, feeling like the luckiest motherfucker in the world, because I am. We married the day after I proposed, just as I told her we would. As soon as her parents’ flight landed, we picked them up from the airport, called Vic and Mia and had them drive to the courthouse. Even Dallas showed up to help us celebrate, which was an added bonus, since I associate him with her Wyatt-era, or used to.
I moved my stuff into her cottage on the beach and worked in the hospital while I found a permanent job, which took a couple of months, but it happened. The best part about my job, aside from the fact that I work with a great team of doctors in a good environment, is that we stayed in Santa Barbara. When Estelle’s lease was up, we bought a space together, close to our little beach cottage. It’s still a work in progress, and although I help her as much as I can with it, ultimately it’s her space. It’s her dream that she brings to life every time she walks in there. I’m just happy she lets me be a part of it all.
At the feel of Estelle’s hand sliding into mine, I smile and lead her to the officiate to be married again, in front of all of our friends and family.
“You’re supposed to look at him,” she whispers.
“I’m here to marry you, not him.”
She laughs, her eyes flittering up to mine. “I promise you can stare at me for the rest of your life. But not all the time, because that would be totally creepy.”
I lean down and kiss the tip of her nose. “Kind of how you were staring—”
“Okay, you guys need to seriously shut up,” Victor interrupts from beside me with a groan.
“Yeah, nobody wants to know where that conversation was going,” Mia adds.
“Keep it PG,” Jenson chimes in.
“I’m about to kick everybody out of here,” I say in response to the officiate clearing his throat and raising his eyebrows with impatience.
The ceremony continues without interruptions. We say our vows, which are short and generic, and we both smile at the memory of our longer vows, the ones we recited to each other in bed the night after we got our marriage license. We slide the rings on each other’s fingers and hold hands again, and, as soon as we’re pronounced Mr. and Mrs. Hart, we turn to one another. It’s as if everybody around us disappears. Our eyes lock, my hands comb into her hair, hers cup my jaw, and we move almost as if in slow motion, our eyes scanning every inch of the other’s face, completely immersed in this moment.
At the sound of the waves crashing in the distance, Estelle’s eyes start to brim with tears, but she’s smiling, the elation in her eyes matching what I feel inside. Suddenly, the moment right before our lips touch, droplets of rain start to fall over us. We pull back slightly and turn our heads up to the sky. Our guests start chanting for us to kiss. A slew of “Hurry up already! What are you waiting for?” surround us, but Elle and I remain unmoved. We smile, we laugh, and finally I pull her face to mine and my lips close over hers, taking, giving, offering, asking, pleading, promising. I kiss her with all that I am, imperfect but willing, hopeful and full of potential. Take me, I say with my tongue. Let me prove myself to you. I’ll be worthy, I promise. And she kisses me back with the same ardor, sealing our vow.