I do.

It’s tea lights in old soup cans, and sparkling champagne glasses alive with bubbles. Hay bales and twine. Wooden letters and skeleton keys. My grandmother flying in with freshly cut silver locks and a bear hug that leaves one the good kind of breathless. There will be cake. A new dress for mom. And the best damn spaghetti in the world. There’ll be no church. No first dance. No staunchy speeches or bouquet toss. But you bet your ass he’ll be wearing chucks. And she’ll rock Tahitian pearls. And tonight they’ll feast on pizza and the promise of tomorrow’s promises. And she’ll dream of twinkling lights strung from the arbor in the back yard. And patio chairs gathered ’round the fire pit, cold beer, good tunes. And him. Always him.

It’s an end to EMS, and the emergence of EMA. And a month of practicing a new signature.

Should I shave the beard? he asks, considering while waiting out a stop light. I like your beard, she answers, remembering a time when he couldn’t grow one. Ten years…. Has it been that long?

November 15, 2013

I’d do it tomorrow, she’d declared, if only I had a dress.

And then there it was, just waiting for her to find it. And why wouldn’t it be? And now, here, waiting to transform an ordinary Friday into “our day.” Now and forever. Just say the words.