Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
The crowd doesn’t have Bibles or books to read, but he continues, reading from his tablet. “‘Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no records of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.’”
I’ve heard the reading before, but it hits differently when it’s being directed at you as an instruction manual on how best to live and love your spouse. If those are the expectations of marriage, I don’t meet them. Neither does Roy. We’ll have to work to get there, but we can do it. Marriage isn’t perfect; nothing is.
I take a shuddering breath as Judge Silverthorn finishes his reading. “Roy, do you have vows you’d like to say to Hope?”
Roy nods and clears his throat.
We talked about this. I wanted our vows to be our own, from our hearts, specifically written for us, not the cookie-cutter ones everyone else has. He knows I’ve been working on mine for months, writing and rewriting to get them perfect by thinking about and remembering our years together. Roy’s been doing the same—or at least, he says he has. I haven’t seen him working on his, but I trust that he has since he knows how important this is to me.
“Hope,” he starts, then swallows thickly. I think he’s a bit choked up at first, and a secret aww echoes in my mind at the cuteness of it, until he says, “I’m not sure where to start . . . You’re smoking hot—I mean, gorgeous. And you’re so sweet and kind, so I know the love, honor, and obey part of the vows won’t be an issue.” He grins like that’s supposed to be a joke, and I can feel an embarrassed heat flushing my cheeks. Indeed, there’s a titter of laughter from the audience, which seems to fuel him to speak more freely, obviously off the cuff and not at all prepared. “You’ve been by my side since I was a stupid kid, and I can’t wait to make more memories with you.”
That’s better, I think.
“And babies.” He smiles at me, and I don’t know what to do. I mean, yeah, we’ve talked about kids, given that we’ve named them, but it sounds like he’s telling the whole crowd about our sex life right now. Awkwardly, I attempt to smile back, but I can feel the fake brittleness twitching along the corners of my mouth. “Hope, you are the jelly to my peanut butter, the burger to my fries, the marshmallow to my s’mores. You’re the sun to my horizon, the water to my ocean, and the love of my life.”
He smiles again, like his words were the sweet, well-thought-out, personal vows I wanted. They’re not. Not at all. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen them in one of those ninety-nine-cent Valentine’s cards they keep by the register for the people who forget until 11:58 p.m. on February 14. Or worse, on one of those wall signs at Hobby Lobby. He might as well have said Let’s live, laugh, love together for all the thought he put into it.
At least he memorized them. That had to take a little effort. Am I supposed to be thankful for that?
“Hope?” Judge Silverthorn prompts.
I reach into my pocket—of course my dress has pockets because who would choose a wedding dress without them?—and pull out the piece of paper with my vows printed on it. As I unfold it, certain words catch my eye.
Forever.
Love.
Heart.
I look up, meeting Roy’s eyes. They’re twinkling, the blue seeming extra intense. Nervously, I glance to my right, seeing the crowd. Turning more, I see Mom and Dad, watching intently. Joy steps forward, lending me her strength the way she has so many times before. She intends for me to use it to read my vows.
And I plan on it.
But nobody told my boots the plan.
Suddenly, I’m high-kneeing it as I run away from the picturesque water’s edge, my vows fluttering to the ground behind me. I dash toward the woods, heading straight for a break in the tree line. I almost trip when someone shouts from behind me, so I hitch up my poofy dress, not wanting to step on it and fall.
I run through the forest, my boots clomping through the dirt and grass as I find a pathway. The “no, no, no . . .” in my head turns into a muttered “Go, go, go.” Deeper and deeper into the trees I run, not letting the slap of the branches slow me down. I frantically scan left and right, not sure if I’m looking for a way out or a way back.