Original The Wedding: A Tommy & Hayley Story - COMPLETE

[starpollen]

"The Wedding"

45 months - March

 

Part 1

It came on rather sudden, to be honest.

Monday he had the beginnings of a cold - a regular, run-of-the-mill, scratchy throat, stuffy-head, everybody-does-this kind of cold.  

“Don’t worry, Hals,” he had grinned at me over a plate of braised short ribs.  “I’ll take some zinc and Vitamin C and nip this thing in the bud, ASAP.  Promise.”

Tuesday... it was the Sneeze Cold from Hell.

“God, I’ve... dever... sdeezed so buch... frob a cold…” Tommy wheezed after a whopping fit of 12 doozies.

“I can see this.” 

“HH-A!!!....eeh’ZZDSCHouuu!!!” he blasted into a tissue-clad hand, demolishing it in one go, then knuckling at the moisture streaming from his eyes.  His round nostrils were glowingly scarlet, almost as if someone had painted them with Vogue-red lipstick. 

“... bless you.”

“It jusd wohhh--... wod’t stop…” voice deep, punctured by a long, snotty, slurpy sniffle as his fingers sawed at the offending organ.  His lips were slightly chapped, eyes droopy.  

“Here,” I retrieved a soft bandana from the hamper I had just fetched from the dryer.  His lips were already parted, expression vague, nostrils flaring with want of another nose-clearing sneeze.  I pressed it into his hands just in time, his shoulders curling down as it bent him in half with its intensity.

"Eeh’SSHHUu!...”

Almost before the first one was even finished, he reared back, cloth cupping half his face as he drew breath for another, so big it needed to be sneezed not once, but twice. 

“heh-HH!’EEIIHHHdjjshoooo!”

“Bless.”

“Bay as well stob sayig thad, Hals,” he mumbled from behind the fabric, eyes squeezed shut as he rubbed and scrubbed in tight circles, trying to massage the cold-induced tickle away.  “I’b godda keep… uhhh… god…” a loud "YIIEEEXXTTSSCCHh!" that literally jackknifed him like an Olympic diver.  “...keep sdeezig.” 

I always loved that he tried to finish his sentences, forcing words in-around-and-during a sneeze attack, no matter how difficult.

“Let’s try a steam shower,” I suggested. 

His broad shoulders slumped, admitting defeat even as he petulantly grumbled, “... just godda bake be sdeeze bore…” from behind his cloth shield.

“For a little bit, yes,” I acknowledged, the last word drowned out by another powerful sneeze.  “Then you might feel better and be able to sleep for a while.”

The previous night he had been up for hours, refusing to come to bed because he just didn’t stop sneezing, and hadn’t wanted to keep me awake.  I’d found him on the couch this morning, surrounded by about a zillion used tissues and several wrecked bandanas, looking like he’d been run over by a train.   

I’d called him in sick to the shop for the rest of the week - he couldn’t stop sneezing long enough to get out a full sentence - and then tried to put him back in our bed while I was at work. When I came home, he was back on the couch.  He said he’d caught a few snatches of sleep, then confessed he had probably sneezed hundreds of times over the course of the day. 

I truly hated having a job. 

Warming up the steam shower - the best part about this house - I gathered up the soft t-shirt, pajama pants, and boxers that he shed like leaves.  The short trek across the room was punctuated with two more tired-sounding sneezes:  “ Hh’AAEESSHuu! -R’AHSHuu!!!"  

“Bless you,” I dropped a soft kiss to his bare shoulder just before he closed the door.  Tommy hated when anybody fussed over him when he was sick, and the past four years had taught me how to caretake from a distance.

Taking his clothes downstairs to the laundry, I could hear the repeated volleys echoing after me as I got further away..  

“...hH!hH!-AHTDJSScchooo! … hep-TSSHiioouu… … hah!-SHIEEWW! -HEH’kgtzzshhttt…”

My poor fiancé. 

Eyebrows drawing together, I frowned.  Our wedding was this Saturday, a date in early March strategically chosen because it was at the end of cold season (as if Tommy’s colds were ever confined to only one season…) and before allergy season was in full swing.  The hope was that we would luck out and Tommy could focus totally on enjoying a sneeze-free wedding day. 

“...hhHHHAASSHHHeeww!...”

It didn’t look like that was going to happen. 

Starting a new load of laundry, my eyes flicked a glance to the side where my dress was hanging in a garment bag on the back of the door. Most people stressed out for weeks before their wedding, agonizing over every little detail… Tommy and I hadn’t experienced any of that.  

We’d planned a simple barn wedding out at my cousin’s organic farm.  A local trade school was providing the flowers and catering, and I’d found my dress online at a gently used warehouse website.  Between my junior status at the firm and Tommy’s modest mechanic’s salary, we couldn’t afford much more.  Couldn’t afford those details most people agonized over.  I could have asked my family to help finance the wedding, but...  since Tommy’s family was nonexistent, he had expressed a fervent objection.  He wanted to be the one to support us as much as possible.  Sometimes his stubborn pride kicked in with a vengeance, which - honestly - was fine by me.  The ceremony itself wasn’t important, just coming out on the other side with Tommy as my husband.

Husband...

“...ihh'GY’EHSSCHt!!... Huh…huh… hk’GYEITSSCH-u!!”

...who was upstairs, sneezing his head off. 

“... hah!... ah-ah!... gyy'ETSSCH! -”

The steam shower didn’t seem to be helping, and I wasn’t sure what else to try.  I sighed.  In the 24 hours since Tommy had started displaying symptoms, I’d given him all the usual remedies: we’d done steam and menthol and nasal sprays.  Nothing was working.  At this rate, by the time Saturday rolled around Tommy would either be a limp dishrag up on the altar… or we would be in the hospital.  Again.

Rolling my shoulders, I gritted my teeth.  I’d be damned if either one of those things was going to happen to my husband on our wedding day.

After 45 minutes I had switched the last load of laundry to the dryer and gone to the kitchen to clean up from Tommy’s day at home.  When my man was well, he was an excellent kitchen assistant: washed all the dishes, cleaned the counters, took out the trash, mopped the floors…  But when he had a cold, he was a walking disaster.  I swept up the used tea bags he had plopped into the sink and scooped them into the trash can, washed the various mugs he’d abandoned, and poured half-eaten chicken-noodle soup into the garbage disposal. 

My ears had been monitoring the noise from upstairs and noted that his sneezing had slowed considerably, but hadn’t stopped completely.  Every couple of minutes, I could still detect a faint, “heh-RRSHOO!...” that sounded oh so very tired. 

I finished in the kitchen and sped up the stairs.  The first few minutes after the steam shower was the best time to administer his nasal sprays and other meds, before congestion blocked his passages once more.  Taking them out of his nightstand drawer, I lined them up on the bathroom counter as Tommy shut off the water and stood for a moment, dripping, behind the glass. 

I took a moment to admire him.  Damn, I was a lucky girl. 

Tommy was 6’ 5” of solid muscle, wide shoulders connected to a broad chest that tapered down to a trim waist and defined hips - with those grooves on either side of his abs that just drove me crazy to look at - tree-trunk thighs and sculpted calves.  Only I knew how much he hated his big feet, how difficult they made it for him to find shoes. 

Eyes skimming back up to his face, I took in the bruises beneath his bottle-green eyes, how glazed they were with exhaustion and illness.  That sculpted jaw, and large nose that I had noticed the very first time we met, on the side of that busy highway, nostrils red and swollen, looking so very tender.  Full lips that could kiss me for hours… parted and pale. 

I passed him a soft, thick towel, still warm from the dryer.  He scrubbed at his hair, over his face, aiming another weary “ggh… rr’NXGGSSH’uu!....” into its folds. 

Pushing him on the toilet seat, I waited for him to drape the towel across his lap before passing him the first of the medications.  We’d done this dance before: he’d long since stopped being so embarrassed for me to see it.  I waited while he pinched his nose closed after each spraying hit, jerking with a few stifled sneezes as he attempted to stop his body from expelling the ticklish fluids. 

 “Alright,” I sighed when he’d finished. “Let’s see if this helps you get some real sleep tonight.”

“… guest roob,” he rasped, using the soft towel to scrub at his red nose, voice clearly struggling after a long day of throat-scraping sneezes. 

“Oh no, mister,” I admonished, pulling at the bicep I could barely get two hands around. “I’m keeping you right here...” attempting to wrestle him towards the king-sized bed, stumbling over the towel he dropped at our feet.  “Where I can keep an eye on you.” 

“hh—NXZzdSHiuU!...” he muffled against one wrist. 

“And don’t stifle,” I scolded, snatching a clean bandana from my back pocket where I’d gotten it from the most recent load of laundry and pressing it into his hand.  “Shoot those germs out of there.”

He chuckled, and I had to stop myself from closing my eyes and letting my knees go weak.  When his voice was at this throaty, raspy stage and he laughed?  It was one of the sexiest things in the world.  “I thigk I cad hH!- do thad. …  eh-eh- UheeIIAAEEES'SSSTCH! -oooo!…” He crumpled into the cloth, causing us both to stumble again. 

“Easy there, tiger,” I wrapped an arm around his bare waist, stabilizing us.  “Let’s get you horizontal before you start making earthquakes.”

“Mbb, is thad a probosidiod?”

“A what?”

He gave a lusty blow, wincing as he swiped at his raw nostrils.  “A propositiod.”

I couldn’t help but smile, sighing and shaking my head.  “Anything to get in my pants, huh.”

His 1000 watt smile took my breath away.  “Always.”

I rolled my eyes.  “Okay, sickie.  Bed.  Now.”

His large hands clamped onto my hips, pulling me on top of him.

What followed was… not something my grandmother would have recommended as treatment for the common cold.  But it worked.  When we were finished, Tommy was sprawled on his back, fast asleep. I ended up sleeping in the guest room, because Tommy’s snoring increased to wall-shaking decibels. 

Wednesday morning I managed to creep out of the house without waking my exhausted fiancé. He had stopped snoring, curling on his side and looking seven ways of adorable as he drooled onto his pillow, long legs tangled in the blankets. I gently disentangled him, smoothing the sheets and making a mental note to replace said pillow after this particular cold had passed. 

I knew when he woke up, because he started texting me. 

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: Hey.  

ME: Well hello, sexy sickie. 

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: I think I’m dying.

ME: You’re not dying. 

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: I might be. 

ME: I finished my medical degree after lunch.  You’re not dying.

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: You got a medical degree in text-diagnosis?

ME: It’s the hottest new degree.  Of course I got it. 

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: I wish I could come up with a witty reply to that.  But I’m too busy dying.

ME: Do you have a fever?

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: Uh … don’t know?...

ME: I left the ‘cold basket’ on the nightstand.  Have you taken anything I set out?

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER:  Can’t. Too busy dying. 

ME: You wouldn’t BE dying if you took some meds. 

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: Your new degree says this?

ME: Tommy. Sweetheart. Love of my life.  We’ve been through this before. 

ME: TAKE.

ME: YOUR.

ME: MEDS. 

He didn’t message me again, and soon I was able to lose myself in clients, porfolios, and prospectuses.  When I was packing up to leave, I fired off a quick: 

ME: Do you want me to pick up anything. 

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: Popsicles. Throat is wrecked. 

I ended up picking up more tissues, cold meds, throat drops, canned soup, tea, and - his favorite - strawberry popsicles.  Stopping for some Thai takeout - tom yum for him, cashew chicken for me - I made my way home.  Normally, neither one of us ate spicy food.  I was a total wuss, and Tommy’s sensitive sinuses meant that it resulted in a violent sneezing fit, one that usually sent him into a sound sleep when it was done.  I figured that might be a good idea, considering the circumstances.  

Upon arriving at home, I juggled the various bags of goodies and called out, “Baby?  You alive?”

I didn’t get a response. 

Frowning, I deposited everything on the kitchen counter - quickly tossing the popsicles in the freezer - and called out again, “Baby?”

There was only silence.

Edited July 9, 2020 by starpollen

[LondonGirl]

That cliffhanger was mean, but oh so good. Your writing never fails to make me weak at the knees. I need me a Tommy.

[March Hare]

OH no

ha haaaaa... nothing better than pure indulgent wish-fulfillment fiction, holy sugar ❤️

[rockbell]

ahhhh!!! I love these two so much and this is so good!!!!! I can't wait to read what happens next!!!!

[Serendipity]

So excited to see these two back!!

[chronic reader]

THEY’RE BACK!!!!!!!!

[Care]

yeah !! THEY ARE BACK !! I love those stories !

[2SHY222]

Yaaaay I'm super happy they're back 😁

[starpollen]

I've missed these guys, too.   Many times in recent months I've opened a doc to start typing a story with them... and it just wasn't happening.  I'm so glad this story finally worked its way out! 

---      ---     ---

Part 2

Charging up the stairs, I nearly crashed into Tommy’s big body coming out of our bedroom.  Catching my shoulders, he steadied me before opening his mouth.

“Hal-z…” he tried. 

His voice broke in twenty places, so thin and weak that it was barely there at all.  No wonder he hadn’t responded when I had called his name from the kitchen - there was no way his voice would carry two feet, let alone from the second floor of the house.  Both of us stared at each other for a moment, before the implications hit me like a ton of bricks. 

“Oh, shit...”

Laryngitis.  Three days before our wedding. 

His face was one of pure misery, emerald eyes searching mine... before collapsing into an expression I knew all too well.

“eehhHB-x-PBSHhhhh!”

Twisting to the side as much as he could while still keeping a steadying grip on me, he smothered the wet explosion into his shoulder.  The tiny, pathetic squeak in the middle told me just how badly swollen his vocal cords were. 

“Okay.” Going into crisis mode, I gripped his elbows and steered him downstairs. “Let’s figure out a plan.”  I pushed him down onto the couch, but Tommy grabbed my hand, pulling his phone from his pajama pants pocket and holding it up. On the screen was the Mayo Clinic website entry for laryngitis, and the list for home remedies.  I snatched it from him.

Breathe moist air.  I knew exactly where the humidifier was, and I would lock him in the master bedroom if possible to ensure he breathed in as much of it as he could.  Maybe I could look up how to rig a steam tent...

Rest your voice. Like most men, Tommy wasn’t naturally talkative.  I knew I wouldn’t have to keep telling him to be quiet. 

Drink plenty of fluids.  We were so on top of that one. 

Moisten your throat.  I had bought throat drops the day before, and could easily go back and buy out the entire selection at the local Walgreens, if necessary.

Avoid decongestants... 

Oh no. 

Jerking my wide gaze to meet Tommy’s bloodshot green, I shook my head in disbelief.  Jesus, without decongestants or other medications to keep his airways clear, this cold was going to get out of control.  Hospital out-of-control.  Not to mention… 

I quickly typed in another search.  

“Your asthma meds,” I mumbled, dropping next to him with a hard jolt. “One of the side effects is hoarseness and loss of voice.”  Setting his phone on the coffee table, I covered my face with my hands, willing the strobing lights behind my eyes to settle into some semblance of calm. 

I felt his wide palm on my back, rubbing soothing circles.  A soft sound had me lifting my head to find him typing with one hand.

It’s going to be ok.  There’s a shot I can get.  

My eyebrows went up, turning to spear him with a look that said, ‘really?...’ and so was able to watch as his upper lip slowly curled, eyes squinting and scarlet nostrils flaring wide.  "Eh-x-SHHtt!...” He turned away at the last second, aiming the harsh sneeze into his elbow, big body shuddering deliciously.  

Despite the current emergency, I couldn’t help the swirl of heat that coiled low in my belly.  No matter how many times I had seen it over the past four years - no matter how many times I would see it over the course of our life together - watching Tommy succumb to a juicy sneeze was a thing of beauty. 

But the vocal parts of his sneezes - normally deep and powerful - were absent, except for that pitiful choked creak in the middle.  Exacerbating the problem.

“A shot?” I snapped my attention back to the issue at hand.  “How’s that going to help?  Those nuclear nasal blasts of yours are going to keep scraping your vocal cords raw, so a corticosteroid shot probably isn’t going to do any good, Tommy.”

He blinked rapidly, sucking a deep breath, and then pinched his nose closed in a near-silent stifle,  “...hyh-Ncht!...” blinking at me over his knuckles.  I can do that?... I could almost hear his voice in my mind.  

“Oh no,” I glared at him, raising my pointer finger and wagging it in the air between us menacingly.  “No stifling.  No sinus infections.  No bronchitis.  Nuh uh.” 

Heaving a wheezy sigh, Tommy dropped his hand and typed again, sniffling wetly. 

Baby, I know this sucks. And, believe me, I wish I could change it. Change me.  But I can’t.  The only thing we can do is just deal with it.  We knew this could happen. I mean, this is ME we’re talking about.  We can’t postpone the wedding for a head cold. 

Mouth already open to argue, I stopped.  Reaching for the tissue box on the coffee table, I passed him a handful, allowing him to empty a boatload of fluid into the papery folds.  Stroking his back soothingly as he went for a second blow, I checked my own emotions, seeing guilt threaded through the exhausted slump to his shoulders.   Given our past struggles with his insecurities where his shitty immune system was concerned, I needed to pull it together. 

Tommy was right.  We had known that this was a possibility when we’d picked the date.  Hell, no day of the year was going to be 1000% guaranteed.  Some brides prayed it wouldn’t rain on their wedding day; I’d been begging random deities that Tommy’s nose would take a back seat long enough for us to say ‘I do.’

When he leaned forward to snatch another handful of tissues from the box, crushing them to his face for a series of ragged sneezes… “--ng-x-SSHHOOO!!... ek-x-SSHHOO!!... hgk-- uh-- HH-HY-x-SSSHOOO!!” I rubbed between his shoulder blades. 

Tommy was one of those guys who never needed anything. Ever. Always completely in control, totally competent and collected. He was one of those biker guys who was always tinkering in the garage with tools and engines and wood, a solid mass of muscles clad in black leather and boots. Even during allergy season he would sniffle and sneeze his way through the day with an iron stoicism that broadcast an incontrovertible impenetrable strength.  But when he was suffering from a cold, sometimes - just for a day or so - he would let down his guard.  

As hot as he was when in the grip of an allergy attack, he was just as irresistible when he was sweetly sick, sniffly and sneezy and achy, letting me touch him as much as I wanted. My kink ran both ways.

Sliding my hand up his back, I buried my fingers in his hair, massaging the back of his skull.  He relaxed a little, breathing out another wheezy sigh.

“This isn’t your fault, baby,” I murmured, keeping a hand on him as his head dipped in circles, tissue-clad fingers massaging raw, tickly nostrils.  “And you’re right.  We’ll handle it.  The most important thing is that I am going to marry you.  Saturday.  Hell, we’ll learn sign language, or do our vows with cue cards if we have to.”  

He huffed a half-laugh that degenerated into more hitching breaths.

Rolling my eyes, I was unable to stop the grin that tugged at my lips.  “Here we go again, huh.” 

Fumbling, Tommy reached a big hand behind him to pat me clumsily on the knee, even as he jerked forward with sneeze after wet sneeze. I bit my lower lip, clenching my thighs and closing my eyes.

“… hah!SH-x-Gjjtt! -HEH’kgtZZ-x-shhttt…” The squeaky pip in the middle was friggin’ adorable. At any other time, this would have me pouncing on him and ripping his clothes off.  Right now, though, I had more important things to do.

Sighing, I forced myself to get up and head for the stairs, intending to work my way down the list of Mayo Clinic home remedies.  There was still a small chance - snowball in hell, maybe, but still a chance - that I would get to hear Tommy’s deep voice on Saturday rumbling ‘I do…’

Behind me, the groom continued to sneeze. 

“...ihh'GY-x-SSCHt!!... Huh…huh… hk’GY-x-TSSCH-u!! ... hah!... ah-ah!... gyy-x-TSSCH! ...”

An hour later, the humidifier had been retrieved from its trusty shelf in the closet, filled and placed on Tommy’s side of the bed.  A bowl full of throat drops sat next to the humidifier, like candy in a dish, and a small trash can placed strategically on the floor.  I had even manhandled the tiny dorm fridge (that usually lived out in the separate garage where Tommy worked on cars) into the house, wiping dust and grime from it before starting to haul it up the stairs. 

Tommy had stopped me then, taking it from my arms as if it weighed no more than a toaster, trotting up the stairs. “Huh-huh’uh! –ik’HY-x-BP’ssch!... Hehh!!... Gy’huh-eh!... hhPB-x-SCH’hh!-uu…” spraying it with squeaky sneezes the whole way. 

Tommy set it next to his nightstand, and I plugged it in and listened as it hummed back to life. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Tommy sniffled and typed: 

You don’t need to do all this, baby.  It’s just a cold.  And not even a bad one, tbh.

Swiping the hair away from my sweaty forehead, I plopped down next to him. “I know,” I sighed, blowing a sputtering breath through closed lips. “But it makes me feel a little less anxious.” 

Spreading his hands, Tommy gestured for me to ‘come here.’  Leaning into his broad chest, I felt his strong arms close around me, pulling me close and squeezing tight, reassuring.  I slipped an arm around his back, pushing my face against his soft t-shirt and humming contentedly as his huge hand stroked my hair.  I was not a dainty woman by any means, but Tommy always made me feel small.  Precious.  And when he held me like this?  Protected.  Safe. 

His hand stilled, shoulders suddenly tense.

I knew exactly what was coming. 

“-hRh’HH-ZDDJ-x-SSCHHtt!...”

Using his wide palm to cup the back of my head, he tucked me under his right arm as he turned away to the left, attempting to smother the sneeze into his shoulder.  It ended up a soggy mess.  I could hear it even if I couldn’t see it, the thick, desperate sniffling he attempted in the aftermath, even as he was gearing up for a second… 

“... hihhh-ignk’GY-x-ZTSHtt! –huhh…”

I bit my lower lip, fighting the low moan of pleasure that threatened to rip from my throat. With us being so close, feeling his big body shudder and quake with each explosion drove me insane, his every muscle tense with the effort to contain, to resist...

But it was no use.

A final, terrible, "hh'igk-h!-HAH!... DZZ-x-’sschTTt!” forced us apart, both of his hands clapping to his face to catch the deluge of congestion violently ejected from his flooded passages.  Immediately, the tips of his ears turned bright red with embarrassment. 

“You know I love you, baby,” I crooned with a grin, tucking a clean bandana up over his fingers. “Snot and all.”

The flush took over his face, creeping down his neck even as he emptied what had to be an ocean’s worth of congestion from his cold-ridden sinuses.  His gorgeous green eyes peeped at me over the edge of the fabric.  Slowly, fingers curled until only the middle one was left erect.

I chuckled.

“Shoot those germs out of there,” I repeated, scritching my nails lightly across his t-shirt clad back as I rose, leaving him to continue blowing and snuffling, punctuated with some light coughs.  I was happy to hear that, so far, it didn’t look like this cold was going to move down into his chest.  With enough vigilance, we could keep it there until after Saturday. 

And after Saturday...

The one thing Tommy had allowed my father to do was buy us round trip tickets to Cancun. First class.  It might be the only time in our lives we ever flew first class.  Tommy and I had paid for the room at the resort, but he had grudgingly accepted the plane tickets as a wedding preset. 

I had a sudden flash of us on the airplane, me next to my new husband in the luxurious seats, the other passengers having to endure 3 hours of Tommy’s incessant sneezing…

Or maybe by then he wouldn’t be sneezing anymore. I couldn’t help the pout that formed.  Tommy not sneezing on our honeymoon?... 

Behind me, a hitching gasp, “y—CK-ZTSH-x-tzzz!-HY-X-zzdSSHtt!!” a squeaky double.

I smirked. Who was I kidding?  Tommy would be sneezing on our honeymoon.  Whether from this cold or from some unknown allergen down in paradise.  If nothing else, I had a couple of secret weapons I planned to pack away…

 “...hH!-h!--ZZDTTJj-x-jshhht!... h’-x-PT’choo! -G’XZDSN-X-tshtt!...”

At the moment, though, my big brawny biker man didn’t need any encouragement in the nasal department.  I sighed, heading downstairs to do another sweep of the house to decontaminate his tissue-littered areas. By the time I got him fed, dosed, and tucked into our bed with the humidifier on high, I was exhausted.  I dropped down next to him, not even caring that my man was once again doing a fervent imitation of a chainsaw. 

Thursday morning I also snuck out of the house without waking him, heading in for only a half-day at the office.  Sanders had let me take off Thursday afternoon and all of Friday to prepare for the wedding, and the hours between 8 and noon seemed to crawl by.  When 12:00 finally hit, I shot out away from my desk with the speed of an Airforce ejection seat, waving off calls of “Congratulations!” and “See you on Saturday”’s from my fellow co-workers. 

Rounding the corner for home, I saw my mom’s little red Audi parked next to Tommy’s Jeep.  

“Mom?” I called when I came inside.  

“In here, honey.”

I found her sitting at the seldom-used dining table, various papers spread across the wooden surface, with a binder.  Mom was a Binder Queen: every event, every vacation, was planned down to the last detail.  Another reason I didn’t have to be stressed - my supermom was on top of everything. 

“After all,” she had told me.  “I’ve only got one daughter, so this is the only chance I’ll get to have any fun.”

The original plan was that she and dad would spend the night in town on Friday after the rehearsal dinner, and take me out to the organic farm the next morning to help me get ready on the big day. Heather would be my Maid-of-Honor, as I had been hers. My bridesmaids - Mariah and my cousin Ginny - would be joining us a couple of hours before the ceremony.   Tommy’s Best Man was Mark, and a couple of guys from his garage were groomsmen.  

We wanted things small and simple.  Two concepts my mother never quite understood. 

“You’re early,” I commented needlessly.  Of course my mom was early.  “I thought you were coming over tomorrow.”  

“Your father managed to get someone to cover his shift at the hospital, so we decided to be here in case anything was needed last-minute.” 

Suddenly, I realized how quiet the house was.

“...Did you see Tommy?”

“Yes, he answered the door,” she peered at me over her bifocals with a long-suffering sigh. “Poor boy, and two days before the wedding, too. You should have said something. Your father went out and got him a prescription for some hospital-strength anti-inflammatories, then gave him a shot of B-12.  He’s sleeping.” 

“Where’s dad now?”

A smile curved half of her elegant lips, one sculpted eyebrow raising.  “Golfing.  Where else?”

Our respective men expertly dealt with, mom and I spent the next four hours pouring over her Hayley and Tommy Wedding Binder.  Every list was checked and double-checked, every tradesperson called for an update.  By the time we finished, my eyes were crossed from the tediousness of it all.  So my mother insisted on taking me to dinner. 

“Let me check on Tommy and then I’ll grab my purse.”

Tip-toeing up the stairs, I was surprised to see him lying awake watching Neflix on my iPad.  Normally Tommy couldn’t stay in bed if he wasn’t sleeping or… well, if we were using it for other activities.  I was pleased to see that he was actually making an effort to rest.  

“Why didn’t you come downstairs?” I whispered, realizing only after that there wasn’t any reason to remain quiet if he was awake.

He lifted his phone to glow in the semi-darkness of the room.  Didn’t want to interrupt. 

“Didn’t want to get dragged into it, more likely,” I gave a light punch to his arm.  “Fraidy cat.”

He graced me with a wide, winning smile, and I couldn’t help but bend down and capture his lips in a deep, searing kiss. With his bottle-green eyes bright and mischievous, his Christmas-bulb nose practically glowing in the center of his face, and that movie-star smile… he took my breath away.  We kept it up until he had to break away to breathe, sniffling thickly. 

“How are you feeling?” I asked, perching a hip on the edge of the bed, combing his unruly hair back from his cool face. 

A lot better.  Your dad has nice drugs. 

“Seems like that handsome nose of yours has calmed down,” I reached out as if to tap the organ in question, but he pulled away and caught my wrist.  Wagging a finger at me, he arched one dark brow as if to say ‘I know what you’re trying to do, there. Naughty.’

I sighed overdramatically.  “Always one step ahead of me.”  I leaned close, once more offering him my lips.  But when he drew up for a kiss, I ghosted one instead across the tip of his raw, chapped nose. 

“EhhH!-- Hals--” he squeaked, turning to one side and cruelly pinching the scarlet-rimmed nares closed, breath hitching dangerously. 

“Sorry,” I winced, only halfway truthful. “Sometimes I just can’t help it.  You’re too adorable for words.” Squeezing his muscular thigh through the blankets.

Wrestling the sneeze under control, he huffed a harsh breath and dove for me, mouth nibbling at my neck as his long fingers dug into my side, causing me to shriek with laughter. 

“Stop it!... stop!” I managed in between giggles. “Mom is still downstairs!”  He released me instantly.  “She’s gonna take me to dinner.  I’ll bring you back something.” Kissing him again.  “You need anything before we head out?”

He shook his head no, gesturing at the arsenal of laryngitic weaponry I had assembled next to the bed.  Cupping my chin in one hand, he gave me a long, toe-curling kiss that made me wish I could vanish my mother back to her hotel for the rest of the night… and stay here having my wicked way with a sneezy, sexy biker man… 

But I managed to get control of myself, ducking into the bathroom to check my hair and refresh my makeup.  My mother would never be seen with me in public unless I was 100% ‘put together,’ to use her words.  Luckily I was still in my pinstripe trousers, rose-colored silk shirt, and pearls from the office. Changing my heels for some ballet flats, I dropped one more kiss to Tommy’s head, feeling his fingers glide across the backs of my thighs as I left to join my mom. 

She and I split a plate of shrimp scampi at Olive Garden, demolishing the unlimited salad more than the pasta itself.  I ordered some soup for Tommy, along with a takeaway box of lasagna.  We had ordered a bottle of chardonnay, but mom didn’t even finish her glass, insisting that she needed to drive me home and then make it to the hotel in one piece.  I ended up having two glasses - more than my usual - and was surprised when the restaurant corked the rest for me to take home. 

Once at home, I found Tommy fast asleep, rattling snores thundering from his congested sinuses.  Checking to make sure the humidifier was topped off to last as long as possible, I then peeled my clothes away and slipped into a silken camisole and shorts. Parking myself on the couch downstairs to catch up on some Neflix, I finished the rest of the wine as I scrolled through social media on my phone.

Sometime after midnight, I slipped into a deep sleep, lulled by the vibrations echoing from upstairs…

Edited July 9, 2020 by starpollen

[Serendipity]

These two are so sweet...Loving the new part!

[LondonGirl]

This second part was just so delicious 😋 I hope Tommy improves somewhat before his wedding day. I love Hayley’s family, they’re just great. 

[rockbell]

They are just too cute!!!!

[starpollen]

Maybe these parts are too long... maybe I could have drawn it out in more chapters... but?... this is the way it happened.  

Enjoy! 

---     ---     ---

Part 3

I woke the next morning to the worst headache I’d had in a long time. 

The previous weekend had been our respective bachelor and bachelorette parties, and - while I had let my girlfriends drag me from one bar to the next, taking shots of tequila and suffering through the textbook bride-to-be male stripper dance at the last location - even then I hadn’t had a hangover this bad. 

Granted, I had carb-loaded like a fiend for two days before, in preparation, and that night I had made sure to have a glass of water every 30 minutes.  Yesterday I had skipped lunch, and dinner had been only salad and wine with maybe a few noodles thrown in for good measure.  Not a good combination.

Groaning, I dragged myself semi-upright, eyes snagging on the Post-It note stuck to my phone. 

HEADING OVER TO MARK’S.  DON’T WORRY.  I PROMISE TO KEEP DRINKING LOTS OF WATER + TAKE MY MEDS + GET MYSELF IN THE BEST SHAPE POSSIBLE FOR TOMORROW.  MARK SAYS HE HAS A HUMIDIFIER.  HE KNOWS THE DRILL. I’LL SEE YOU--

I had to turn the little paper over.  

--TONIGHT AT THE REHEARSAL.  CAN’T WAIT TO BE YOUR HUSBAND. ❤️ -TOMMY

Even though Tommy and I weren’t in the least bit superstitious, we had decided to honor the tradition that the groom didn’t see the bride on the day of the wedding until she approached him at the altar.  Ergo, Tommy had arranged to spend the night with Mark and Heather.  At the time it had seemed like a good solution.  But now… Tommy had known I was going to worry.  His note - while sweet - wasn’t going to alleviate that completely.  

Oh, well.  Not much we could do about it now.  

So I laid around the house most of the day, selfishly glad to have the time to myself.  Between wedding plans, work, friends, family, and - yes - even Tommy… I hadn’t realized how much I needed a break.  Even just a day alone in pajamas: picking at leftovers in the fridge, drinking hot chocolate, and bingeing girly shows.  

Around 4:00 I took myself up the stairs and indulged in a long, hot bath. I let my hair curl and pinned it up on either side, applying only the lightest makeup.  Then I slipped into the elegant dress I had chosen specifically for the rehearsal dinner - a knee-length light gold brocade shot through with various metallic threads in an embroidered garden motif, and a satin ribbon for a belt nipping in the waist.  After adding some of my grandmother’s jewelry and low heels, I stared at myself for a long time in the mirror.

On one hand, it felt like the last four years had gone by in a flash.  I could see every moment of the day I met Tommy, crystal clear, like it was yesterday: the heat, the roar of the cars, his cautious approach, doing my best barnacle impression while riding behind him on his motorcycle, the way he looked standing next to Mark at the altar, our first kiss...  And on the other hand, it felt like Tommy and I had been together forever: coming home to him every day, making dinner together, falling asleep on his big, rumbling chest at night, waking up to his loving gaze in the morning, the way his fingers lingered every time he touched me... I couldn’t imagine my life without him.

I headed to the rehearsal. 

We were lucky that we had been able to reserve the farm venue for both days - some of my friends had their rehearsals in restaurants or in church fellowship halls because they could only get the venue for the wedding itself.  Since the farm belonged to my cousin, I had been able to pull the family card. 

Stepping out of my little Prius, the first thing I noticed was that Tommy’s Jeep wasn’t in sight.  Shaking my head, I tamped down on my anxiety: he had probably ridden with Heather and Mark, especially if he was sneezing too much to drive.  Which - knowing my fiancé - was entirely possible.  I picked my way through the gravel towards the barn where the ceremony would take place. 

The structure wasn’t a functioning barn: it had never housed animals or hay or anything else that might set off Tommy’s allergies.  It had been built specifically as an event venue: concrete floors, insulated walls covered over with wood to resemble rustic authenticity, also sporting bathrooms and a kitchen area.  It could accommodate weddings for up to 80 people, church revivals, conferences, family reunions...  My cousin had started this small business about six years ago, and was doing quite well with it. 

Slipping inside the double doors, my eyes immediately began scanning for my fiancé.  I saw my parents talking with the minister by the altar, my cousin who owned the farm and my bridesmaid-cousin Ginny straightening rows of chairs, Heather and Mariah laughing with Mark and Chris and Danny off to one side.  The florist and his assistant were already setting up for tomorrow - we had been very sparing with the flowers, for obvious reasons, and it was still cool enough at night that the barn would act as a refrigerator for the scattered blooms until the ceremony. 

No Tommy.

Catching my eye, Mark trotted over.  “Hey there, Haylee-boo. You look stunning.”  He dropped a brotherly kiss to my cheek.  “Heather thought--”

“Where’s Tommy?”  I couldn’t keep the anxiety from my voice.

Mark blew a soft puff out his nose and pursed his lips before answering.  “Relax. I made him stay home.”

“From the rehearsal dinner?!”

The Best Man scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck, causing surfer-boy blond locks to fall into his eyes.  “He was running a little bit of a temperature.  N-not much!” he had to stammer, hands quickly raised in defense when I opened my mouth to begin interrogating him.  “99.7.  But Heather and I convinced him that tomorrow was more important than tonight, that it was smarter to stay in bed. Okay?” Reaching out, he ran his hands reassuringly up and down from my shoulders to my elbows.  “Calm down.”

I was not reassured, did not want to calm down.

But I nodded, worry and disappointment ratcheting higher in my gut. I knew Mark was right: if I wanted Tommy at his best at the altar tomorrow, then I needed him to be in bed tonight. Resting. Taking meds.  Breathing in the cool humidified air and sucking on water and throat drops.  Not expending energy walking around forcing smiles and being tempted to speak to everyone who engaged him in conversation.

But I knew Tommy.  Knew how quickly 99.7 could turn into 104, how fast a few sneezes and laryngitis could turn into borderline-pneumonia.  I couldn’t spend my wedding day in the hospital.  I just couldn’t. 

But if that’s where Tommy ended up… 

“Hayley,” Mark broke through my spiraling.  “Seriously, he’s fine.  It’s just a precaution.  And he doesn’t need to be here tonight, anyway.”  He whipped up a flippant California smile. “I’ll steer him through tomorrow, no problem.  I’m a pro.”

As if by magic, Heather appeared, sliding under his arm.  “Well, if not a ‘pro,’ at least he’s done it once,” she beamed up at her husband before turning gentle eyes to me. “You know we’d never let anything happen to Tommy on our watch.”

Despite their assurances, the rest of the night was a blur. I looked at my phone about a hundred times, waiting for Tommy to text me, thinking about texting him.  But my mom kept pulling me from one thing to the next so I never got the chance to fire off a message.  I know we practiced the walk up and down the aisle more times than I thought was strictly necessary.  I know I choked down whatever was on my plate at the little bistro restaurant we went to.  Finally, Mom and dad dropped me at my house, after a short debate where I flat-out refused to have my mom stay over.  After all, even if I was on autopilot, I wasn’t 12.

Before going to bed, I finally let myself send Tommy a text.

ME:  You ok?

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER:  I lost. 

ME: Lost what?

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER:  A bet.

ME: Oh?

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: Yeah. I bet Mark that you wouldn’t last 20 min before texting me when you saw I wasn’t there. It’s been 5 hours.

ME: Mom had me on a pretty tight leash.  

ME: Did you bet money? Or a dare?

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER:  Money.

ME: Ouch. How much did you lose?

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: ...you don’t want to know.

ME: lol

ME: You haven’t answered my question...

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER:  I’m fine, baby.  Temp’s back to normal.  Still no voice, but I’m cool and comfortable.  Sneezing has died down a bit.  No coughing or anything.  Chest feels good.

ME: Ok...

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: I promise, Hals. Total truth.

ME: Did you get any sleep?

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: Yep.  A lot. I’m about to load up on all my nighttime meds and try for some more.  Gonna be as close to 100% as I can get for tomorrow.

ME:  Good. 

ME:  I miss you.

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER:  God, I miss you, too.  

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER:  Let’s not do this again?

ME:  What, sleep apart?

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER:  Yeah. 

ME: Sounds good to me. 

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER:  I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

ME:  Me, too.

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER:  And then we’ll have the rest of our lives. 

ME: I like this plan.

ME: Wish I could call you.

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: Me, too.  I mean… you could.  I love hearing your voice.

ME: Yeah, but you’ll be tempted to try to talk back.  Better not risk it. 

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: You’re right.

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: Sleep well, baby.  See you in my dreams.

ME:  That was so cheesy.

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: You love cheesy things. 

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: Grilled sandwiches... 

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: Macaroni...

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: Me…

ME: lol yeah I do.  Go to sleep, turd. 

TOMMY SAVIORBIKER: I love you, too, baby.  Sweet dreams. x  ❤️

ME: You, too. Xoxo ❤️❤️❤️

It took me a long time to fall asleep. Longer than it should have, long enough that I started to worry about how I’d look tomorrow.  Long enough that I broke down and took a couple of nighttime cold pills, just to knock me out. 

The next morning, mom was on my doorstep at 7:00 a.m., sharp. 

“Mom, it’s too early…” I mumbled, stumbling ahead of her towards the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. 

“It’s your wedding day!” she chirped way too cheerily.  “We have an appointment at 7:45 for manicure and pedicure, and then we need to get you out to the farm by 9:30 so the stylist can start your hair.  Ceremony at 11!...” 

“Mom…” I turned around very slowly.  “Manicure?... Stylist?”

“Surprise!” she beamed. “Get dressed; I’ll put your things in the car.  We’ll get coffee on the way.”

And off we went.  

If I had thought I would be able to get away with “small” and “simple” where my mother was concerned?  I was woefully mistaken.  My mother was not only Binder Queen but also Sultan of Schedules.  At exactly 7:42 we walked into a sumptuous salon in a part of town I never bothered to go to, because there was nothing there I could afford.  Heather and Mariah and Ginny were waiting for us, and over the next hour we toasted with champagne in crystal glasses as our fingers and toes were given the royal treatment by a dozen manicurists.  I felt like we were in that scene from The Wizard of Oz.  Mom snapped about a hundred pictures, and I had to admit that by the end I was wearing a permanent glowing smile, feeling much more relaxed than any bride had a right to be on her wedding day.  I hadn’t had a chance to text Tommy before leaving the house, and mom kept me distracted enough that I didn’t message him at the salon, either.

From there, it was out to the farm where at exactly 9:26 I was deposited in front of a large, antique vanity in an upstairs bedroom, mom’s hired stylist taming my hair into a sophisticated up-do and expertly applying makeup.  I had to argue with both he and my mom a little about keeping things simple.

“Ricardo works on films,” my mother informed me with a beaming smile, taking the cell phone out of my hands where I had been about to text Tommy. “He knows what he’s doing.”

Heather and Mariah and Ginny spent the time buzzing around the room doing their own hair and makeup, although they allowed Ricardo to give them a once-over when he was finished with me.  

Finally, it was time for the dress. 

I hadn’t wanted anything fussy or complicated - no big Disney ball gowns or body-hugging sexy Hollywood numbers.  First, I wanted it to be comfortable: I wanted to be able to sit at dinner and get on the dance floor and wander the room talking to family and friends without worrying about tripping over - or falling out of - a dress.  Second, I wanted to look like ‘me,’ not some fantasy ‘me’ that I had never been before and would never be again. 

I had found a shimmering sheath dress online, with a modest neckline, sheer cap sleeves, and beading that gathered at the waist.  It effectively hid the parts of my body I wasn’t crazy about, and played up the parts I thought were decent.  It looked a lot like the designer Jenny Packman Willow dress, although mine didn’t show quite as much cleavage.  

Slipping it on, the first thing I felt was relief.  It still fit.

Mom helped with the shoes and jewelry.  She had tried to coax me into doing a veil, but that was just too much.  Instead, I had allowed her to choose a simple jeweled headband that echoed the subtle Art Deco lines of the dress. The stylist had all 5 of us posing for photos, toasting with champagne and laughing.

And then it was time. 

Inexplicably, butterflies rose in my stomach.  My dad met us at the doors to the barn, holding it open for us to slip inside the entryway area that had been created using soft white curtains.  The temperature inside the barn was warm and comfortable due to several industrial space heaters hired for the event.  

I waited - trying hard to stop shaking - as first my mom, escorted by my oldest brother Brian, then Ginny, then Mariah, and then Heather were led down the aisle by the groomsmen and Best Man. Finally, it was our turn. 

My other brother, Chris, in his role as Head Usher was the one to pull back the curtains to reveal us in the entryway.  I had vehemently vetoed “Here Comes the Bride,” so the soft, zen-like music that was serving as background continued as my father and I took the first step.  

I know now why brides have someone walk them down the aisle: if I hadn’t had an arm to hang on to, I probably would have stumbled.  Maybe even fainted. 

The whole scene was magical: bare branches strung with white lights hung from the ceiling like a forest of chandeliers, candles on pedestals ringed the outer perimeter while more soft, white lights were strung along the path to the altar.  Mason jars with more fairy lights were suspended from the branches and tucked at the ends of the rows of chairs.  On either side of the minister, the bridesmaids and groomsmen were in elegant black.  And waiting for me in the center… 

Tommy himself. 

I’ve commented before just how devastatingly handsome this man is, whether he’s lying on his back in ripped jeans under a car, or rocking head-to-toe leather in his motorcycle suits, or standing in the kitchen in a soft t-shirt with faded pajama pants riding low on his lean hips.

In a black-on-black tuxedo?... He’s magnificent. 

I might have floated the last twenty feet or so.  I have no idea.  All I know is that one moment I was clinging to my father’s arm trying not to do my best impression of an earthquake… and the next I was standing in front of Tommy.

Those wide, piercing green eyes gazed at me full of wonder and adoration, shining a little with contained emotion. I stared up into the face of the man I loved - his broad smile, large nose, strong jaw - and almost forgot to breathe. 

‘You’re stunning,’ he mouthed, unblinking. Taking both of my hands in one of his (his other hand - fisted next to ours - gripped a crisp, white handkerchief), we turned to face the minister.  Glancing up discreetly, I noticed that his nose was twitching just a little as he gave a soft sniffle, but otherwise he looked healthy and well-rested. 

There were words, and we all know them by heart so I don’t need to repeat them.  Everything was solemn and still, all eyes locked on us.  

But, halfway through the minister’s opening speech about love and life and marriage, Tommy’s free hand slowly rose to tuck the edge of the white cloth firmly under his large nose.  His long fingers clamped around mine in reflex as he flinched stiffly with a silent stifle, his big body locking up for several long seconds. On his other side, the Best Man’s brown eyes flicked briefly to the groom’s face. 

Tommy held his breath, then slowly dragged the cloth down, pinch-wiping his damp nostrils. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him blinking rapidly, nostrils flaring with two more stubborn sniffles.

I felt my thighs clench together under the folds of my skirt, biting my lower lip and dragging a slow breath in through my nose to keep control.  Tommy stubbornly resisting a sneeze was one of my biggest kinks. 

“...the vows…” the minister toned, most of his words hitting my ears like the adults in Charlie Brown cartoons. 

Tommy and I turned to each other, and now that we were face-to-face I could see he was distracted.  A slight vagueness to his bottle-green gaze, the rims of his nostrils pinkening around the dark, quivering caverns.  His fingers were lax on mine, as if all his concentration had moved northward.

His eyelids slowly slid to half-mast, lips striving to stay pursed as his breath scissored. Turning toward the minister and ducking his head, the handkerchief-clad fist rose swiftly to pinch-and-rub viciously for a hot second, before turning back to me with a rueful half-grin. I returned a sympathetic smile, squeezing his hand. 

Gazing into my almost-husband’s eyes, it was like I was telepathic. 

‘I’m not gonna get through this without sneezing, Hals,’ I could hear his voice in my mind, his expression folding into an apologetic wince. 

One side of my mouth quirked up in a loving smile.  ‘I know.’

His dark brows rose.  ‘I guess we knew that was inevitable, huh.’

‘It’s okay.  I love you.’

Somehow my ears picked up on the fact that the minister had finished his “Do you take this man…” part, and was waiting for my answer. 

“I do.” 

Tommy’s chest heaved a reflexive breath, one that had nothing to do with his cold. 

“Thomas Michael Erikson, do you take this woman…”

His right eye was twitching, upper lip dancing its way up toward his cheek, exposing a flash of teeth.  I felt the vibration of his body through his hands, the tension mounting as he fought valiantly to keep from succumbing to the tickle. 

“... ‘til death do you part?”

There was a long pause.  Tommy’s facial features seemed frozen, one half contorted, the other slack.  

“It’s okay,” I breathed, low enough for only him to hear.  

It was enough.

“Hehhh??... hH!hH!- AHTDJ-x-SScchtt!-” 

Whipping his head down and to the right, he exploded into the handkerchief, the force of it bending him nearly in half and echoing off the wooden walls. 

There was a stunned silence. 

Then, a smattering of laughter and applause, over which Mark called out, “That means, ‘I do!’” while clapping Tommy’s bent form on the back. 

Straightening, Tommy scrubbed at his nose and wiped his eyes, before rasping out hoarsely but loudly, “I do!  I… d--...  --hrrRR’TJD-x-SStt!” and jackknifing with another ferocious sneeze.

More laughter, and I couldn’t help but pull his big body close to me and wrap myself around his left arm, facing our audience and helping to shield him from their gaze while he rubbed and wiped and blew, getting himself somewhat under control. 

Recovering, Tommy tucked the handkerchief into his jacket pocket and took both of my hands in his.  Bringing my knuckles up to his lips, he pressed a soft kiss to each hand and stared intently into my eyes. 

“I do,” he repeated, voice still threadbare and weak, but audible. 

Heather and Mark handed over the rings they had been guarding, and then it was done.

“...with the power invested in me…” wah-wah-wah “... man and wife.”

Then Tommy was kissing me. His dark head descended to mine, lips tentatively brushing against my own in one leisurely stroke.  When I responded with a soft moan of encouragement, he cupped my face in both hands and kissed me more urgently, coaxing my mouth to open and share breath with his. 

From somewhere in the distance, there was cheering and applause. 

Breaking away, Tommy gazed down at me with so much love that I thought my heart was going to burst. 

Before I knew it, the exit music was playing, and Tommy was gently taking my hand to tuck around his muscular arm.  

“Mrs. Erikson,” Tommy rasped, steering me down the aisle and off to the side where the tables were set up for the wedding lunch.  

“Mrs. Cartwright-Erikson,” I corrected.  

He gave one of those husky chuckles that made my knees weak.  “Whatever you say… wife.”

“Husband,” I breathed in response, tasting the word on the air. 

His eyes slipped closed, a tiny shudder shaking his massive frame.  “Mmm, I like hearing you say that.”

“Should you be talking?” I tipped my head to one side, bringing a hand up to stroke my thumb across his throat.  “Does it hurt?”

Capturing my straying hand and bringing it up to kiss my palm, he stared at me unblinking while he mouthed, ‘No.’

“Which answer is that?” I teased, unable to stop myself from grinning. 

But he was only able to give a quick shrug before we were descended upon by all our guests, each wanting to shake hands and offer congratulations and words of wisdom or stories of our past, little fragments of themselves that they could offer up wrapped in emotional ribbons. 

We had discouraged actual gifts, instead providing a table to one side that sported a large decorative box in the center for congratulatory cards, and two equally decorative boxes flanking it that displayed the names of our chosen charities and information about the causes.  I had chosen the African Wildlife Foundation, and Tommy had chosen Hope for the Warriors.  Heather had dreamed up several games for the reception, including a silent auction and also this silly contest - whichever charity got the most donations during the night, the “winner” (bride or groom) would get to award a special prize to a guest of their choice.  

My parents had provided 6 prizes for the occasion, displayed on a taller table behind the boxes. A nice wine basket, a gift card to the bistro where we’d had the rehearsal dinner, a painting by a well-known local artist, a popular fitness watch, a pair of season tickets to the local college football team, and a ‘man cave’ cooler box with various craft beers and snacks.

The appetizers started coming out, cocktail finger foods circulated by vested trade-school waiters on silver platters as the guests mingled with their drinks.  Tommy and I were ushered to our very own ‘sweetheart table.’  

Originally we’d planned it this way because there was this odd niche in the barn that fit a small bistro table perfectly, and it helped with the rest of the space planning.  Now, it was a relief for us to be able to sit together alone…

...and for Tommy to be able to let his guard down. 

“Unn…” he dropped into his chair with a cracked groan, followed by a weary sigh as he rubbed a hand over his face, ducking into his elbow for a powerful “...ihh'GY’EHSSCHt!!...”  that snuck up on him.

“You okay there, tiger?” I asked softly, reaching over to massage the back of his neck.

“I’ll live,” he croaked, voice already beginning to give way under the strain. Glancing behind us,  I noticed a conveniently-placed basket, out of sight of the rest of the room but within easy reach, that contained a small stack of Tommy’s bandanas.  Reaching back, he swapped out the white handkerchief - already crumpled and damp - for a soft, black one. 

“How are you feeling?” I threaded my fingers through the soft hair at the nape of his neck as he brought the bandana up to swipe at increasingly damp nostrils.

“I thought I got enough sleep last night, but…” he paused, steepling the cloth around his nose and rubbing more intently.  “I’m still tired.”

“You don’t sound congested,” I observed, continuing to pet him and feeling his shoulders slowly letting go of the tension as he rubbed away the tickle.

“I told you,” he winked at me over the rim of the fabric before lowering it to rest on one leg.  “Your dad has nice drugs.”

Sweeping my eyes around the room, I found my father and mother near the charity table, each having appointed themselves advocate for one of the organizations and angling for their ‘chosen horse.’

“Go on,” he nudged me with his knee, following my gaze. “I’m just gonna rest for a minute.”

Dropping a quick kiss to his temple, I crossed the room and sidled up to my father, wrapping arms around his tuxedoed chest and giving a daughterly squeeze.  “Thank you,” I told him, sincerely, and closed my eyes when his arms came about my shoulders. 

“Love you, Hayley-bell,” he kissed the top of my head.

I gave my mom similar heartfelt thanks, breathing in the familiar scent of her jasmine perfume as she folded me in a long hug. 

After that, it was one person after another wanting to tell me how beautiful I looked, how beautiful the venue was, how delicious the appetizers.  I plastered on what I hoped was a beaming bridal smile and allowed myself to be caught up in the current that carried me around the room. 

Finally, I found myself back near the small sweetheart table, happy to see Tommy still sitting - resting - and Mark sitting in my chair.  Both were shaking with barely-repressed laughter, Mark’s hand gripping my new husband’s shoulder. 

I stopped in that moment and just took everything in.  Laughter... Love... Joy... Hope...  

Tommy leaned away from his best friend, stretching the bandana between his hands and aiming a violent, wet, “heh-HH!’EEIIHHHdjjshtt!” into it, dabbing at his nose and eyes only briefly before leaning back and saying something in Mark’s ear that had them both laughing again.

Joy... Hope... and the sight of Tommy sneezing.  Heat roiled through my veins, causing my body to shudder and breath to come short.

No doubt about it.  I was one lucky girl.

And I couldn’t wait for the honeymoon.

~Fin.~

 

 

Edited August 15, 2020 by starpollen

[LondonGirl]

They got marrieeeeeed!!!! I've never before felt so invested in a relationship that wasn't mine. Lol. I loved this. Can't wait to see what you write for the Honeymoon 😋

[aggedy_ann]

I loved this

[rockbell]

I absolutely love this!!!! Can't wait for the honeymoon

[Reader]

Couldn’t read this fast enough! Loved it!! 

Edited July 9, 2020 by Reader

[PennyLane]

I love these two SO MUCH

[stargazer1122]

Would you be interested in writing a piece where Hayley has an allergy that Tommy does not?

[2SHY222]

13 hours ago, stargazer1122 said:

Would you be interested in writing a piece where Hayley has an allergy that Tommy does not?

I love this idea 

[starpollen]

16 hours ago, stargazer1122 said:

Would you be interested in writing a piece where Hayley has an allergy that Tommy does not?

That would definitely be a challenge... It would have to be sometime pretty rare for Tommy not to have developed an allergy to it.  It’s been established that he’s not allergic to dogs, but Hayley grew up with dogs so that isn’t likely to work out... Any other ideas for a rare allergen?

[chronic reader]

9 minutes ago, starpollen said:

That would definitely be a challenge... It would have to be sometime pretty rare for Tommy not to have developed an allergy to it.  It’s been established that he’s not allergic to dogs, but Hayley grew up with dogs so that isn’t likely to work out... Any other ideas for a rare allergen?

Is Tommy allergic to ALL flowers? Or maybe maybe a tree or grass allergy? Mold too could work possibly!

[chronic reader]

I would also love more sick Hayley and caretaking Tommy than what we got in Requited Care.  

[stargazer1122]

Dust, dust mites, or some weed growing in the yard? Some type of fabric or scent maybe? Would any of those work?

[March Hare]

Jeeeebus how sweet and wholesome and sparkly and joyful this was thank you!!