II. There’s so much to do or say without repeating.
She can’t sleep the night before so she makes him stay up with her. She makes a tent out of the bed sheets, a flashlight lantern settled between them. An open window lets the nighttime spring air blow gently into the room, rustling the roof of their 300 thread count tent and causing her to inch closer to him, legs braiding together, his forehead in the crook of her neck. They talk quietly, gently as if there’s something they don’t want to disturb. They talk only in the future tense.
When his hands start to move lower and lower still, she stops him. Says, “Maybe not tonight?”
He looks up at her, his eyebrows coming together in confusion or concern, but then his mouth forms that closed lip smile, “Ah, I see. Because tomorrow…”
She nods, completing the thought for him, “Tomorrow night will be better, I think, if we don’t- Just-” She stops, kisses him. “Hold that thought, okay?”
“Okay,” he agrees, but leans forward, pressing his lips against hers lightly, pulling back slowly.
She wants to bury herself deep within him as he starts to talk again, soft and low, about the house they’ll buy someday, the ridiculous names he’s thought of for their kids, how he loves her so much he doesn’t know what to do with it all sometimes. It’s a lullaby, a whispered melody. She lets his breath ghost against her neck as she closes her eyes and sees the future rolling out in front of her like flowing, clear rivers.
In the morning, she wakes to the feel of his lips on her shoulder. She turns over and he’s there, smiling with the sun backlighting him, haloing him. She reaches up to touch his hair and smiles sleepily at him.
“Morning,” he says, propped up on his elbow, the fingers of his left hand running up and down her arm. He watches until the hairs there rise and then his eyes go back to hers.
She shifts a little until her hips meet his under the covers. “Good morning,” she says, her eyes closing again as she moves to rest the top of her head against his chest. She finds his hand and twines her fingers with his, imagines a ring there.
“So today’s the big day, huh?” His voice rumbles through his chest and into her bones.
She nods, “Big day. Huge day.”
He laughs, “The biggest.” A pause and then, “You nervous?”
She brings her head back and meets his eyes, pressing a kiss to his chin, “Nope. You?”
“Never.” She gives him a pointed look and he concedes, chuckling, “Okay, I might be a little nervous. It’s just- I’ve wanted this for a long time, Pam. And now it’s happening and- ”
She puts her arms around his neck and pulls him into her. His mouth finds her collarbone and through the window she can see the sunrise, rose colored and splashed with oranges and she tries in vain to keep her eyes open.
***
They’re having the wedding in her parents’ backyard. The large yard is covered with lush, green grass and bursting patches of wildflowers here and there. There’s a tree in the center of the yard, tall with swooping branches and bright green leaves that come to life with the sun and the breeze. They set up a white archway there in front of the tree and instead of rows of folding chairs, there are several round tables set up to make the transition from ceremony to reception seamless.
They’ve decided to keep the wedding small. Just immediate family and a few friends. Inviting the entire office was inevitable, but they’d hoped the long drive out to her parents’ house would deter most of them from actually coming. It hadn’t turned out that way and they’d all sworn they would be there. Especially Michael who’d been disappointed to find out that there wasn’t going to be a formal wedding party but had promised to make this the best day of their lives with a not so subtle nudge and eyebrow raise directed towards Jim and a muttered, “Or should I say night? Huh?”
***
Pam stands in her childhood bedroom with three hours until the ceremony. It’s still decorated the way it had been when she was a teenager even though it’s now the guest room. A border of hand painted flowers running along the top of the olive green walls, the pilled and faded pink bedspread still on her bed, the hardwood floors still nicked and splintering a little from age, her vanity mirror still holding ancient pictures of her and Roy at sixteen. She pulls one from the frame and examines it. She’s got her arms wrapped around his waist and they’re smiling at each other and not looking at the camera. She turns it over in her hands, reads her teenaged writing on the back: Roy and I, April ‘95.
She lets the past haunt her for a minute before shutting her eyes tight and placing the picture in the top drawer of her desk.
There’s a knock on the door, knuckles rapping lightly and then his voice, “Uh, hey, are you in your- Can I come in for just a second?”
“Yeah, it’s fine,” she calls through the door.
He steps in, closing the door behind him as he does. He takes a moment to look around. “So this is where Pam Beesly transformed into the wonderful woman she is now, huh?”
She blushes, feeling like a teenager again with a boy in her room for the first time. “Yep, this is it,” she says with her hands clasped in front of her, rocking on her feet a little.
He shakes his head as if remembering why he’d come into the room in the first place, “Oh, uh, sorry I just had to take care of something before I wasn’t allowed to see you.”
“Oh?” She raises her eyebrows and takes a tentative step toward him.
He meets her halfway and kisses her hard, walking her backwards towards the bed. The backs of her knees meet the edge of the mattress and she falls back, his weight pressing against her. She kisses him back, her hands on his jaw.
They’re breathless when they finally separate. The ends of his hair tickle her forehead and she laughs a little. He smiles until his eyes disappear and kisses her once more.
He stands and takes her hand, pulling her up off the bed. “Okay, so now that that’s taken care of…”
She holds onto his hand and sways into him a little, squeezing his fingers. “I love you,” she says.
“That’s why you’re marrying me,” he grins, stealing another kiss, “I love you, too.”
“Good. Now, go. Leave. I have to change.” She waves her hands as if shooing him away.
“Alright, alright. I’m leaving.”
She closes the door behind him and leans back against it, closing her eyes and tasting him still.
***
She meets her dad in the kitchen, standing by the door that leads out into the backyard. Her bouquet of tulips and daffodils rests on the counter and she grabs it before holding out her arm to her father. He smiles at her, tells her she’s beautiful and they start walking.
Jim waits for her under the archway in a simple black suit and tie with his hair parted to the side and his eyes squinting in the late afternoon sun. He smiles when she comes out of that door. She feels pretty and light as she makes her way towards him, wearing a strapless, off white dress whose skirt falls just above her knees and flutters when it gets caught in the spring air.
It feels like the longest walk of her life, but eventually she’s standing there with him. The wind blows her loose curls around her face and he reaches out to gently push a piece of her hair back behind her ear while the priest speaks. She ducks her head, blushing and trying to keep her smile from taking over her face. All she can do is reach out for both of his hands and let the words of love and promises and forever wash over her like white noise until it’s her turn to say her vows and look up at him with tears blurring his face.
He’s finally saying, “I do,” and then she’s kissing him before the priest even says the word and there’s the sound of applause somewhere far away. All she knows in that moment is teeth and lips and what the upturned corners of his mouth feel like under her thumbs.
***
Candles are lit in the center of each table and despite the chilly air, the reception carries on without any trouble. They sit alone together at a table, holding hands and talking close about the day and what lies ahead. The guests have all given their congratulations and the toasts have been made and there’s music playing softly with a few people dancing on the cement patio turned dance floor. And so now they’re content to sit and talk and just be together.
“Oh, hey. You still have some icing on your face,” she says, motioning with her hands for him to come closer. Really, she wants to see his face with the candlelight flickering across his skin.
“Yeah? Where?”
She leans forward, kisses the corner of his mouth, “There. Got it.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate that,” he says, grinning.
He looks at her for a second and then his hand comes to her forehead, pushing her hair away from her face and coming to rest on her cheek. “Hey, you wanna dance?”
She smiles and nods, holding out her hand to him. He leads her to the makeshift dance floor and puts a hand on the small of her back, pulling her close to him. They sway to the quiet melody and she presses her face into his chest, breathing him in. She tilts her head back, looks up at him and the stars, “So I know this wedding was lacking in the liquid hot magma department, but it was still pretty good, huh?”
He tucks his chin in toward his chest to look at her face and shrugs, “I guess it was alright for a non-volcano wedding.”
And she has to find new places for his laughter to go so she pushes it behind her ribcage, behind her eyes, somewhere between her heart and her stomach. As he bends down to kiss her with constellations just behind his head, she wonders how full she can get before she bursts.
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