I’m never going to make Blake Warren come ever again?”
“Sorry, Lou.”
“God, it feels like the end of an era.”
It was funny, but it was also true. Such is life. I chuckled to myself, trying to keep a straight face. “Aww. Don’t think about it like that. I’m sure your wife will have sex with you.”
“She better. I mean, it would be a shame to turn in a smoking hot girlfriend for a wife who doesn’t wanna play with my wiener every once in a while.”
“It’s lucky for you that I know your soon-to-be-wife, and she’s really looking forward to your … um, wiener.”
“Really?” I swear he knew I was teasing, but he lit up like I’d told him something he didn’t already know firsthand.
“Yep. She told me herself.”
As we drove, I prayed to the marriage gods that we’d always joke like that. I prayed Casey would be telling me how different animals mate as we sipped lemonade on the back porch watching the sun go down. Laughing at our kids and how they did things so differently than us. We’d make fun of their music and clothes. Casey would probably harass any suitor to come by, regardless if it was for our sons or daughters. My silly man would probably be snapping the back of my eighteen-hour Playtex bra well into our seventies and try to race me with his walker.
This was what it was supposed to feel like. This was what good marriages should be. Equal parts fun and passion. Humility and love.
I stole a few glances at him as we drove the familiar streets to HLS. The windows were down, sunglasses were on, and the music was flowing.
When we arrived, it was shocking we found a parking spot right next to the door, but we didn’t have to get out to see why.
“Closed? For Sale?” Casey questioned. “What the fuck?”
He dug out his phone and dialed Nate. I watched him as we waited for him to answer, listening to it together on speakerphone.
“Hey, you’ve reached Nate Owens. I can’t come to the phone right now. So please leave a message. If this is regarding the sale of Hook, Line, and Sinker, please call our listing agent at 415-579-0811. Have a good one,” Nate said in his recording.
“That’s messed up. I wonder why I didn’t know about this. I was just here a few weeks ago. I wonder if the office knows. ” I’m sure if Aly and Nate were still dating, they did. He was genuinely disappointed and so was I.
I guess what he’d said was true. It was the end of an era.
“Well, I guess we could go home. I have packing I could do anyway.”
“Yeah, me too,” he replied.
Poor guy was bumming hard. It worked out for the best though, he hadn’t even started packing and we were driving to Oregon the next day.
I wrote my vows the night before we left, after Casey fell asleep on the couch watching a Foo Fighters concert on television. For our last night at home as single people, it was calm and peaceful. I think he was a little solemn about the bar closing and not being in the loop, but felt like maybe the world was telling us to rest up. The next few days would go fast and we’d need the energy.
I knew I would.
The drive was quicker than expected, and when we pulled in, the staff was amazing ushering all of my wedding day things to my suite. We’d be getting ready inside, but Casey would be in a tent when everything started.
Nerves set in, but they were so welcome. It was weird how time seemed to both slow and speed up over those last few hours until I became Mrs. Casey Moore.
Everyone arrived and festivities began. We were pulled in opposite directions. The men played golf on Friday morning while the girls and I went to the spa. We opted out of a true rehearsal since the wedding was going to be pretty laid-back. There’d be no mass. No dramatic symbolic rituals. We’d planned a simple ceremony at dark where we’d say our vows and promise each other the world.
Everyone looked happy and carefree at Friday night’s dinner, which was held on the lodge’s property in their gigantic dining room. We didn’t skimp on that. A four-course dinner. You know how I like food.
Casey was staying that night on the other end of the resort, even though he really, really, really didn’t want to. Of