I imagine him with his guitar in the park in the summer, the dappled shade in his hair and blades of grass clinging to his shoes and the bottoms of his pants.
“You look nice,” I say, in dramatic understatement.
“You look . . .” His green eyes take a casual stroll down the length of my body. I feel the attention as surely as if it were hands moving on my skin. “Stunning.”
A throat clears at his side.
“Hello.” A man with acres of black hair and pale blue eyes steps in front of him, taking my hand. “I’m Mark. The better man.”
“Is that right?” I say with a laugh.
“Witness,” Calvin clarifies, and sidesteps him. “This is Mark Verma. A friend.”
I smile up at him. “It’s nice to meet you, friend.”
He aims a set of dark, raised brows in Calvin’s direction. “I like her.”
I can feel Lulu hovering just behind me and pull her forward. “This is my best friend, Lulu.”
“It’s nice to officially meet you,” she says to Calvin, stepping forward to take his hand.
They talk among themselves for a moment, and it’s only now, with Calvin standing just a few feet away, that I notice what he’s carrying.
He follows my attention down to the circle of pale purple blooms in his hands. “It’s an Irish tradition for brides to wear flowers in their hair—in my family, at least. I know we’re not . . . that this isn’t traditional in that sense. But Mam would be heartbroken if I didn’t at least ask.”
My brows go skyward. He’s going to tell his parents about this? My folks live in the same country and I’ve already concluded it will be easier to lie my face off than live with their inevitable disapproval and concern. His parents live on the other side of the world. A gesture like this feels like we’re doing Till Death Do Us Part, when really, it’s only Till the Fat Lady Sings. Why on earth would he tell them? My immediate reaction—and surely the most mature, here—is to want to press pause and talk about how we each see this going. In hindsight, we hardly talked about it at all, and telling our families makes this something much bulkier that we have to manage.
But he looks so earnest and uncharacteristically unsure, I decide to put him out of his misery quickly.
“Of course I’ll wear it. Thank you.”
It’s made of loosely braided lavender, and I take it from him, settling it carefully on top of my hair.
Lulu reaches out to adjust the silky purple spikes, tilting her head to inspect her handiwork. “There. Perfect.” She snaps a few photos. “Let’s get you two married.”
I’m overly aware of the way my palm fits against Calvin’s as he takes my hand and leads us through the crowd toward the clerks.
Sidestepping a woman in a jewel-toned sari, I smile at a passing man wearing a yarmulke. There are couples of every composition and age. Some wear traditional dresses and suits, others are in jeans and T-shirts.
“Busier than I expected,” I say softly.
Calvin exhales a little laugh. “Yeah. You’d be surprised how many wedding dresses I see at the station.”
The room is long and narrow, with a row of sleek green couches on one side and marble counters and swiveling stools on the other. The ceilings are white-paneled with gold filigree detail. A marquee suspended from two chains shows the number now being served and at what station, and a ticket machine sits on the counter below. There’s even a small gift shop that sells last-minute items like flowers and emergency bow ties.
Calvin pulls a number from the machine and shows me: C922. A flash goes off and we both startle.
“That’s going to be good,” Lulu says, looking down at the screen of her tiny camera. She catches my bewildered expression. “What? The candids are always the best ones. A wedding is something you want to remember.” She looks at me pointedly. “Any couple would want photos to commemorate that.”
“Right.” This needs to be official. I’ve put so little thought into the logistics of this. Man, when I try to be spontaneous, I steal a lighter and throw it blindly into a pool of gasoline. “Good thinking.”
Calvin and I sit on one of the narrow couches, waiting and trying to ignore the click of the camera every three seconds. We make polite small talk:
“Did you have a good morning?”
“Yeah, didn’t sleep, though.”
“Me either.”
“It’s so cold outside.”
“I know. I nearly forgot my coat.”
Awkward laugh.