“You’re not asking me to sign anything I haven’t read?”
“No.”
“Then why did you already speak to a priest?”
A faint smile touched his lips.
“Hope.”
I laughed through my tears.
“You were very confident.”
“I was terrified.”
I looked at him for a long time.
Then I said yes.
Our Wedding in the Living Room
The wedding happened the next afternoon.
A legal representative brought the necessary documents. Father Michael returned, along with a hospice nurse and my closest friend, Rachel, who arrived still wearing her grocery store uniform because I had called her less than an hour earlier.
I had no wedding dress.
The only white item in my closet was a plain cotton T-shirt, so I wore it with a long blue skirt.
Rachel brought a small bouquet of daisies from the supermarket.
Carl wore a dark jacket that hung loosely from his shoulders. He had shaved that morning, though the effort had exhausted him.
There was no music.
No decorated aisle.
No expensive cake.
Just five people standing in a quiet living room while afternoon sunlight came through the windows.
When Father Michael asked Carl to make his vows, Carl looked at me as if the room had disappeared.
“Megan,” he said, “you gave me something I thought I had lost years ago. You gave me ordinary days. Tea in chipped cups. Arguments over board games. The sound of someone moving around the kitchen.”
His voice broke.
“You made this house feel like a home.”
