Plus, Meyer wears his glasses a lot at home.
After a surprisingly rainy winter this year, one we needed after too many droughts, the tulip bulbs we planted shot up and bloomed, along with the honeysuckle plants I helped them choose for their fragrance.
Still, I didn抰 want to ask him to come today. Perhaps it抯 pride.
It抯 probably because I just would rather rip the bandaid off. I think I抦 healed under it, anyway.
Also, he didn抰 ask or push to, so maybe it抯 the same for him.
Marissa gives me a squeeze before she leaves the back room, and I sneak my head out of the curtain to watch the VIPs start to trickle into their front row seats. Miss is here, of course, then there抯 Lance and his wife. I laugh in astonishment when I spot Abel and Betty, plus a few of their kids from the farm, ambling down the aisle.
Someone flips a switch and the stage is illuminated, drawing my eyes up.
揟hought you might want to see this,?Clay says beside me. 揗eyer was adamant about the stage design elements.?
Countless white umbrellas hang suspended from the ceiling. Some upside down, others right side up, strands of lights strung in and around them. It抯 breathtakingly beautiful, silly and whimsical.
I suck in a shaky breath and beg my tears not to fall. I didn抰 bring an ounce of makeup for touch-ups. 揅lay, when did he do this??I ask.
揙h, months ago. Before he even pulled out. He had it added to the contract so that I had to work it out with every venue beforehand. Let me tell you, some of them were not so stoked about it, there抯 a hundred and seventy-five umbrellas up there!?
I start to laugh and a tear escapes. That fucking man. He抯 here for me even when he抯 not here.
Suddenly, I have to call him. I have to tell him I love him, more vehemently than I did when I kissed him entirely too mildly before I left tonight. I need him to know that I抦 more than okay, that I抦 happy and excited and I love him and that I抦 just as grateful for him as ever.
He doesn抰 answer, though, and I force myself to shake it off. I know he and Hazel had plans to go to the movies, so they must already be in the theater, or something. I fire off a text and hope there are enough exclamations to drive the point home.
We end up going with Shauna抯 pre-show ritual again. End up laughing just as much and passing time just as quickly. I swear I can feel the energy from the crowd creeping in, like dry ice slipping under the curtains and doors. It抯 a sold-out show, a sold-out arena for Christ抯 sake, and I don抰 feel a lick of nerves. I feel transcendent, feel like I could power an engine battery.
揕adies and gentlemen,?sounds from behind the still-closed curtain.
My neck snaps up and I see him.
Meyer, with Hazel at his side, both beaming at me.
The curtain opens and I have a distinct moment of terror grip me on his behalf. I can抰 stand the thought of him torturing himself for me. His stage fright is far from cured, I can see it in the way his shoulders inch toward his ears and hear it when he blows a breath into the mic.
揑抦 sorry I can抰 speak this into this mic for you, loud enough for everyone in this room to hear. But Fee, I love you.
I love you you foolish, insane, beautiful, kind, intelligent, completely stupid woman.?
I laugh as a tear slips free.
揧ou want to get married in Vegas? I抣l buy us plane tickets right now.?
揑抣l be your maid of honor!?Hazel adds.
揧ou want me to spell my love for you out on a banner and fly it through the sky? I抣l start working on a pilot抯 license so I can do it myself. I抎 tattoo your name on my forehead if it meant you wanted to wake up next to me and look at it every day.?
He doesn抰 look away from me, but starts speaking into the mic. 揑t is my distinct pleasure to introduce you to the first Wet N Mild lady of the night, someone who I抳e had the honor to watch grow from mimicking a bumblebee in a dumpy, low-ceiling bar梥orry, Lance?to the incredibly funny comic you抣l get to experience tonight.
揑 don抰 know what I believe in as far as a higher power, Fee, but I know that I now believe that rainstorms always precede something amazing because you came into our lives on the tail end of one.
揑 know that I believe in being stupid with love, in always looking for the laugh because of you. I believe that you抳e made me a better man and by extension, a better father. I believe that you抮e the kind of woman I hope my daughter wants to emulate one day. That抯 right, angel?foul mouth, bad manners, and all. Because your spirit is immeasurably kind.
揑 believe that jumping in puddles is better than any fancy party, and I believe that I抣l fight for your love, for the honor of loving you, every day, for the rest of our lives. Let me do that, Farley Jones, and I promise to make you the happiest woman for as long as you抣l have me.
揈verybody please give a warm welcome to Farley Jones!?
EPILOGUE
Entertainment Magazine, Spring 2028
By Lucy Wade
Farley Jones-Harrigan walks into the diner and greets me like a longtime friend. It抯 often been stated that she does the same to a microphone.
It抯 impossible to find comedy抯 darling unlikeable, between her disarming, cavalier nature and her warm, self-deprecating grin.
Even now, when our omelettes arrive, she discreetly pulls a pile of Taco Bell hot sauce packets out of her purse and distributes them heavily across her $22 breakfast.
揝orry,?she tells me with a wince. 揑抳e been addicted since I was pregnant, and nothing else quite measures up. I抦 pretty sure my local Taco Bell added a tip jar on my behalf so I can shower them in guilt money every time I hit the place.?
Like most young mothers, we fall into an easy back-and-forth over the parts of infancy and toddlerhood that we抮e more ambivalent about. We share pictures of our daughters梕xactly one month apart from each other. We ooh and ahh over videos. We even fall into sharing the graphic nature of our birth stories, growing louder and louder with each horrific anecdote.
It抯 almost easy to forget that the woman across from me isn抰 just a girlfriend meeting me for a quick brunch, but a household name in the world of stand-up. She抯 also married to comedy icon, Meyer Harrigan, with whom she co-wrote PTA, a film that抯 already abuzz in awards talk.
L: Farley, critics are saying that your film is like Bad Moms meets Crash, meets Silver Linings Playbook.
F: All masterpieces, in my humble opinion.
L: What inspired PTA?
F: A whole combination of things, really. There was one specific night, when I was invited out with a group of Moms, and things got?wild. The same night that inspired a bit in my first big tour. But, when it came to writing the screenplay, we were more interested in everyone抯 stories. Why a simple night out maybe wasn抰 so simple for all of them. I think being comedians always made us curious about what makes people tick. What might be going on behind the scenes. Maybe the woman who harps on school lunches is recovering from an eating disorder. Maybe the woman obsessed with fixing up the single Dad in the class feels like she抯 failing in her marriage at home.
L: Well I know it resonated with a lot of people. How was it working with your husband again?
F: Oof! I really wish I had some funny fight stories to share. Believe me, I had a pen and paper ready. But, sadly, it was a dream. I don抰 know if it was because I was pregnant at the time and he took it easy on me or what, but he was wonderful to work with. Seeing him in his element is incredibly humbling. He was never afraid to dig deeper, to contrast the breastmilk scene against the one of her character crying through her struggles, leaking through her bra in the middle of Target while in the throes of postpartum. He抯 got many gifts, and getting to share in this one with him was something I抣l never forget.