What if he’s not a nice man? What if he’s abusive? Or just doesn’t care about Jo?
Will Rachel understand Jo’s uniqueness? Will she encourage her reading? Will they laugh? Will Rachel give Jo affection? Attention? Love?
That last one trips me up, and I realize I’m clutching Jo’s covers in tight fists. The only thing Rachel ever loved was herself.
I let go of the covers and flex my stiff fingers. Still watching Jo, I pull out my phone and open the text thread from earlier when Pat asked me to dinner. I haven’t even added him as a contact in my phone yet, but I’m about to say yes to a marriage proposal.
For Jo.
Before I can change my mind, I tap out a completely unromantic answer to Pat’s completely unromantic proposal: Fine. I’ll marry you. But only for Jo. Don’t get any ideas.
His answer comes back almost immediately and sends a whole-body shiver through me: I hear you, and I respect you, but as for ideas—too late. I’ve already got PLENTY. I’ll call you tomorrow, fiancée.
When I finally fall asleep, it’s with a smile on my face and a thin thread of worry weaving through my gut.
Chapter Eighteen
Pat
When I imagined my wedding day—and yes, despite what people might think, some guys picture their wedding day—I wasn’t wearing an ankle monitor under my suit. The ceremony also didn’t take place in a courtroom whose décor was last updated in the 1970s. The people watching were considered guests not witnesses, and we had a string quartet instead of the bailiff humming a Blake Shelton song under his breath.
My imaginary wedding was always grand. No surprise there, right? A ceremony in a picturesque location with lovely weather—because in your dreams, the weather is always gentle sun and seventy-five degrees—or in some beautiful church chapel with wood accents, high ceilings, massive flower arrangements.
The reception to follow would be at night, with music and dancing and wine—but not so much that we have sloppy drunks ruining the mood—and I would whisper in my bride’s ear all the ways I planned to demonstrate my love as soon as we were alone.
The only thing my actual wedding has in common with my imagined one is the bride. Before I met Lindy, I didn’t have an ideal woman in mind. I knew I wanted the woman walking down the aisle to be someone I could commit to for life and mean it, just like my dad did with my mom. After I met Lindy, it was always her I saw. Always.
So, even though she isn’t in a white dress （it’s a simple floral with a belt and boots） and she won’t be walking down the aisle, I’m a happy man.
Today marks the start of my uphill battle to win over the woman about to become my wife.
Have I mentioned how much I love a good challenge?
And a challenge it will be. After shocking me by accepting my two-bit proposal, Lindy all but avoided me for the seventy-two-hour waiting period. She also flat-out shut down all my ideas to make today special. Lindy insisted that the ceremony should be as quick as possible. No rings. No vows. Just showing up and signing the certificate in front of the judge with our witnesses. I’m lucky she agreed to a reception, and I think her friends pressured her into it. I really like her friends.
At least Jo’s excited. Sitting in the front row next to Mari and Val, Jo is beaming like it’s Christmas and her birthday all wrapped up into one. The little wave she gives me warms my heart and sparks hope to life.
I will wear Lindy down. I’ll prove to her that I am in this for the long haul. This may look on the outside like another Pat Decision, as Collin would say, but it’s more. And that’s exactly what I told my family when I told them over a group video call. There were protests and arguments and a whole lot of name-calling, but Tank finally shut it down when he told them about Mom’s ring.
“I’ve already talked to Pat about this,” Tank said in the voice we all know means arguing is futile. “He’s serious about this, even if it’s quick, and your mother and I agreed this is how we wanted to show our support.”