Текст книги "Crush"

Автор книги: Nicole Williams

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

TWENTY

School, dance, marriage, career . . . Jude. My entire life felt like it was hanging in the balance. There wasn’t one thing I was certain about anymore. Well, save for one: I was certain I still loved Jude. I wanted to be with him, marry him, live and die with him. When life throws you a curveball like it had thrown me, you realize exactly what is important and what isn’t.

Jude, and now our baby, were at the top of that list.

After Jude had stormed out last Saturday, I hadn’t seen or heard from him since. Four and a half days I’d gone without knowing what he was thinking or where his head was or if we were going to make up, or if he even still wanted to marry me. If I hadn’t developed an ulcer yet, I was close.

When I’d shouted at Anton, “I quit!” last Saturday, I’d meant it. He’d sent a bouquet of flowers and a note to apologize, but I was one forced-upon kiss past forgiving and forgetting right now. One day, maybe, but not a few days later. Anton had crossed a line and proved that he couldn’t take no for an answer. It was obvious we couldn’t just be friends, so I made an executive decision and cut off all contact. Even Indie had my back. When she found out he’d kissed me, she went ballistic.

After I skipped class again, Holly and Thomas basically dragged me to the studio Tuesday morning. That didn’t last long, though, because as soon as I slipped into my dance leotard I could see the slightest of bumps stretching the fabric above my belly. This brought me close to a meltdown. It wasn’t just the baby bump; it was everything that had piled up in the days before.

A box of tissues later, Thomas walked me over to my academic adviser and informed her of my “fragile” condition while I went through another box of tissues. By the end of the day, we’d been able to work out a modified schedule that would allow me to continue the semester without having to adhere to a rigorous dance course load. I’d never checked before, because I didn’t want to do anything but dance, but it turned out there were quite a few theory courses I could take that would count toward my degree.

Since the baby was due sometime in February, I wasn’t sure what I’d be able to do about my last semester, but that was okay. I couldn’t think that far ahead. I still hadn’t wrapped my mind around having a child growing inside me, or that, once I pushed it out, I might be raising it alone.

Holly and I had discussed the double As, as she called them: abortion and adoption. I wasn’t going to judge what was right for someone else, but abortion just wasn’t an option for me. I couldn’t do it, simple as that. We’d talked back and forth about adoption, until I realized that this, too, just wasn’t an option for me. I hadn’t planned for it, I hadn’t seen it, didn’t even know what I was having, but it was my baby. And Jude’s baby. I couldn’t give it to someone else. I knew it was upending my life, in a present and future tense, but that wasn’t the baby’s fault. So I was going to have it and raise it. Hopefully with Jude, but alone if that was my only option.

So even though my life felt like it was one giant question mark, I attacked those few little things I could put a period after. I read a couple of books about the whole pregnancy and birthing process; one had pictures, detailed pictures, of the actual birth, which still haunted me. I made sure I got enough sleep, which was easy enough, considering my body felt tired twenty-four-seven. I took my prenatal vitamins, I walked and did my stretches, and I drank so much water I was making bathroom visits every half hour. I was moving forward.

The whole concept of having a baby growing inside me had set in. Finally. And I was going to do everything in my power to make sure it was healthy. There were moments in the night when I’d wake up and a flicker of excitement would flash through me. Then I’d find the spot beside me empty and I’d check my phone and find no missed calls or texts, and that spark of happiness would fizzle.

No matter what happened, no matter what Jude did or didn’t do, I knew one thing: I was going to be the best damn mom I could be. I doubted a lot of things, but this was one thing I knew for sure. And I wouldn’t be alone. I had Holly, who had plenty of firsthand experience to help me. I had India and Thomas to encourage me along the way, pat my back when I needed to cry, or tell me to suck it up when I needed to. Even though I hadn’t told them about the baby yet, I had Dad and Mom, too, and I knew they’d be there for me. They’d be as shocked as I’d been at first, but they’d come around just like I had, and help me find my way on this scary road.

I focused on the pieces of my life I could control and tried not to fixate on the ones I couldn’t. I lived life one hour at a time, because if I looked even one day into the future, I felt the stirrings of a panic attack.

This afternoon was the day of my first ultrasound. I could find out the gender of the baby if I wanted to know. I felt like I’d just woken up yesterday, learning I was pregnant, and today I’d know if I’d be buying blue or pink onesies. Like so much of my life, it was all too surreal.

Up until last night, I hadn’t attempted to call Jude since he’d stormed out. I couldn’t remember how many times my finger hovered over the call button before I chickened out, but the fear of my call going to voice mail, or of never hearing back from him again, was too much to contemplate. But letting him know about the ultrasound was the right decision. I at least had to give him the option to show up, because even if he didn’t want anything to do with me anymore, I hoped he wouldn’t feel the same about the baby. I should have told him the minute I found out I was pregnant; I got that. I got why he was so upset. But he should have called me the minute after he realized what an ass he’d been that day. I was still waiting for him to “get” that. The longer I waited, the angrier I got. But most of all, the sadder I got.

After an hour of going back and forth, I settled for a brief text. I let him know the address of where the ultrasound was taking place, and the time, and, against my better judgment, ended it with an I’M SORRY. I LOVE YOU, and hit send before I could agonize over the message for another hour.

I never got a reply, but even as I checked my phone when I sat filling out paperwork in the waiting room five minutes before my appointment, I hadn’t stopped hoping. Both Holly and India had offered to come for moral support, but I’d made up half a dozen excuses about why I wanted to be alone today.

I’d been filling out so much paperwork my hand was starting to go numb when I got to the last section: “Paternal Support.” The first question was easy, although Jude’s biting words rang in my ears as I checked the yes box: “Do you know who the baby’s father is?” The second and third weren’t so easy. “Is the father planning on playing an active role in the baby’s life?” and “Is the father supportive?” As soon as I was about to mark yes for both, I convinced myself the answer was no. After finding myself stuck on the same two questions when the ultrasound tech called my name, I created my own box of “I don’t know” for both.

“Hi, Lucy,” the young tech greeted me. She didn’t look too much older than me. “I’m Amy. Right this way.”

I followed her down the antiseptic-smelling hall, feeling like I was in a dream. Or a movie. My life no longer felt like my own, but like I was a passive spectator observing it, unable to control it.

“How are you doing?” she asked as she opened a door. The room inside was dark.

I was ready to answer with my standard as-of-late reply of fine when I stopped myself.

“I’m scared shitless,” I said, flashing her an apologetic smile.

Amy laughed. “At least you’re honest,” she said, motioning me toward the vinyl-covered bed. “I think that might qualify as the best answer I’ve heard all week.” She sat down on a rolling chair beside the bed and began tapping on a computer. “Go ahead and get comfortable and we’ll get started.”

I inhaled and tried to make myself comfortable as I reclined. Nothing was really comfortable about it, though. The room was too cold, the pillow was stiff, the paper covering the bed crackled loudly as I moved against it, and there was something so final about finding out if I was having a boy or a girl. I also knew I couldn’t get comfortable because Jude wasn’t here with me.

“Go ahead and roll up your shirt,” she said, grabbing a tube from her cart. “And you’ll be happy to know that some genius invented a warmer for this belly lube gunk, so you won’t hit the ceiling when I squirt some on your tummy.”

I almost smiled as I pulled my shirt up. “Belly lube gunk? Is that the technical term for it?”

Amy shook the tube and squeezed a good-size blob just above my belly button. “As technical as I’ll ever get,” she said, grabbing the ultrasound reader and lowering it to my stomach. “I’m going to take a quick look at your baby’s lungs, heart, and spine, and then we can determine the gender if you like.”

“I want to know,” I said, as she distributed the blob around.

Amy pressed a button on a remote and the TV in front of me clicked on. It was nothing but a bunch of darkish static, until all of a sudden a white little bean-shaped thing with arms and legs showed up on the screen.

“There’s your little peanut,” she said, rolling the instrument to give a different view.

I choked on a sob that came out of nowhere. It was primal—everything about my reaction to watching the baby inside me on a TV. Amy handed me a couple of tissues right before my first tears fell. She was an old pro.

These tears had nothing to do with hormones or me being one giant hot mess for the better part of a month. These tears were the kind that came from deep within your soul. They were the tears when life was created or taken away, and I wasn’t sure if they’d ever let up.

“This is one healthy little baby you’ve got cooking in here, Lucy,” Amy said after a while. “Everything looks great.”

Another assault of tears.

“You ready to find out if it’s a boy or girl?” she asked, shifting the view yet again. I nodded, because I was past words.

The door creaked open, filling the room with a ray of sharp white light as a body slid inside.

“Am I too late?” Jude asked, closing the door.

“No,” Amy answered, “you’re just in time.”

“Luce?” he said, coming toward me. “Am I too late?” he repeated with a whole lot of meaning between his words.

It took a moment for my eyes to readjust, but when they did and I saw the expression on his face, my heart kind of broke and burst at the same instant. He’d made it. He hadn’t let me down. He was here for me when I needed him most, looking tortured and anxious and as scared shitless as I was.

It was the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen.

“No, Jude,” I said, extending my hand toward him. “You’re not too late.”

He took my hand and knelt down beside me. “I’m so sorry, Luce,” he said, wrapping his other hand around mine. “I love you so damn much. And I love that baby in your belly so damn much.” He paused, biting the inside of his cheek. Seeming at a loss for words, he leaned his forehead into our entwined hands and closed his eyes. “I had so much else I wanted to say, but I’m sorry, and I love you . . . both pretty much sums it all up.”

I was convinced that this past month my tear ducts had taken it upon themselves to revolt and catch up on eight years of trying not to cry. “I’m sorry, and I love you, too,” I said. He was right: Those two sentences really did say it all.

“I take it you’re the father?” Amy said, fighting a smile as she watched us.

Jude’s eyes opened. He lifted his shoulders. “Yeah. I’m the father.”

“Well, then, Daddy,” Amy said, glancing at her computer screen. “You ready to know what you’re having?”

Jude’s gaze shifted to the TV and his face went blank. Blank with awe. He’d been too caught up in our sorry-love makeup that he hadn’t noticed the baby on the screen. But he did now. And he couldn’t look away.

He could barely blink.

“Look at that,” Amy said, shaking her head. “Baby’s awake now. She must like her daddy’s voice.”

My head whipped to the side. “She?”

“You’re having a little girl,” Amy said, winking at me before glancing at Jude.

He was still transfixed, totally enamored as he watched our baby girl’s arms and legs move. Then a tear bubbled in the corner of his eye, before it fell down his cheek.

It was the first tear I’d seen Jude shed.

“How are you?” I asked softly.

“Speechless,” he breathed, studying the screen like it wasn’t real.

“That’s the first tear I’ve seen you cry,” I said, skimming my thumb down the moist trail it had left down his face.

“That’s the first tear I have ever cried,” he said, clearing his throat. “I can’t imagine a better time to let one fall than finding out I’m going to have a little girl with you, Luce.”

“Yeah,” I said, “I can’t either.”

“Well, we’re all done here,” Amy said. “But I’ll print you out some photos to put on your fridge and show off to all your friends, that kind of thing. So, say bye-bye, Mommy and Daddy.”

“Bye, baby,” I whispered, watching the screen. She was still moving around, almost dancing. She really was my daughter.

“Bye, baby girl,” Jude said, before the screen went black.

“You two can have a few moments in here,” Amy said, wiping my belly off with some tissues before standing up. “And here are your first baby pictures.” She handed me a strand of six photos taken from different angles. All of them brought a smile to my face.

This was our baby. Our baby girl. Surreal was the word of the day.

“Do you have some scissors in here?” Jude said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “I want to put one in my wallet.”

Amy smiled at him and pulled a pair from her cart. Cutting the top one free, she handed it to him. “I don’t need long to know when a baby’s going to be well loved and cared for,” she said, handing the picture to Jude before heading for the door. “I didn’t need more than a few seconds with the two of you to know your little girl is one lucky baby.” She smiled and started closing the door. “Take your time.”

Jude carefully folded his photo before sliding it into his wallet, his expression peaceful.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you right away, Jude,” I said, swinging my legs around as I sat up. “I never wanted to—”

“Luce, you don’t have anything to apologize for,” he said, staring at my stomach before meeting my eyes. “But I do. I behaved like an asshole. I was an asshole.”

I held up my hand, because I wasn’t going to let him take all the blame like he always did. “Lord knows I love you for saying that, but I’ve plenty to apologize for. So please let me. Okay?”

He took a seat next to me on the edge of the bed and nodded.

“I should have told you the minute after I found out I was pregnant,” I began, running my hands down my legs. “But I was scared. Terrified. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that I was pregnant, and I assured myself I’d tell you as soon as I’d gotten used to the idea. I think I’ve figured out that you don’t get ‘used’ to the idea of being pregnant when you’re an unmarried twenty-one-year-old trying to finish school.”

Maybe no one, no matter what their age or place in life, got used to the idea, because it was something so beyond comprehension. Something epic. Creating life. Sustaining life. Giving life. It wasn’t a concept that was easy to wrap any mind around.

“After a week passed and I wasn’t feeling any better, I knew I needed to tell you, but I didn’t want it to be on the phone, and I didn’t want it to be something I had to rush when I flew in for your first game. I wanted there to be a perfect time and place to tell you, so we could figure this curveball out together, but I should have remembered I’m a walking experiment in imperfect timing.”

Jude reached for my hand and weaved his fingers through mine.

“I should have told you sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t. And I’m really sorry you found out the way you did.” I squeezed his hand. “But I’m so, so happy you’re here with me now.”

“Me too,” he said, lifting my hand to his lips. “Are you done now? With your apology?” His lips grazed along my knuckles, heating the skin along the way. “Because I’ve got something of a monumental apology to make, too.”

“You’ve got the floor, Mr. Ryder,” I said ceremoniously.

Pressing one final kiss to my knuckles, he lowered our hands to his lap. “I walked out on you Saturday night because I was scared, too, Luce,” he said. “I was scared of the reasons you’d kept it from me in the first place. I was scared that you would forever resent me for getting you pregnant. I was scared that I didn’t have what it takes to be a father. I was scared of so much, but what I was mostly scared of was losing you.” His voice was tight as his eyes lowered to my stomach. “And losing our baby.

“I ran that night because I was scared, and the fact that I ran away when you needed me most made me even more scared. So that’s what I’ve been thinking about nonstop, all day, every day, since Saturday night. And you want to know what I came up with?” he asked, leaning his forehead into mine. At this proximity, his eyes took up my whole field of vision.

“What?” I said, almost kissing him because our mouths were that close.

“That it doesn’t matter why I ran,” he said, staring at me without blinking, “because I came back. I’ll always come back, Luce. No matter how many rip-roaring fights we have and no matter how many miscommunications we have. I’ll always come back because you’re where I belong.”

“That’s quite the revelation there, Ryder,” I said. “You have a lot of those, don’t you?”

“I didn’t get this far with you without having a good epiphany knock me over the head once in a while.”

“So,” I said, “anything else or can we just kiss and make up now?”

His forehead left mine. “One more thing,” he said, as his face wrinkled. “Are you worried I’m going to be the kind of dad mine was?” I could tell he was trying not to show how hard these words were to get out, but I’d seen this man through four years of life’s highs and lows.

“I meant what I said Saturday, Jude,” I said, trying to erase the worry lines from his face with my fingers. “That has never been one of my concerns. Ever, and you want to know why?” I fed him back his line.

“Why?”

“Because you’re aware of it, because you’re worried about it. That fear of becoming your father will drive you to be the best father you can be,” I said, watching the first batch of wrinkles vanish from his face. “You know what would worry me, though? If you were overwhelmingly confident you could never become him. If you were so positive you could never in a million years be like him, I’d be worried that kind of confidence would make you lazy. Make it that much easier to fall into the traps when the hard times came.” I stopped to take a breath. I was really on a roll, but I had a lot to say. “But that’s not how you are, and that’s why I’m not worried. And, Jude? I wouldn’t pick another man if I had the whole entire world to choose from to be the father of my baby.”

The last remaining wrinkles ironed out. “Dammit, woman,” he said, “you keep saying that kind of stuff and I’m going to shed another tear.” Leaning in, he kissed me again, but this one lasted longer than the last, although it was still too short for my liking.

“So we’re good now? Everything off our chests that needs to be off them?”

Like the twisted guy he was, his eyes drifted to my chest. A wide smile appeared.

I shoved him in reply.

“So maybe I’ve got one more thing to get off my chest.”

“There’s always one more thing with you and me.”

“Yeah, but this will tide me over for a while if you agree to it,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Are you nervous?” I said, shocked. The last time I could remember him visibly nervous had been on the fifty-yard line, when he’d asked me to . . .

“Marry me, Luce,” he started, blowing out a breath. “I need to do what I can to make this whole thing right, and the way I know how is to make us a family.”

“We are a family, baby,” I said, wondering if he was going to rub the skin raw on that neck of his.

“I know we are, but I want to be the kind that can frame their wedding certificate and hang it above the fireplace,” he said. “I want our little girl to have a mom and a dad who are committed to each other, married to each other. I want her to have the stable, nurturing environment I didn’t have. I want you to be my wife and me to be your husband for our little girl, Luce, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I have selfish reasons for wanting to tie the knot with you.”

“You have a right to be selfish,” I said, grabbing his hand and pulling it away from his neck. “You’ve been a patient man with me for three years while I kept up the whole ‘soon’ thing.”

“Yeah, I don’t think your idea of ‘soon’ is going to work, Luce. I don’t want our daughter to be old enough to get hitched before we do.” His nose wrinkled. “Wait. What the hell am I saying? Our daughter is never going to get married. She’s never going to date. In fact, she’s never going to know what a boy even is, because I’d lose it if she brought home a guy like me.”

I was laughing. The good, real kind that rocked your whole body. I hadn’t laughed like that in a while. I smiled up at him. “I’d be thrilled if she brought home a boy like you one day,” I said. “She’d make her mama proud.”

“I don’t think so. The whole piece-of-shit-attraction thing ends with you. Nothing but the best for my daughter.”

“Okay, okay,” I said, holding up my hands in surrender, because this was a topic Jude and I could go ’round and ’round on for days and no one would ever be declared a winner. “So when are we getting married?”

Jude’s eyebrows went sky-high. “Wait . . . are you saying you’re ready? Like to set a date and send the invites?”

“I’m ready,” I said, trying not to laugh at his expression. He’d almost looked as surprised when he’d found out I was pregnant.

“What are you thinking? Weeks? Months?” He was wringing his hands, he was getting so excited.

“We’re at a hospital, aren’t we?” I said, shrugging. “There’s got to be a chaplain or a minister or someone who can make us official.”

That look of shock that had been on Jude’s face a few seconds ago? Yeah, it had nothing to do with the new one he had on right now.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Giving his head a rough shake, he tried again. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

I knew I was crazy, and friends and family would hit the ceiling when they found out, but I’d blame it on the hormones and the way Jude’s eyes were looking at me now.

Life was about compromise. It was give and take, and with Jude and me, I’d been more take than give in our relationship. He’d given me everything and would do it all over again. It was my turn to step up to the give plate. Whether I married him today or ten years from now, I was marrying Jude Ryder. It was time for me to let go of my baseless fears and doubts and grab onto what was guaranteed: Jude.

“If it involves you and me saying ‘I do’ this afternoon, then yeah, I’m saying what you think I am.”

I’d never seen him beam the way he was now. “Just when I think I can’t possibly love you more . . .”

“I go and propose a shotgun wedding at a hospital chapel when I’m knocked up and wearing a T-shirt and plaid skirt?”

His smile stretched higher. “Exactly.” Then, before I knew what had happened, Jude had me in his arms and was rushing out the door.

When we hit the hall, he started running. The heads of nurses and doctors and patients were whipping around to take in the pair of us, laughing and sprinting our way to the chapel.

“We’re getting married!” Jude shouted in between his laugher. “Holy shit!”

Jude hadn’t set me down until we’d made it to the hospital’s chapel on the first floor. He dropped me off at the gift shop, giving me a nice long kiss that made my toes curl in my flats, before jogging off to find the minister. Or the pastor. Or the priest. Or whoever had the ability to marry us. We didn’t care.

I walked up to the gift shop counter, hoping they’d have something that would work as a temporary wedding ring until I could find a suitable one. My prayers were answered.

There were several brushed-titanium bands in the display case. Perfect. I asked the woman behind the counter if I could see one, and, after trying three of them on my finger to compare, I was fairly sure I’d found the one that would fit Jude.

It was a whopping thirty dollars, and after assuring the saleslady I didn’t need it gift-wrapped because it would be sliding onto a finger in hopefully less than ten minutes, I rushed to the chapel.

I scanned up and down the hall, but didn’t see Jude, so I shoved through the door and found who I’d been looking for.

Standing in front of an altar. There was a smile on his face that made me think things that could probably get me struck down by lightning for having them in a church. He’d tucked in his white undershirt, but that was as formal as the occasion got. I was no better. I hadn’t even made a stop in the women’s restroom to run a comb through my hair or dot on a bit of lip gloss.

That was part of the beauty of today. Part of the beauty of Jude and me. We came as we were, minus the frills and the fluff, accepting each other as-is.

“Hello, my beautiful, blushing bride,” Jude said, nodding his head behind him. “I wrangled us up a priest.” An elderly man wearing his white collar and a smile stood behind what looked to be more a podium than an altar. “And a witness.” He motioned to a middle-aged man sporting scrubs sitting in the front-row pew. “Did you find a ring?”

I held up my thumb, where the band dangled from it.

“All that’s left is a couple of signatures and ‘I do’s, then,” Jude said, inclining his head, encouraging me to walk up the aisle.

Throwing my shoulders back and putting on a dramatic face, I held an imaginary bouquet of flowers in front of me and started my left-together, right-together march down toward the man I was about to promise forever to.

“Baaa-bum-ba-bum,” Jude sang in a low voice, “Ba-bum-ba-bummm.”

Even at a slow walk, I was in front of him before he’d finished singing.

“Didn’t I tell you, Father Joe?” Jude said, fitting his hand against my cheek. “Isn’t she the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

Father Joe’s warm smile grew. “I’d say you’re a very lucky young man.”

“Hell yes, I am . . .” Jude’s voice trailed off as he gave the priest a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

Father Joe just chuckled and folded his hands in front of him. “Shall we get started?”

“Hel—” Jude caught himself this time. “You bet.”

“Thank you for marrying us,” I said. “I bet you don’t get too many shotgun weddings in a place like this.”

Father Joe leaned in like he was telling me a secret. “You’d be surprised.”

“This is your last chance to run away screaming, Luce,” Jude said, holding his hands out for mine.

I studied the door before turning to him. I grabbed his hands. “How about once we’re done here, we run away together?”

“Deal,” he answered, nodding his head at Father Joe.

“Mr. Ryder said he’d like to keep the vows brief,” Father Joe started.

I chuckled. “Of course he did.”

“If that’s all right with you, Miss Larson.”

“Whoa.” Jude’s eyes widened. “Do you realize that’s the last time you’re going to be Miss Larson?”

“Yeah, that’s kinda the reason I’m standing here,” I said, laughing at the irony that our wedding was just as unconventional as our entire relationship. “And yes, Father Joe, I’m just fine with keeping things brief.”

“Something tells me the two of you have quite the dynamic relationship,” Father Joe said, his eyes sparkling.

Jude and I looked at each other and smiled. “You have no idea,” we said in unison.

Father Joe cleared his throat and angled himself toward Jude. “Son, repeat after me—”

“Oh, I’m good, Father,” Jude said, raising his hand. “I memorized the vows a while back.”

“What?” I shouldn’t have been surprised.

“I never knew when I was going to finally wear you down, and had to be ready for whenever that moment occurred,” he said.

I stood up on my toes and planted a kiss on his lips. “Just when I think I can’t fall any more in love with you.”

He winked and blew a slow rush of air out of his mouth. “I, Jude Ryder Jamieson, take you, Luce Roslyn Larson”—I bit my lip to keep from smiling—“to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish—until death do us part.” He blew out another long breath. “How was that?”

“Pretty much the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me,” I replied.

“Very well done, son,” Father Joe said before angling in my direction. “Lucy, would you like to repeat after me, or did you memorize the vows as well?”

“I’ve got this, Father,” I said, squeezing Jude’s hands. Amazingly, neither of our hands were clammy. Neither one of us was nervous about making promises of forever to the other. “I, Luce Roslyn Larson”—now it was Jude’s turn to keep from smiling—“take you, Jude Ryder Jamieson, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish—until death do us part.”

As I finished my vows, I wondered what had taken me so long to get here. What had I been so worried about waiting for? Jude was just as much mine now as he had been then. A simple exchange of vows shouldn’t change anything. But as I stood here before him now after exchanging our vows, it kind of changed everything, too.

“I understand you have rings you’d like to use?”

“We do,” Jude answered, slipping something from his pocket. It was a tiny silver band. A wedding band with three alternating gemstones. It looked like he’d been hoping for this moment when he got dressed today.

Holding my left hand in his, he positioned the finger above my ring finger. “These stones represent you and me, Luce, and our little girl,” he said. “Emerald for your birthday, ruby for mine, and amethyst for the month she’s supposed to be born. I wanted it to be special, you know?”