Page 82 of Cillian
Taking her small hand in mine, I slipped the ring down her finger, caressing her hand in it. She performed the same gesture, as the rest of the summer ceremony seemed to be a blur until the pastor said, “You may now kiss the bride.”
Grabbing my wife by the waist, she eagerly pulled down the back of my neck to reach her better, as our lips met in a deep, passionate, mutual kiss that was so risqué, Paddy and Órfhlaith had to peel us off of each other so the ceremony could continue.
Bridesmaids from Queenie’s side of the family laid an object by our feet, as I reached out for her hand. “You sure it's okay if I do this?” Wanting to respect if this was a tradition that wasn't meant for me.
“You’re my husband,” she said as reached in to kiss me on the cheek. “Plus, you're Irish. To other white people, you're practically Black anyway.”
“Good point!” Simultaneously Queenie and I both leapt over the broom, honoring one of the many traditions she wanted to pass down.
A playful scream echoed, as I lifted my bride off her feet, taking her outside as fast as I could so she could see the surprise waiting for her.
“Oh my god, baby you didn't.” She brought her hands to her mouth, inspecting her Cadillac convertible. The red one like she hinted at for weeks. I made sure to misdirect any conversation leading to it, suggesting the wedding was more important than a car, especially since she wanted a house to go with these renewed vows.
But my intention hadn’t been to deny her, I just didn’t want her to see it coming. “Well?” I threw her the keys. “We’ve got a reception to go to.”
***
Hosting the reception in Órfhlaith’s backyard, it’d been was a mix of some Irish traditions but mostly Queenie’s roots from her South and North Carolina background.
Getting an Irish band to play was fairly easy when you had cousins, uncles and family friends that can handle the fiddle, a flute or a harmonica or two. The real challenge was hiring the proper band my wife’s people could snap to because wasn’t no way we were letting anyone sit around all night when they could be dancing.
But it backfired greatly when came the time when the bride and groom were expected to dance. Queenie was eager, but I did fight it hard, not wanting to embarrass myself in front of her family.
“Come on, baby. We haven't even had our first dance.”
“Okay, okay. But only because I can't say no to you.” Heading to the center of the dance floor, an Irish jig began to play and suddenly she got nervous on me. Guiding her feet or what to do and where to go, my girl was doing a simple Irish jig in no time. The bands took turns playing Irish music and American, so I definitely got my fill, too.
Strangely, Queenie appeared more winded than usual, so I sat her down for a moment to make sure she was okay. “Do you need to rest a bit?”
“Maybe. But I do also have something to tell you. I didn’t want to tell you until after?—”
“Didn’t want to tell me what?” Suddenly impatient. She leaned in close to my ear so only I could hear her.
“I’m late.”
“What do you mean, you’re late? We got here?—”
“Cillian, listen to me. I mean, I’m late.” Heavily emphasizing the late this time.
“How late?” Finally understanding.
“Seven weeks.” We’d been married seven weeks.
“You fucking serious?” As she smiled and nodded, my heart sunk into my stomach. When I didn’t say anything, she squeezed my hand.
“Are you disappointed?”
“No. Of course not. Scared as hell, maybe. Only example I have of fatherhood is my own father, and he damaged me so bad, I’m afraid I’ll be like him. Not to mention, I never know whether I’m being good to you or enough for you, and now I have to share you. I’m fucking terrified.”
“Maybe I should have waited to tell you,” her voice heavy, as if she were about to cry.
“Hey, hey. None of that.” I kissed her forehead. “Just because I’m scared, don’t mean it’s not welcome. This is what we wanted, okay? My fears don’t got shit to do with you. I’m just afraid of having someone new to protect and I just don’t want to fall short. I love you. With all my heart. Nothing but greatness has entered my life since you came into it. I love you.” Pressing another kiss to her on the forehead.
“You don’t come up short to me. You’re a good husband because you chose to be. I know you’ll be a good father if you choose to be.”
“I just pray I don’t pass down the Sullivan curse.”
“How do you think we got here?” Queenie joked.