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  I’ve seen how you look through the photos of her on your phone in the waiting room when you take me to my appointments. I’ve seen the far-off look in your eyes when you’re tired and thinking of her. I watched you scroll through her old messages once when you were sitting on the floor by me when I was a lump on the couch.

  You call her honeybee, right? It suits her.

  Writing this makes me so sad. I’ve tried to find the right words to make you go to her, but your heart is broken. Knowing the pain you’re in hurts worse than the cancer that’s eating me alive. I hope she heals you, for both of us.

  I know I won’t be there when you realize she’s it for you, but I saw this in a wedding magazine that Micah left here. I called a jeweler and purchased it.

  I might be way off and you might not be the one who finds this. But the thought that it’s possible is helping me through the thoughts of not seeing it happen for you myself. Not seeing you grow into an even stronger man with love in your life, watching you become a father, and watching you love your family like I’ve loved mine.

  I pray so damn hard that all of those things happen. It brings me peace believing they will.

  So when they do, love her with all of your might. Love her until you feel like a fool. And let her love you back.

  I won’t be there to see what you do with this ring, but in some small way, if you find it and give it to her, know that it’s the thing I most wanted for you … and your sweet honeybee.

  Love, Mom.”

  When Blake finished reading, through sniffles and emotion catching in her throat, she folded the paper and placed it on the table beside the bed and turned off the light. She turned in my arms and laid her head on my chest. Every few minutes she’d kiss my skin and I’d feel a tear roll across my skin and down my side. I stroked her back lazily with the ends of my fingertips until I felt goosebumps blanket her flesh.

  And I thought.

  I thought about how my mom hadn’t told me how sick she was because she wanted to see me happy—specifically, with Blake. I thought about how I took care of my mother in those last days, and all of those times she asked me if I’d heard from Blake. I thought about how it was my mom’s passing that brought Blake to me last October, and how those days seemed so far back in history I couldn’t even feel how brutal the pain was anymore.

  Moms are always right.

  I loved my mom, what kid doesn’t? I wished I had the chance to thank her. For her love, for her forethought, for always wanting my happiness, and for her generous heart. But for the first time since she’d left, I felt like I did something that would have made her genuinely happy.

  Most of all, I hoped wherever she was, she knew.

  I thought Blake would be reserved with the news of our engagement, as it’s in her nature to be nervous of what others think. In that respect we were totally different. Where I’d slept that night with thoughts of calling everyone I knew—hell, I considered renting a billboard and taking out radio ads with the news—I just guessed she’d tell people, but in a moderate way.

  Boy, was I wrong.

  My girl beat me to the punch. While I was sleeping and dreaming of spreading the news, she was up doing it.

  “I know and, Mom, the ring. I’ll send you a picture. It’s stunning. Absolutely perfect,” she gushed over the phone. “I’m so happy.”

  Every single inch of me absorbed the sight and sound of her bliss. She wore my favorite tank top; the one I’d given her a long time ago. We both knew it was a one-sided gift. I could see her breasts through the long armholes when she spun around and caught me watching from the doorway.

  “Yeah, he’s up now,” she said, laughing. “Sure, just a second.”

  Pulling the phone away from her ear, she wiggled her eyebrows and said, “She wants to talk to you. And good morning.” She leaned over the island we’d scandalized the day before and kissed me as she handed me the phone.

  Maybe I was still dreaming.

  “Hello,” I answered, clearing the morning gravel out of my throat.

  “Good morning, Casey. Congratulations and thank you,” she said as she choked up a little. “You’re making my daughter so happy.”

  It was so sweet. I stuck my bottom lip out to convey what I could about what she was saying to Blake. She made the same endearing, pouty face back.

  “Well, she’s making me very happy too.”

  “Good, now let us know when you guys are coming back to town. I’m not sure what your plans are, and you don’t have to have any yet.” She chuckled and gave a little whoop. “Enjoy it and we’re here for whatever you two need.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Warren. We’ll keep you posted.”

  “Call me Kara—or heck—just call me Mom.” Then she went into a fit of giggles.

  I laughed because she was laughing, and even though Blake didn’t know what was happening, she fucking laughed too.

  We called my dad, and called Foster and told him on speakerphone while Micah and Cory listened. Everyone was just as excited as we were. When people you love react like that it’s hard to imagine you’re not doing the most right thing on the planet.

  The only one who cried at the news was my baby sister, Morgan.

  “I’m sorry, it’s just so … so … well, it took long enough,” she’d said through audible tears.

  News like that doesn’t dull the more you talk about it. Not for us anyway. With every call, Blake bounced up and down. Every time someone squealed or shouted at the surprise, we joined them in earnest.

  We sat on the patio that night after Blake made some pizza thing that tasted like it was delivered straight from Italy, and we drank a really nice bottle of wine my mom had in the small wine stash in her basement.

  “To your mom,” Blake toasted.

  “To my mom,” I agreed, lifting my glass and clinking it against hers.

  Our families were really becoming one.

  Friday, August 6, 2010

  WE WERE BLESSED TO have so much help from our families, but I insisted I wanted to do it all. It was like I’d never planned a wedding. There were so many things I either ignored or didn’t give two shits about the first time around.

  Cake flavors. Bridesmaids and their dresses. Gifts for others. Places for the wedding and reception. The food. The music. The pre-wedding celebrations. There was a lot to manage. And I was enjoying every second.

  Even though there was so much to think about, it was going smoothly and really fast. We’d be wed by the end of the summer and it couldn’t get there fast enough.

  “Which of these do you like?” I asked Micah at the dress store. My parents had flown down to San Francisco for the weekend and Mom and Micah were helping me shop. Something, by nature, I hated to do. But as the picture of our wedding grew more vivid with every decision, every detail, the more I got into it.

  “I like the shorter one. So you guys decided on that place in Oregon?” she asked as she browsed through the rack of plastic-covered dresses.

  “We did. Casey stopped in there last week on his way back from Washington and he loved it so much he paid the deposit on the spot, so our date would be saved,” I said, laughing at the memory.

  Blake, this place is fucking cool. You’re going to love it. And I think I’ve got them talked into buying my beer. Well, the fucker is buying it wholesale and reselling it back to me, but what-the-fuck-ever. It’s awesome. The pictures online are nothing compared to it in reality. This is the place.

  That was all I needed to hear. In fact, it was shocking how much Casey wanted a say in all things of the Warren-Moore wedding.

  “You guys are still cool with going there that week, right?”

  Micah was my maid of honor. Again. She was the one wedding detail I was repeating. I loved her and she never once brought it up.

  “Hell yeah, and we looked at stuff to do near the resort. There are a bunch of activities we’re going to take Foster to. It’s going to be great. That place really is cool. Oh. My. God. We’re going to
be sisters!” she screamed when it hit her again for the hundredth time.

  She was right. It was going to be great.

  A creek ran straight through the property, allowing for hiking and biking. Casey loved it for the view. On the side opposite the creek, the Pacific Ocean in all its glory could be seen. Online we saw they had party tents to use and everything was so laid-back and beautiful. It felt surreal.

  “Just six weeks, Blake. We have a lot to do,” my mom reminded me as she rounded the corner holding a dress. “Do you want to try this on?”

  “Mom, it’s white.”

  “So what? It’s beautiful.”

  That it was, but I knew that wasn’t what I was looking for.

  “I want the color creamier, less wedding gownish.”

  I expected her to protest, but she didn’t.

  “Less wedding gownish. Okay. Like flowy? Silky?”

  “Yeah,” Micah chimed in. “Something like this.” The hangers screeched as she shoved the other dresses to the side and I saw it. It was much closer to what I was looking for. It wasn’t exactly ivory, but instead a light buttery ever-so-pale yellow. It was form-fitting with a little mermaid flare at the bottom.

  “I love it, but what I love and what looks right on me, might be two different things,” I said insecurely. I went from not having a dress yet to praying the one we’d found, within only ten minutes of searching, would work.

  I’d been having a good healthy streak of luck. There was no way it would be that easy.

  “Try it on, sweetheart. Let’s see,” my mom said calmly. “There’s only one way to find out if it’s the one.”

  I hated dressing rooms. They were always too small. The mirrors lied. There were never enough places to put all the shit you suddenly realized you were packing around like a mule. Regardless, my mom was right, I had to try it on.

  I undressed and carefully folded my clothes, again totally not-typical behavior. I was nervous and stalling. I wanted it to look good. Better than good. After taking the plastic off and feeling the fabric, I really fell in love. It was smooth and flirty with a sweeping, open backline to match the deep cut in the front.

  Slipping my bra off, I said a prayer to the wedding gods who I’d never spoken to before.

  Please let this son of a bitch fit. Please let it fit. Please. Please. Please.

  After a quick internal pep talk, I slid it over my head and it fell down my body. No resistance. No snags. No hang-ups.

  I turned around to face the mirror again and there I stood: Casey’s bride. My hand cupped my mouth and immediately I began to cry.

  I felt beautiful. I felt overwhelmed. I simply stood there—vanity damned—and pictured his expression when he saw me in that dress. It wasn’t until I heard Micah at the door that I snapped out it.

  “What’s it look like? Did it fit? Show us, dammit.”

  I pushed the door handle down and opened it, knowing she’d see my tears, but I was defenseless to make them stop.

  “Oh, shit. Wow,” she said on an exhale, as she backed up giving me room to come out. I heard my mother talking to a sales lady and I walked to her voice. Something inside me wanted her to tell me it was perfect. I needed her acceptance.

  She dropped the shoes she was holding and her hands clasped together in front of her heart. The look on her face was even more than I wanted. More than I needed. It was all the confirmation I could have ever dreamed of.

  “Oh, Blake,” she mouthed silently. She walked slowly to me, her eyes glassy and her head tilted to the side. “Spin around.”

  I did as she requested and my hands flew out to both sides as I turned one and a half times, stopping for her to get a good look at the back, before I faced her.

  “That’s the first time you’ve ever looked like a bride.” It was like she knew those were the exact words I needed to hear. I looked at Micah and she was smiling so big her dimples could have held water.

  After we examined it in every light, and I wore it with shoes, we bought it on the spot.

  Sometimes you find the perfect thing unexpectedly right off the rack. And if life had taught me anything, it was that just because it came out of nowhere, with no effort, didn’t mean it wasn’t meant to be. Kind of like how I found Casey.

  With dress shopping done so quickly, my mom and Micah decided we should do even more shopping since our retail mojo was working in our favor. I went with it.

  We took a break for iced coffees and I checked my phone.

  Casey: Your dad is a fucking hustler.

  Casey: Why didn’t you warn me? I thought we were a team. He wiped my ass with the first nine holes and just made me look bad for fun on the second.

  Casey: I hope you’re having fun. I think we’re all meeting at Cory and Micah's for dinner. I’ll let you apologize for the humiliation and shame I’ve been subjected to later. I think I’ll take a blow job. The start-to-finish kind.

  I giggled and wondered if all couples talked to each other like that. Then decided I didn’t want to know. I liked thinking it was only us. I quickly sent him a message back.

  Me: Hahaha. Sucker. Warren domination. I didn’t know we could use oral as a form of repentance. In that case, you owe me start-to-finish for listening to your dad talk about the 49ers for an hour straight the other night at dinner. I almost died from boredom. It was touch-and-go for about 59 minutes.

  “Micah, are we having dinner at your place?” I asked. You know how guys make plans. It was very possible it was three-thirty in the afternoon and she didn’t know she was hosting guests.

  “Oh yeah, I forgot,” she said as she typed on her phone.

  She forgot?

  “Well, it’s getting late, so do we need to go get Foster or anything else?” I was clearly freaking out on her behalf. Her lack of interest was weird. She didn’t even look at me.

  My mom excused herself to find a ladies’ room and I tried to get my friend’s attention.

  “Yo, Micah. It’s like almost four,” I urged.

  “It’s fine, Carmen has Foster. She’s bringing him back this evening. I’m not stressing about it. I’ll just order something in.” She smiled brightly. “Quit worrying about it.”

  Me: Are you sure about dinner? I don’t think Micah planned for all of us.

  Casey: Yeah, I talked to Cory. He’s grilling or something. We’re heading there after a beer in the clubhouse. Get this. Your con-artist father is making me buy. Are you sure he’s a professor and not in the mafia or secret service or something?

  Me: Watch your back. I’ll see you in a while.

  Since I was the only one wigging out, I dropped it. Why bother stressing out if no one else was? It was just dinner after all. It wasn’t like my parents were meeting his. We’d planned to do that the next night anyway. I was probably nervous about that and it was throwing me off. Would I ever stop feeling like the other shoe was about to drop?

  “Well, thanks for having all of us over. Are you sure I can’t do something?” I asked with less anxiety in my voice.

  “Seriously, it’s just dinner. It’s no big thing. Now let’s talk wedding night lingerie. What are you going to get?”

  I hadn’t thought of that. I’d have to add it to my to-do list. I’m sure Casey would love to help with that one.

  When my mother came back, we sat there for a while longer and talked about things that were seriously weird to discuss with a parent. But throwing me a bone, my mom kept her side of the conversation focused on silly fantasies with actors and musicians and left my con-artist dad out of it. I almost blew a good portion of my frozen caramel latte out of my left nostril when she admitted Casey was on her top five hottest men list.

  I couldn’t fault her. She had good taste. Maybe it was genetic.

  Friday, August 6, 2010

  GENETICS ARE FUNNY. BLAKE was a lot like her dad.

  Even if he was a bastard who schooled me on the golf course, we shared the same sense of humor. Actually, we had a lot in common and he wasn’t really a
bastard. He was kind of awesome.

  Phil told me embarrassing stories about Blake and he’d even had the foresight to save some of the most priceless childhood pictures of my honeybee on his phone for our day on the links.

  He liked good bourbon, just like I did, and when we sat down after playing eighteen catastrophic holes, he informed me I was buying. He didn’t hesitate to order from the top shelf for both of us. What a guy.

  “All shit aside, Casey,” he admitted, “I’m really happy for you guys. I’ve never seen Blake this happy and that’s all a dad really wants for his kids. Above everything else in this world, you want them as happy as possible. You’ll see.”

  Would I ever. The closer the wedding got the more I thought about kids. Every night we’d go to bed, and sometimes when we woke up, I’d bite my ready-to-reproduce-tongue to keep from asking her when she’d want to start a family. I didn’t want to overwhelm her, with all of the wedding commotion going on around us.

  We’d often joked about it, but I was serious. I couldn’t pin-point the reason why my desire to have kids with her was so strong, but it was. I really wanted a big family, like we both kind of had, of our very own. I wanted the hustle and bustle little hands and feet created in a house. I wanted my kids to grow up with Foster—and our families’ future kids—for the plain and simple reason of it sounded like so much fun.

  Besides, I enjoyed every moment we spent with Foster.

  Now that dude was a cool customer. We had all of the same hobbies: Boobs. Getting dirty. Annoying my brother. A good sip here and there. I caught him taking a nap on my woman the other day, and if he weren’t my nephew and godson, I would have been forced to lay the hammer down. He so easily stole the spotlight when I loved having it all to myself in her eyes.