The decision had taken time.
That was precisely why it felt right.
He moved into my apartment first rather than asking me to move into his.
Six months later, we found a small house with a narrow backyard and an apple tree that produced exactly seven apples the first year.
Ethan considered this an extraordinary harvest.
Robert disagreed and attempted horticultural intervention.
Marisol told him to stop practicing medicine on vegetation.
On a bright Sunday in June, Logan and I married in that backyard.
Nothing elaborate.
Thirty-two guests.
Folded chairs.
Wildflowers in glass jars.
Ethan wore a small blue jacket and spent most of the ceremony trying to catch a butterfly.
Robert stood beside Logan.
Marisol stood beside me.
Before the ceremony, Logan found me alone in the kitchen.
“You look beautiful.”
“You’re not supposed to see me yet.”
“We abandoned traditional timing years ago.”
I smiled.
He became serious.
