“We can have one after, if you like. This fall. Or after the baby is born. Or a big reception. You could invite all your friends and family.”

Vegas seemed the least complicated option. If we’d gone to the courthouse in Philadelphia my sister would have wanted to be there. Then the grandparents. Then Daisy would have wanted to have her sister, her parents, and before we knew it the wedding would have been delayed for months of planning.

“For our marriage of convenience?” She’s looking at me like I’m nuts. I might be. She’ll stop referring to us as convenient, eventually. After she either falls in love with me or tells me to go to hell.

“No, I’m good,” she insists. “It’s not like I’d invite an audience to watch me give birth either. Or have sex. Not my jam. Maybe we can have a super-posh baby shower though,” she muses. “With an elaborate pink and blue candy bar. And a big tiered cake. We could do something totally obnoxious and have the cake cutting be the gender reveal, except I don’t want to know the baby’s sex beforehand. I’d still like the big tiered cake though.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to host your own shower.”

“No worries.” She waves a hand dismissively. “We’ll say Kerrigan and Violet are throwing it. You’ll pay for it though. Obviously.”

“I’d be happy to. Obviously,” I add. “That’s all you want?”

“Yeah.” She shrugs. “It’s fine.”

And with that ringing endorsement for our future, we’ve arrived at the designated location, officiant waiting under a canopy of flowers. Flowers we didn’t pick out. Flowers I’m not even sure are for us specifically. I wonder again at Daisy’s lack of concern. If it’s because she doesn’t see this as permanent.

“So we’re doing this,” I say.

“We’re doing this,” she agrees. She seems okay, if the slightest bit wary over this entire ordeal. I can’t blame her, but this is important to me. Archaic as it sounds, I want to do the right thing by her and the baby. I want to at least try. Besides, I do really like Daisy. This isn’t exactly how I’d intended to go about things with her, but best-laid plans and all that. I can adapt.

Traditional vows. I hadn’t given any thought to them when the coordinator asked via email what we wanted. I knew we weren’t going to write our own, not at this point in our relationship. So I hastily agreed, yes, traditional was fine.

Now they feel heavy. Promising to love and honor for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, till death do us part. We haven’t earned such weighty promises. Not yet.

It’s over far faster than should be possible for such a momentous occasion. Three minutes, maybe four? A hotel employee standing as witness while Daisy and I repeat the vows, and the officiant declares us legally wed. “You may now kiss your bride.” Done. Official.

“Thank you.” Those are the words I murmur to Daisy the moment after kissing her, as my new bride. Thank you for trusting me in this madness.

She blinks at me, rapid flutters of her eyelashes. She looks a little shell-shocked, overwhelmed from our brief ‘special moment,’ as she’d call it. “You’re welcome?”

I plant another kiss on her, then step back, taking her hand in mine. “We should celebrate. Or at least eat. Brunch? Something? What do you feel like doing?”

“It’s like you really don’t know me at all,” she quips.

I stare at her for a short moment, then smile. “Room service?”

“I do!” she exclaims, bouncing on her feet with a wide smile. A smile that reminds me of meeting her on a sidewalk in Boston. A smile filled with promise and possibilities. A smile that gives me hope that this might just work.

16

Daisy

Do you ever decide you're going to do something, and even though you know it's the right thing to do, you also know that other people might think you're nuts? And so when it comes time to tell people the thing, you just can't? You want to, you really want to, but now the thing has become too big. Too big to say out loud. So you just keep thinking about the thing over and over in your head, but you can't quite get it past your lips?

ImarriedKyle.

Igotmarried.

SurpriseIgotmarried!

All things I need to tell my sister, and I will. I want to, honestly. I want to more than anything, but I also feel a bit guilty for eloping without her. I know the very definition of eloping is to run away secretly in order to get married, and that I'm an adult with every right to do so. But she's my twin, and the idea of spitting the words out now feels awkward.

Obviously I'm going to save the baby bit for another day.

Kyle and I eloped. We flew to Vegas on Friday evening and were married before noon on Saturday, back in Philly Sunday evening. And yes, I signed a prenup.

Does this all sound horribly un-romantic? It wasn't, actually. It was amazing. Just the two of us, all weekend. We did nothing but get married, order room service and… you know.

Talk. We talked all weekend.

Just kidding. We had crazy sex all weekend. And we talked. And I'm smitten with my new husband.

I'm falling for him. Falling hard, which is stupid on my part. You should never give your heart away so recklessly, right? There should be a period of waiting. A system of checks and balances. A pros and cons list.

Except hearts don't work like that. They tend to fling themselves at whoever makes their rhythm skip a beat. They don't care about logic or consequences. Or breaking.

Hearts are eager and hopeful and naive. Hearts thrive on amnesia while in a constant battle of wills with your brain, which remembers everything and is only too eager to remind your heart about heartbreak and disappointment. To remind it that Kyle left once before, all too easily. To remind it that you don't really know him all that well, even if your commingled DNA is rapidly growing inside of you.

But first things first. I've gotta tell Violet I got married. She's going to think I've lost my mind, but it's my decision and I think it was the right decision for me.

"I was just about to call you," she says as she answers my call.

"Twin win! Beat you to it!"

"You did. By about three seconds."

"Are you home yet?" By home I mean my apartment where she's been staying. The tour I sent her on in my place just ended.

"Yup. Sitting on your couch and drinking your soda."

"Good. Rest of the tour go okay? You survived? You don't hate me for making you go?" I'm stalling. I mean, I do want to know how the rest of the tour went and ensure she's not upset with me, but also, I'm stalling. I mentally practice saying the words 'Guess what? I eloped!' in my mind.

Tubbs chooses that moment to jump onto the couch next to me. I scratch behind his ears as he flops down beside me, front paws on my thigh. I think cats might be more emotionally supportive than they're given credit for because this one is like a big furry security blanket.

"I survived. It was possibly even good for me."

"Was that hard for you to admit?" I'm not stalling now. I'm gloating. I knew sending her on that trip was a good idea. She just needed a little kick in the pants. See? I have really great ideas. Plus she met that hot British guy on the trip and totally got her groove back. I might be something of a genius, actually.