Pretty Instinct (43 page)

“Put shoes on, love,” Cannon suggests as he heads out to clean up tank takedown number…I think this makes three.

As I stand before the full-length mirror, I don’t say yes to the dress—it’s actually way too long and lacy for me—but I say absolutely to having a piece of my mother here with me today.

The ring she left Cannon, my grandma’s, is back in the safe deposit box. I never even met the woman, so I felt strange wearing it. Instead, my finger is adorned with a ring Cannon designed for me, a beautiful princess-cut solitaire on a thick, white gold band, “My Siren” inscribed inside.

So the dress is old
and
borrowed. My ring is new. And blue? A ribbon, the color of Conner’s eyes, a piece of his tie he wears today, is twined through my still brown hair that now graces the swell of my shoulders.

Cannon proposed, because he’s as stubborn as he is chivalrous and just
couldn’t
let mine stand alone, under “our” tree in our backyard and that’s where we’re getting married today. His father and Conner are his best men, then my father and Jarrett will also stand with him.

On my side, my Men of Honor, Rhett Foster and Uncle Bruce the Moose. Beside them, Libby, Sommerlyn, Laura, and Vanessa.

Hope is my flower/ring girl. Bryson and Vaughn are the handsome ushers in their gentlemanly suits, and my dear, wonderful Alma will marry us; determined
not
to have a small role, she ran out and got ordained.

Still haven’t met Lisa, the missing link daughter, but I’m sure Laura keeps her apprised of everything that happens at the crazy Carmichael house.

My father knocks on the door, prepared to give me away, even though he’s only just gotten me back, before taking his spot in Cannon’s line.

I laugh in the face of conformity.
My. Way.

“Come on in, Dad.” I turn and smile. He’s very handsome, and yes, I look as much like him as I act, which is becoming a point of pride for me more and more every day. The salt and pepper growing around his ears now looks distinguished to me, and there’re no signs of Botox in his aging, yet still debonair face.

“Oh, my Elizabeth, you are a vision.”
Out pops the handkerchief.
“A vision of a strong, courageous, gorgeous young woman who clawed her way to the finish and got exactly the happiness and adoration she deserved. There is no one more deserving in all the world, and I’m so proud of you, daughter. I find any words to try and tell you just how much inadequate.”

“Thank you.” I hold open my arms for a hug. “I love you, Dad. I missed you. I miss her, too, but I
respect
you for sticking around and waiting on me. Thank you.”

“Hush now.” He laughs, wiping his eyes. “I know you don’t want for money, so here is my gift to you on this special day.” He pulls two envelopes from his breast pocket. “Go ahead, open them.”

The first one, well, I falter, stumbling backward, and he helps me sit on the chaise. “Oh Dad.” I swipe his hankie from him before I cry all over the documents for a center he’s having built in Sutton, “The ACC Guidance Center,” full counseling, psychiatric, and medical services for people dealing with depression and/or addiction, as well as their loved ones.

“And yes,” he gives a soft titter, “it will be filled with huge, colorful fish tanks.”

“Life goes on,” I whisper.

“So it does, my lovely daughter, so it does.” He clears his throat, abruptly handing me the other envelope. “Should’ve given you this one first, a measly two weeks in Tahiti, ta-da.”

We enjoy a
long
overdue, hearty laugh together, until finally, it’s time. “Shall we?” He offers his bent arm, which I rise and take. “You, nor he, could have chosen any better, darling. Cannon is a fine man, as close to worthy of you as one will ever get. I’ll tell you what I told him, Elizabeth. Never give your body to another. It’s a fleeting, hollow replacement and the guilt and pain lasts much longer than the tryst.
Communicate
, talk, write a note, text, call, fly a banner behind a plane, but
never
try to mask one problem with another. Drink socially, if you’d like, but never to forget.
Always
keep your memory free and clear to remember back to how you feel right now. And if all else fails,” he stops our walk to the backyard and grasps both my cheeks, “call your daddy. He’ll fix it.” He kisses my forehead, his tears dripping onto my nose. “I love you, daughter. I never dreamt I’d get to be a part of your wedding day. Nothing, ever, will replace it as my life’s culmination; it’s the best moment ever in store for me.”

“I love you too, Dad. Now let’s go,” I hedge him, denied again.

“But, if you change your mind, I have the car out front running, ready to go.”

Oh, it feels good to throw my head back and gut laugh to the heavens.
That
line—classic. Undoubtedly going to be used on my own daughter when the time comes.

“Move it, Father Time. He’s gonna give up, and you’re certainly not getting any younger.” I wink at him, taking his arm, and the lead. “Don’t worry, Dad, I got this.”

“Here she comes! Cannon, I see her! You are very,
very
pretty, Sister!” Conner’s screaming, pogoing without a stick, the minute we come into view.

Cannon smirks but sweetly hushes him when our wedding song starts. Together, we’d chosen “And I Love Her” by…it’s
my
wedding, do I really need to point out it’s The Beatles?

While he’s calming Conner, I use the slice of time he’s distracted to absorb the man who is about to become my husband. He’s in pressed black slacks and a white dress shirt with the top button undone. His hair is tamed, sticking up just enough in the front, and his smile, the glow to his cheeks, the pride and excitement in his high, broad shoulders…he probably shouldn’t look better than the bride, or chocolate cake, but damn if he doesn’t.

When he moves, talks, sings, strums, touches, winks, smirks, laughs or drives his miraculous body lovingly into mine…everything he does mystifies me. And not only does
he
want
me,
but he wants me
only
, and forever.

“Dad,” I whisper, “pinch me.”

“No need, darling, it’s real. Can you imagine what
he
must be thinking right now? Probably trying to figure out which star was the perfect one he wished on, or how he got so in God’s favor.
You’re
the prize, beautiful Elizabeth, and he knows it.”

Our guests stand and face me, but I’m looking at one person only, and he now is doing the same. “Stole my breath,” he mouths and winks at me, stepping slightly forward when we reach him.

My father removes my hand from his arm, kisses the back of it, then offers it to Cannon. “I believe you to be worthy, son, so I give to you my only daughter, my baby. When you think you’ve shown her enough that you love her, cherished her, treated her like a queen,” he dips his head with an almost silent sniffle, then looks back up, “try harder.”

“Yes, sir.” Cannon nods, then turns us toward she who will unite us for life, my dear Alma.

She recites the traditional verbiage…then comes to
our part.
“You’ve prepared your own vows?”

We both nod and Cannon quirks his right brow, but I shake my head. “You first, babe.”

He slips a paper from his pocket (probably a list) and clears the lump in his throat. “You were born Elizabeth Hannah Carmichael, and I love her, but to me, you are Lizzie Little Bit Witchy Siren Blackwell, and you have been since the second you
begged
me to board your bus. You always shine, from the inside out, but you positively blind me. I vow with this, my last, and every breath in between, to adore you, appreciate you, and hold you up, let you lean, lean on you, carry you or shut my mouth and nod along—anything you need, anytime you need it. I will always put you above all else, especially myself, and if I don’t
have
what you need, I’ll find it, build it, invent it, just to see you smile. I love you, Lizzie.” He puts the note away and steps into me, cupping my cheeks. “You were instantly, are now and will always be, my prettiest instinct.”

“That was very,
very
nice, Cannon,” Conner says, the gallery all chuckling, my laugh accompanied by a subtle swipe of my tears.

“Elizabeth?” Alma indicates my turn.

Deep breath in for him, out for me, I begin, no piece of paper required. “Cannon…”
Oh nice, one word and my voice cracks on a sob
.

He smiles, taking both my hands in his to reassure me. “One more, baby, in for me,” he does it with me, nodding encouragingly, “now out for you.”

“Better.” I nod and start again. “Cannon, love is
not
patient; I couldn’t wait until you looked at me the way I did when I stole peeks at you. Love is
not
always kind; I can be moody, defensive, and snarky, but, thankfully, you have that selective hearing thing nailed.” He chuckles where only I can hear him and winks. “Love
does
envy; I’m jealous of every moment of your time I don’t get to share. Some nights I stay awake and watch you sleep, so peaceful and beautiful, and hate every creeping second of night until you wake, to light up my day. Love
does
boast.” I turn to the crowd and point to him. “This magnificent man is
mine
!” That gets a laugh out of everyone. “But the rest is pretty accurate. I
will
always protect and trust you, and give you only reasons to trust me. I
will
always hope for one more minute with you, one more kiss, one more embrace. And my love for you will
never
,
ever
fail. I instantly did, do now, and always will belong solely to you in mind, body, heart, and soul. Thank you for choosing me, Cannon, for never giving up, for seeing and unlocking what I never dreamt existed. I will spend my life thanking you. I love you.”

Male crying is
not
unattractive or unmanly; the love falling down Cannon’s cheeks is breathtaking. “Yours,” I mouth, reaching up to help wipe his tears.

“Yours was better, Bethy!” Conner boasts
loudly
and claps.

While everyone else laughs, even Cannon joining with a tiny snicker, I can’t help but frown. It wasn’t at all, and I don’t want my love doubting what his poetic vows meant to me. “It’s not true, babe. What you said was magical. It meant the world to me.”

“And you mean the world to me, but Lizzie love, there’s a reason you write the lyrics.” He pulls me into his chest and whispers, “need a nibble.” That tiny taste right below my ear turns into a dip of my body and a deep kiss that scorches me from toe to hair follicle.

“All right,” Alma improvises, “may I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Cannon and Elizabeth Blackwell!”

“Woo hoo! Quit kissing, now comes cake!”
Any guesses who screeched that?

We come up for air all smiles and swollen, moist lips. Since our wedding’s at our home, I exercise my gloriously option. “I’m running up to change, babe, meet you back here in ten.”

“I’ll come with.” He starts to follow, abruptly halted by my firm hand on his chest.

“Not a chance.” My knowing brow calls him out. “I felt your plans on the dip, and we have a yard full of guests. You stay, think about gross things, and I’ll be back in ten.” I scamper away quickly, dress hoisted to un-trippable level, and dash to our bedroom to wear clothes made of anything other than what they used to make that itchy dress.

On my trip back, I’m stopped by each and every guest with hugs, kisses, well-wishes, envelopes of gifts—which I feel bad taking—and three especially long, heartfelt and teary talks with Bruce my Moose, Jarrett…and Rhett. I’m just promising him a dance later when the voice I’ve come to call solace speaks over the mic. It’s dusk by now, but the lanterns in the trees allow me to make him out perfectly, shirt unbuttoned one more and untucked, the sultry desire in his eyes clearly visible from here.

“My beautiful wife, it’s been more like forty minutes. Remember the whole ‘love is not patient’ part? Yeah, me, you, first dance now. I’ll meet you right there,” he points to the middle of the dance floor that’s been laid out, “and I picked the song. Ready, Siren?”

I eagerly bob my head at him across the dusky yard and make my way to where he’ll be waiting. “Dance with me, beautiful,” he croons, pulling me into him, one arm low around my back, the other grasping my hand and tucking it between our chests. He rests his forehead on mine, slowly swaying our bodies to “Hold You in My Arms” by Ray Montagne as he nips lightly and brushes his lips against mine. “Can you believe we’re here?” he asks. “Married, a home, family? Seems surreal.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” I agree with a sigh. “I couldn’t ask for anything more, wouldn’t change a thing about you and me. Sometimes I look at you and get scared, like how could
he
possibly want
me
? Do I really get to keep him forever?”

He swipes his thumb under my eye, catching a stray tear. “Sweet Lizzie, I have no idea who bewitches who.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Love you.” He glances around at all the guests, then pulls me tighter with a frustrated groan. “When do they all go home?”

2 years later

What? You thought you’d hear about two blissful years of Cannon and me honeymooning, having wild monkey sex four times a day, spending time alone, and enjoying getting to know each other even better?

When have Cannon and I
ever
had time alone? Think about it—we met, lived, and courted on a tour bus with four other guys, one a very impressionable, nosey busybody whom I adore. Then, we bought a house, with another house ten feet out the back door, occupied by…see reference to busybody above.

Alma’s always over, checking on Conner twice a day, and I’m pretty sure Vaughn and Bryson think they live here.

So much like before, Cannon and I have made a seductive, taboo game of finding time alone courtesy of subliminal body and eye signals and seemingly harmless sentences with underlying meaning in a language only we speak. We are fluent in innuendo.