The preacher uniform seems to be a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow and ancient jeans. Brown leather shoes, but at the last minute because we hate shoes, you see.
I know this because both the preachers in my life sport the same outfit most days.
Well, they used to, I suppose.
Sam shovels cereal into his mouth at a pace that might cause me to look away if not for his own expression, which is not at all relaxed like usual. He chews noisily and swallows, takes a sip of coffee and then one of juice. Then he holds out a spoonful in offering and I take it. He shovels another into his own mouth. Now we're both staring at each other and chewing noisily.
He finishes his bite before I do and tells me he's getting more terrified and overwhelmed with each passing moment in planning this wedding and he's no longer pretending it's cold feet.
What is it, then?
Maybe it's a sign.
If I told you it's normal and then it's a relief once the ceremony is over would that make a difference?
What if it doesn't?
They have annulments for that but I don't think you're going to find a greater man than Matt.
What if I don't really want a man?
T-Rexs' arms are far too short for this to work. And alpacas are so filthy, Sam.
Bridget-
If you fuck up the best thing that's happened to you in a long time, Sam, I'll never speak to you again.
His eyebrows go up and he says, The most fascinating thing about what you just said isn't that you can make idle threats so easily but that the thought of you carrying this out would be a literal death sentence and I would cease to breathe, never being the same again.
You're one of the few finding a life in this mess of what Jacob and Cole left behind, Sam.
I made a mess, too, Bridge, the first time around. And Matt is too good of a man to risk ruining.
So don't ruin him. Make him happy.
I see the light leak back into his eyes, which crinkle up quite beautifully as my words soak into his brain. We've had this conversation before, Bridget.
I know we have. You have to go or else you'll miss your own service.
Coming today?
No, you can give me a synopsis later.
I can give you one now. Leave it all in His hands, and let Him carry the weight sometimes.
I tried but I couldn't find Him.
Then you didn't look hard enough.
Great. I can be the little deaf and blind heathen. Now go take your own advice.
You're something alright. I will see you this afternoon, unless I don't.
Bye. Did I mention I love having you here?
Did I tell you I will never be anywhere else again?
No! You didn't, but you totally should because I would like to hear that.
Then I will tell you later, because I'm going to be late if I tell you now.
Sam gathers up his messenger bag and his blazer and phone and kisses my head before rushing out of the kitchen. Church starts in eight minutes. It takes twelve to get there.
Caleb looks up from the newspaper. He is sitting at the table waiting for the children to take them out to brunch. He folds the paper closed with a practiced snap and smiles thinly. I see that the legacy Jacob left for Samuel is in the way he speaks to you.
What do you mean?
With each passing day, he talks more and more like Winnie the Pooh. I'm surprised you didn't notice this before.
