Julia Jarrett

The reality that my best friend, a man I’ve known since university and who probably knows me better than myself is here, halfway across the country from where he lives, slams into me. It brings a fresh wave of pent-up emotion. “Thank you,” I whisper, feeling more fucking tears start to build.

She slowly lifts her gaze to meet mine, and I’m relieved to see her green eyes are a little bit clearer.

She tugs her lip between her teeth again, and it’s torture holding myself back from smoothing it out with my thumb.

“There’s going to be stuff to organize. I don’t even know where to start. It’s not like ‘plan a quickie wedding’ was ever on my life goals.”

I hear the acceptance, and I hear the overwhelm. And finally, I give in to my need to touch her somehow, to ground her. Walking around the counter, I spin her on the stool to face me and place my hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently. “Listen. If you’re going to let me do this, then let me. God knows you’ve got enough on your mind right now, you don’t need to be worrying about this as well. I’ll contact city hall in the morning, and we’ll go from there.”