“Oh, honey,” Mom said. “Friday? That’s so soon. We have Bailey’s cake tasting in Tulsa on Friday. We booked it a month ago, and you know how those places are. You understand. We’ll try to come, if the timing works out.”
There was a pause. I heard her cover the phone with her hand. Then Dad came on, and he said, “Hey, girl,” the way he has said it my whole entire life.
“Hey, Daddy,” I said. “Friday at ten. At the courthouse. I wanted to tell you myself.”
“Your mother told me,” he said. Then he was quiet for a moment, and I could hear him breathing. “Well. That’s good, Morgan. Nate’s a good man. He works hard.”
And that was all. He did not say he would come. He did not say he would not. He handed the phone back to Mom, and Mom told me she had to go check on a pie in the oven.
Get a new story in your inbox every morning.
Facebook doesn’t show you every story we post. Our free newsletter does. Join 2,500+ readers.
The Pittsburg County courthouse sits up on a rise in downtown McAlester, a big tan brick building that has been there since before anybody I know was born.
On a spring morning the light comes in the tall windows and lies across the marble floors in long, bright stripes.
We had gotten the marriage license from the court clerk’s office two weeks before.
It cost us five dollars instead of fifty, because Nate and I had done our premarital counseling with our pastor back in January, and Oklahoma knocks the fee down if you bring the certificate.
Judge Porter, one of the associate district judges, had agreed to marry us in her chambers at ten. Oklahoma wants two witnesses over eighteen.
Ours were Grandma Fern and Nate’s mother, Kim, who drove over from Wilburton with Nate’s dad, Dale, and a camera she did not know how to use.
I wore a simple ivory dress that came just past my knees. I bought it at a department store in Tulsa on sale for sixty-four dollars, and I loved it.
I wore my light brown hair in a low bun because it was the only way I could do it myself without help.
Nate wore his navy suit, the one he bought for his cousin’s wedding and wore again to his granddad’s funeral.
Grandma Fern came in her lavender skirt suit, the one she bought for Grandpa’s seventieth birthday party and wore every Easter after.
She had gotten her hair set at the beauty shop in Hartshorne the day before, white curls tight and neat, and she held her purse in both hands.
Every few minutes she touched her ear, like she was checking that the world was still there and had not gone quiet on her again while she was not paying attention.
We waited in the hallway for the judge to finish a hearing.
Grandma sat on a long wooden bench by the windows, and Nate and I stood beside her. I kept looking at the big front doors every time they opened.
Mom and Dad did not come through them. At five minutes till ten, I stopped looking. Nate saw me stop, and he did not say anything about it. He just stood a little closer.
Judge Porter was a small woman with gray hair cut short and a black robe she put on just for us.
She asked if we wanted the short version or the long version of the vows. Nate said the long one, which surprised me. He told me later he did not want my grandmother to miss any of it by blinking.