“We are,” Bridger and I say simultaneously.
We sign, initial, and sign some more.
When we’re finally done, Mary pushes our license at us. “Congratulations.” Her voice is a monotonous drone, like she’s said this a million times to a million couples. And she probably has.
I want to tell her that we’re the only us.
But I don’t.
“You’re free to marry anytime within the next sixty days,” she says.
“Wait. Your name is Mary!” I snort. “I just got that.”
Mary doesn’t crack a smile.
Bridger looks down at the certificate. “So this will work if we have our ceremony tomorrow?”
“Yes, sir,” she deadpans. “That’s within the sixty days I just mentioned.”
I can’t help myself. I lean over the counter. “You want to come?” I ask.
“Pass,” she says.
So.
Mary the Clerk is not a jokester.
Chapter Nine
Bridger
“Whoa.”
Dexter stares at us from across the table. There’s a smear of mustard on his mustache, and one bite taken from his sandwich. Sayla sits beside him, frozen, her fork suspended in midair.
“Are we allowed to respond now?” she asks.
“By all means,” I say. “You’ve both been very patient.”
“Dude.” Dex sets down his turkey club.
“DUDE!” Sayla stabs her fork into the center of her Cobb salad.
We’re at a four-top at Fig & Apple, and the sounds of lunchtime hum around us. Hostess greetings at the door. The scrape of utensils on plates. A crackle of laughter from the corner table. Meanwhile, our best friends are gaping at us like we just grew third heads after growing second ones. Which, under the circumstances, would probably be less shocking than everything we just told them.
On the drive back to Harvest Hollow, Loren and I agreed we’d wait until everybody’s food arrived before hitting them with our news. So Sayla and Dex shared some highlights of their honeymoon, then caught us up on the progress of their projects at Stony Peak. After the server dropped off our orders, Loren nudged me under the table, our signal to hijack the small talk.
Her exact words were this:
“We have some pretty big news to share, and we just need you to sit quietly and listen until we’re finished.”
To their credit, they fully complied, remaining silent and mostly still while Loren and I each took turns rambling. Eventually, our friends’ mouths dropped open, and their eyes grew wide. At one point, they exchanged glances with each other, like they were having some kind of private conversation minus the speaking.
Must be a couple thing.
“I know this is all a lot to take in,” I say, pointlessly handing each of them a fresh napkin from the dispenser.
“Correction.” Dex gulps, like he forgot the bite of sandwich lodged in his throat. “Just finding out you’re rich is a lot. And finding out you’re the anonymous donor is huge.”