two hundred twenty-eight

I am in St. Louis—a few days of rest before the passing back and forth of holiday cheer, all of us moving to the beat of racing Christmas lights. Joe is working at the bookstore. In exchange for his “upstocking” and spine-aligning, we earn money for the wedding and 50 percent off of all his Christmas gifts.

While he works, I tell myself I’ll write. I sit on the couch or let my pet rabbit hop around on the area rug in front of the door. I paint my nails for the first time in months, something I thought I was over. (After spending $7 on the dark purple polish, I’ll make myself by a bit more dedicated to it for a while.

While he works, I buy groceries from the family-owned store with its greening bronze roof—the roof that reminds me of home, of the courthouse until the summer a few years back when a crew scrubbed the whole thing. I fill (what we call the studio when I visit) our apartment with comfort foods—French baguettes and blueberry preserves, gnocchi and tomatoes,

two hundred thirty-two

I've finally set the appointment with Deacon Gary, who I thought was Deacon Jerry. Even when he said his name on the phone (all seven times we called each other) I couldn't quite tell. I'm going with Gary. It's what Wanda, the church secretary whom I am now on a first-name basis with, said quite clearly and emphatically after I said Deacon Jerry.

Anyway. Right after break, on the first day of school, we'll find out how compatible we are according to the Catholic church.

Also around this time, we need to be ordering wedding bands. I just spent way longer than necessary (because it put off working out or getting dressed) trying to find inexpensive fair trade wedding bands online. It is impossible for our price range. This is very, very frustrating. Then I was considering finding used ones and recycling. Then I thought of the people being dead or divorced. Neither of these things seemed like good omens for the start of our marriage. Looks like we'll be buying them at the mall.

If I can talk him into a bit of extra money, greenKarat wasn't too expensive. My ring size is small enough to fit in their base price. I have no idea what size Joe is. I also have no idea how wide 2mm to 6 mm is. I want the 2, just because it's thin and will match my engagement ring. I have no idea what a guy wants to wear around. I don't want him to have this conversation:

Man: Hey, man, how wide's that wedding band?
Joe: Oh, you know, like 4 mm.
Man: Really? Huh. I would have thought your girl would expect at least 5 or 6.
Joe: Oh. [blushes] Yeah.
Man: I mean, it's kinda small. Are you sure you didn't put hers on by mistake?
[pause while man really stares at it, then sips his coffee]
Man: Are you sure that isn't your earring?

two hundred thirty-five

days until the wedding.

We have knocked nearly a year off of our long-distance engagement. As we get close to home for the holidays again, we're reminded that there is still a lot of planning to be done. I've been reminding myself to call the deacon for a marriage preparation session for the last two weeks. I have forgotten the post-it note on my dresser for a week, programming it into my phone, forgetting my phone and overall feeling like a horrible person.

Over break, I'll make up for it. Over break, I'll remind myself that I cannot eat as many buckeyes and cookies as I want to because the wedding dress is already tight. I'll drag Joe to a woman's house so that we can spend an afternoon talking about cakes. I'll tell my mom that I still wantthese orthese.

I'll take our invitations to the printer and wonder how I'll ever get them cut, folded, addressed, stamped and out when I don't live in Ohio anymore. I'll stress about the details, stress about my weight, stress about making friends pay for attire they can't afford--half of which they can't even keep (poor guys).

I'll get caught up in everything that happens after we're married, everything that we'll share, everything that will have two names instead of one, (someday) two incomes instead of one, two chances to get to where we're going (wherever that is).

I'll sit next to him and sip hot chocolate and sneak bites of whatever he's eating, then sip gin and tonics with my mother and steal sips of whatever she's drinking. I'll sip coffee with my dad and steal hugs and small dances and smiles that are a bit harder this year, the first since Grandpa has gone.