Page 188 of Headstrong Like Us
We’ve always been headstrong, and there’s nothing I’d want more than to stand in the pouring rain with Farrow on our wedding day.
Clear umbrellas pop up withwhooshingsounds, and rain pings the plastic in melodic harmony.
Farrow’s black button-down suctions to his skin, and we squint and smile through the sheets of rain, spilling harder.
Oscar grips an umbrella, staying dry. I’m not positive if guests will be able to hear him. Or us, but strangely, the rain transforms this moment to a quiet, soft, and private one.
He addresses the crowd but looks at us as he says, “We’re gathered here today to celebrate the love and union between Maximoff and Farrow.” Oscar grins. “I’m keeping this short and sweet. I know they have vows they want to get to.”
Through the rain, Farrow lifts his brows at me in a teasing wave.
I restrain nothing. I smile back.
Oscar continues, “If youreallyknow these two men, then you know they’re who you call on when you’re at your lowest. When nothing is going right, you just know they’ll be there. One text, one call, no questions.” Thunder crackles. “They’re two of the most selfless men, and I can’t name two other people who are more perfect for each other. Their tenderness together can breathe life back into a body.” He takes a pause. “I’ve witnessed that firsthand.”
It dawns on me that Oscar was there at the crash site. He saw us together on the highway, that private moment, and it rushes up in me.
“I’m honored to be here to finally make this official.” Oscar smiles. “And so everyone can see your devotion to each other, even in the rain.”
Farrow’s carriage rises. Affection wrapping around us. Sheltering us.
“Without any further wait,” Oscar announces, “the grooms have prepared vows.” The storm lets up just a bit, enough that his voice seems louder.
That word—vows—pulls my attention. I’ve thought a lot about what I’d say, but more so about saying romantic, private stuff in front of a crowd.
Farrow told me that we didn’t have to write our own, but he deserves to hear my words from me.
I’m not afraid.
“I’ll go first,” I tell Farrow.
He nods, an amused grin spreading. “I’ll let you.”
I still can’t help it, I smile. “Thanks for that.”
“Anytime.”
A light chuckle breezes through the guests, and then Farrow rubs water off his face, eyelashes collecting beads, and he looks me over more seriously. Surprise shoots up his brows. “You didn’t write it down?” he asks under his breath.
Another bolt flashes, and rain descends heavier again. I tell him, “I’ve learned a thing or two from some guy I know.”
“Some guy,” he repeats.
“Yeah.” I nod. “Don’t overthink it. Just say what I feel, what comes to mind.”
He lets out a breath. Raw fondness spindles between us.
I brush water out of my eyes. “I’m going to quote a philosopher, just to warn you, man,” I say softly.
Farrow’s gaze sinks into me. “I was hoping you would.”
Goddamn.
My eyes burn, and I blink back tears. I think about Plato, and I say, “‘Love is born into every human being: it calls back the halves of our original nature together; it tries to make one out of two and heal the wound of human nature.’—I never understood this quote until I met you. Until you filled the incomplete parts of me.” Tears surge up and drip down my jaw, mixing with rainwater. “I was empty. So empty, and I didn’t even know it, Farrow.” That strikes me. How I could’ve gone my whole life without him. Without knowing whatthisfeels like.
I can’t stop crying. I don’t want to. “You’re the person that my soul has been searching for because my head was too stubborn to do it.”
He smiles, a wide breathtaking one. Emotion digs into my chest.
