Free I Take You by Eliza Kennedy

made me feel weirdly guilty. I barely knew Will. He had no claim on me. I had never felt bad before. Still. I did.
    Two weeks after we first met, Will and I got together again. We went out to dinner, then back to his place and straight to bed. And it was nice. But not the same. He was reserved. Almost awkward. The same thing happened a few nights later, and the night after that. It was sweet, and tender, and romantic, but … a little dull. I didn’t say anything, expecting things to go back to the way they were. And I
really
liked him, so we kept seeing each other.
    Two weeks after that, he proposed. He told me he’d had the ring made while he was in London, because even then he knew.
    He knew! How crazy is that? No one had ever wanted to marry me before. I’m so not that kind of girl. But Will did. He loved me. I was shocked. I hated the thought of disappointing him. So I said yes.
    Our sex life never reached the same heights, although I kept chasing those first three days. I finally concluded that Will didn’t have a very strong sex drive. Some guys are like that, I guess. I didn’t push matters. We’re busy people, we both work long hours—it’s just not a priority for him. Could I have forced the issue, demanded that we talk about it? Could I have initiated sex more? I suppose, and part of me is still mystified about why I didn’t. Maybe I was holding back a little. Or a lot. I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea about me. Or the right idea. Whatever.
    It doesn’t matter. After this morning, every average thing about our sex life is in the past. We’re back to where we started, and I couldn’t be happier. I’m not going to waste time wondering why. Maybe it’s the fresh ocean air. Maybe it’s the sultry surroundings. Maybe he couldn’t let loose and regain his lustfulness until now, the eve of our wedding.
    I think the Amish are like that.
    Bottom line? I am done,
completely
done, with questioning my decision to get married. That business last night? The uncertainty, theworry, the random flirtation and—let’s face it—mindless panic? So silly. So pointless. My initial instincts were right all along.
    Everything’s going to be fine.
    I sip my coffee. “What’s on the agenda this morning, Mattiecakes?”
    “I’ve kept it light,” she replies, turning onto Whitehead Street. “After the restaurant we just have to stop by the new florist and go over the plan for the reception.”
    “Great!” I say. “Wait. We have a new florist?”
    “Yes. I fired the old one.”
    “Really?”
    Mattie sighs regretfully. “He wasn’t doing his best work.”
    I think this over. “Shouldn’t I have been consulted?”
    She turns to me, horrified. “Did you like Martin?”
    “Well, no,” I admit. “I mean, I don’t have any idea what he was doing. And I probably would have gone along with whatever you wanted me to do. But …”
    Why am I objecting? I’ve always given Mattie free rein. I need her to have free rein. Maybe I don’t like the pointed reminder of how uninvolved I’ve been in these proceedings. How disengaged.
    Mattie pulls up in front of Blue Heaven, a funky island café on Thomas Street. She switches off the ignition and bursts into tears.
    “I’m letting you down!” she wails.
    Oh, Jesus. “Of course you’re not!” I assure her.
    “Planning this wedding has been utterly overwhelming,” she confesses. “Your family is very …
unusual.
And everything has been so last minute! I want it all to be perfect, but I haven’t gotten a great deal of direction from you. And now I’ve overstepped my bounds!”
    “No no! You’re doing an amazing job, Mattie.”
    She blows her nose and glances at me hopefully. “Really?”
    “Absolutely,” I say. “This is my fault. I haven’t always responded as quickly as I should to your e-mails and texts and voice mails and Face-book messages and … everything else. But that’s going to change. Starting now.”
    “Are you sure,