Reece, Reece and Reece.

Somehow I found someone to put up with me. Not just put up with me, I’m talking cry with me, do the most stupid things with me and even plan a hypothetical bank robbery with me. 15 years ago when I was told by my father that I’m an unusual girl, for sitting by horses and trying to give them manicures, innocently, naive and unaware, I automatically assumed I would find myself alone with 13 cats, tarot cards and a couple of healing crystals. But then I met Reece. An even stranger creature than me. He is very short, shifts his weight noticeably between one foot to another when he walks, talks about the most random things in his sleep and reads so many books he is the closest living thing to an encyclopaedia.

But he’s my Reece. And I love every single thing about that annoying man. Reece and I have always found ourselves on the narrow path less walked. We both decided to drop out of university a year into it, adopt a sick squirrel and painted our house black for no particular reason other than the fact that it’s my mum’s least favourite colour. Reece is a Scorpio, and as much as I hate astrology and everything that comes with it, he has put up with my Aquariusness for years. At first glance, we don’t look compatible, but we both love secrets, we love adventures, we love merlots and it’s been an interesting few years so far—with so many stories to tell our grandkids.

I will never forget the day he proposed to me. I had come back from work, tired and hungry and looking forward to a cuddle from my favourite human in the world. There he was, by the kitchen table cooking some spaghetti and meatballs, something he was incredibly terrible at doing. I remember asking him what the special occasion was, why he had decided to pull out our favourite Merlots from the basement and why he had a huge grin on his face. He said nothing and invited me over to the table, serving me a generous portion of my favourite food. Being so tired and famished, I rushed the spaghetti and washed it all down with my favourite Merlot, Jet bird, from North Coast California. He watched intently the whole time as if he was waiting for something to happen. As I took my last bite of the spaghetti, he began to panic.

Turns out he had included an engagement ring in the meal and the plan had gone terribly wrong as I was too famished to realise I had swallowed the ring. I eventually ended up in the hospital for the night, with Reece by my side, holding my hands as we both laughed till our bellies hurt at the ludicrousness of the whole situation. We both come from very big families, I am one of 6 children with too many cousins to count. Being so introverted, we both wanted a very small quiet wedding by the beach or in a church with a few family members and close friends. Our squirrel—Sweetbird, was to be our flower boy, the logistics of which we hadn’t planned out properly. But the moment my mother heard of our engagement, the news permeated the whole town and our guest list was longer than we wanted. She invited her friends, friends of her friends’ friends and even a couple of random strangers she had met at the diner she managed.

The days before our wedding was eventful, we were so busy with flower arrangements and fittings that we barely had time to see each other. And so on the night before the wedding, with our families asleep in guest houses we had rented to be as close to the ceremony as possible, we decided to sneak out about 10 miles away to the beach and enjoy a few glasses of Merlot. It was meant to be a replication of our very first date when we sat by the same beach, read excerpts from books and ate an ungodly amount of cheese and crackers. We had waltzed awkwardly to classic songs and we both found our lips entangled for minutes before the sound of a young girl saying “Ewww” ruined our moment. This night would be different, however, it was the night before we would become bound together forever as one. The night before we would become a unit, and so there was no anxiety or stumbling on words or a need to impress. On this night we were free, knowing we were never going to be apart ever again, and it was to be the beginning of the life we’ve always dreamed of, the very first date out of many, as husband and wife.

And so it began, with stories from the moment we met. We laughed and sang aloud as we watched the moon disappear into the starry sky. We discussed who our kids might look like and whether we would allow them phones when they turn ten. We both went over our vows and decided to remove the words “sickness” and “poor” as we were optimistic we would never find ourselves in such positions. We spoke about the awkwardness of kissing in front of our family members and planned how short the cringe-fest would be. We laughed about the possibility of messing up our vows or me falling over the very dramatic dress my mother had insisted I bought. It was going to be an amazing day of love, maybe not so much for us, but right there in that moment, ceremony or no ceremony, we knew our hearts were already in matrimony.

The night went fast, as it normally does when we are in each other’s company, the Merlot was flowing and so were the talks of the memories we were most fond of. It was our dream date, the best one we’ve had so far, and we had hoped the clocks would stop so we could stay in that moment forever. The last thing I remembered was singing along to our favourite song from Frank Sinatra, as we both messed up the words and held each other closely. All of a sudden, we were both awoken by the voice of a local.

“You guys have finally come around,” he said, looking at us with the strangest countenance possible.

We got up quickly as we tried to come to terms with our surroundings, before we both turned to each other and screamed in unison.

The wedding!

We asked the confused and startled man what time it was.

It was 2:27 p.m.

The wedding was meant to start at 10 a.m.