Page 111 of Fair Ball

Being with Millie and her family has shown me the importance of living every day like tomorrow is not promised, so I try not to take anything for granted and practice gratitude for everything I have. Including when Millie turns her cell phone to me to ask what I think of the dress.

We’re getting married next week, a simple ceremony here at home so Shannon can be included. We’ve invited a few friends to be present while we exchange vows and then eat some appetizers and have cake. No big deal. Except Millie has yet to choose what dress to wear. I told her to wear the navy blue one she wore to the gala, but she wants something traditionally white. Although being the middle of winter and having it in our house, she’s been searching for weeks for the “perfect, yet appropriate thing.”

The one she shows me now is lace and puffier than I’d expect she’d like. “Get it, if that’s the one you want.”

She shrugs. “Reminds me of my First Communion dress.”

I shoot her a wry look. “You want to look like it’s your First Communion?”

“No, I… Good point. Next.”

“Baby, wear whatever you’re comfortable in. Wear a hoodie and your pajama pants if you want.”

“It’s our wedding, Austin.”

“Yeah, which is why you shouldn’t feel like you have to follow any kind of social norm.”

She wags her head at me, trying on an attitude. Adorable. “Maybe I want to look beautiful for you on our special day.”

“Then go naked.”

She snorts and digs her toe into my thigh before beginning her search again. A few minutes later, she shows me another photo. “What about this?”

The woman is wearing a chunky white sweater and a pleated white skirt that reminds me of a curtain blowing in a summer breeze. It’s perfect, actually. “I love it.”

“Yeah? Me too. I could skip the bra. No one would know.”

“I would.”

She smiles to herself, glancing back down at her phone before gasping. “Oh my god! It’s eight hundred dollars!”

“What is?”

“The skirt.”

“Okay.”

“An eight-hundred-dollar skirt? I can’t buy that.”

I raise my brows pointedly.

“When would I ever wear it again?”

I hold her foot in my hand, pressing my thumb into the arch. “School pickup, the grocery store, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Just buy it.”

“But—”

“Millie.”

“Austin.”

“I adopted that fucking thing—” I point at Harold, who’s happily chewing on a wooden toy in his newly expanded bird mansion “—and if you think I won’t buy you a skirt because you won’t wear it again, you better think again.”

She takes in our bird and the house that has her name on the deed and all the brand-new furniture inside it, and she slants her gaze to me. “I ever tell you how much I love you?”

“Not today.”

She leans up to kiss me. “I love you. More than Diet Coke.”