Souvenir

Finished eating Justin’s favorite Thai dish, we found an amazing cactus at a boutique in town. There we were on Main Street, trying to finagle the three-foot plant and oversized pot into the trunk for our drive home. We named him Kee Mao.

I wanted to preserve how special it all was. Justin and me. Running through the mountains in the rain in our wedding clothes. Standing on a makeshift bridge, shouting our vows over the roar of an aggressively loud waterfall. Justin later admitted that he was terrified that one of us––or one of the rings––would go over the edge at any moment. I was too high on oxytocin and too focused on what Justin was saying to register any potential danger.

The next morning, before Justin woke up, I called my mom and whispered, “Justin told me he loves me more than anyone else in the world.”

“Yes, honey, I can see that,” she said.

The night of the elopement, we had dinner at the top of the mountain, and then ran through the street in our wedding clothes, laughing hysterically after someone asked us if we needed a ride. We watched a surprise video of toasts from family and cried like babies. Bottles of fancy champagne and delicious treats arrived at our door one after another, reminders of all the people who love us. My niece sent a recording of a song she wrote for me. It was just the two of us, and yet, I had never felt so loved.

I wanted to remember it all. Every moment. Drinking champagne on our spectacular balcony and dancing in the sunshine. Sitting on the patio of Rustico, finishing a giant bowl of sublime ravioli with total disregard for how my body might look in my dress the next day. Signing our marriage certificate in front of a bored clerk who had just showed up for another Wednesday while Justin enthusiastically snapped pics. Hiking to a climbing spot that was so steep and full of debris, that Scarf slid down the side of the mountain on an avalanche of branches. We watched with panic, wondering how far she would go, and where she would land, but when she stopped sliding, she popped up, invigorated and excited, ready for whatever was next.

When we got back to Denver, I put Nelson on the front porch.

“Do you think someone is going to steal him? He’s so awesome.”

Justin shook his head.

We put Kee Mao in the corner of the living room. He started blooming a marigold color which looked kind of freaky. Justin read that he wasn’t actually a cactus, but was a Euphorbia ingens, a tree that discharges poisonous residue.

“Shit,” Justin said.

“Perfect for baby proofing,” I said.

I had wanted souvenirs. Things to hold onto. Without friends and family there, I yearned for something tangible to preserve the memory, as if it would fade if I didn’t cling to it and squeeze it.

But then, two weeks later, a small plastic stick confirmed the most special souvenir of all.

Felix Oller was on the way. Our precious elopement baby wouldn’t dare miss this party, and certainly wouldn’t dare let his parents forget this moment, just us two.