It was a courthouse wedding. It was small, and quick. I always dreamed of a big party and a white dress. Instead, she slipped her ring onto my finger and we signed the documents. Although she doesn’t have much family, she offered a big party. I vetoed it immediately; my family can barely accept that I’m a lesbian, let alone that my partner isn’t white. I wasn’t going to put her through it. She puts her arm around me, and we walk to the nearest bar. We’re solemn. We walk in, and she tells the bartender that we just got married, kissing my hand as she leans on the counter. She holds me from behind as I sit on a stool and she leans against the bar counter. I take the free shot, but she declines it and insists on paying for a whiskey she barely touches. She tips the bartender and we leave.

We go home and fuck about it. It’s hot and heavy. Afterwards, she makes us dinner- something traditional that’s become a comfort food. We curl up on the couch, and she holds me while we watch shitty reality TV. Then she does the dishes and carries me into the bedroom and we have sex. We’re gentler this time; soft enough that I feel every part of my orgasm. I don’t touch her- she doesn’t want it. She says she likes making me feel good, and she knows I’m tired. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep, and then she holds me and it’s the best sleep I’ve ever had.

She wakes me up with soft kisses to my face right before our alarm- which she made much quieter so she would be the only one to hear it. I stir quietly and she kisses my chin and my cheeks. I groan, blinking. I rub my eyes, and register her weight on top of me. I feel her calloused hands rubbing along my body as she curls over me, like she’s trying to keep me warm. She’s always ran hot, as far as I can remember. “You’re heavy,” I whine, and push her shoulder. It’s out of character for me, and she just laughs. I’m in a lacy bra and underwear, she’s naked save for grey boxers.

I hold her face, and trace the tribal tattoos on her cheeks and chin as she lays on my chest, and it’s odd. I guess I always thought that being married would make me feel different, but it doesn’t. I feel the same as I did yesterday, I just now have a ring on my finger. I always thought it marriage and sex and relationships like some super-secret, exclusive club. I was a little disappointed to discover it’s not any different. My hands trail down, and they rub her shoulders, and rub over the red scratches I left on her back last night. She doesn’t wince, but I feel bad because I know it must hurt.