fundamentals of love ; james sirius potter

16. hell and weddings are the same thing

The weddings in the middle of the small town. It's in the park that seems to be the center of the universe for everyone who lives here. People are orbiting it like lonely planets around the sun and they all effortlessly know each crack in the sidewalk and branch that hangs too low. Calling this home is almost too simple because I can see how much it means to them.

I'd woken up extra early for a few moments alone. During that time I'd been at the lobby of the inn and had examined all the pictures on the wall and the old albums that were on a bookshelf for everyone to see.

They had annual dance-a-thon's, a maze, flea and farmer's market, pie competitions, and so much more all taking place in the too-good-to-be-real park.

David was in a lot of the pictures. He'd grown up here, a little kid with too big glasses who was on every single sports team. Apparently he was some rugby god because he lead the town's small school to victory for the first time in a hundred years. Then, he moved away for university and was gone for so many pages, until he'd returned like a new person. He'd fit into his glasses and had some Clark Kent thing going for him. There was never a girl beside him but always his labradour, Shelley, until my mum finally wandered in.

She belonged here. The pictures of her increased and the friends she made multiplied until we were at the moment now, where everyone in this whole damn place had showed up to be there for the two.

Wooden chairs and flowers everywhere, there's not a cloud in sight but the sun shines down kindly. Not in it's normal blistering way, it seems to have a soft spot for them.

We're two rows away from the front.

"We don't really know the basic things about each other," I mumble, as I watch an elderly women fix her husband's hair. It's not some big gesture, but I can tell how much they love each other. "How do you like your eggs?"

"Does that matter?"

"Yes, if you'd ever watched Runaway Bride you'd know that."

He shrugs. "Poached, what about you?"

"I hate them," I whisper, remembering memories of cooking and kissing floating into my head.

Sometimes Morgan would make them for me, and I'd manage to get it down but want to die right after. I never told him I didn't like them because it was one of the few things he made really well, and I'd have done anything to see the smile on his face.

"I had my first kiss when I was fourteen," he says. "Right on my birthday with Alice."

I don't know why, but the bitterness that came with her name hasn't gone away even if I'm nearly over Morgan.

"Uhm, my first kiss was when I was fifteen with Jess Flint," I say, then ponder on whether I should ask the next obvious question. I end up doing it. "When'd you lose your virginity?"

"Fifteen with a girl older than me."

"Was it good?"

"Is it ever?"

"Sometimes," I nod, playing with my bracelet. "I was seventeen and it was with Morgan, and I guess I don't have much experience to say if it was good but I feel as if it was."

James look surprised, he leans back in his chair. "It's only been him," he asks.

"Only him."

We leave our conversation of trying to get to know the basics after that, both realising that's more than enough for now.

Then, the music starts. It's an actual live pianist who's playing Here Come's The Bride. Though a lot of people find the song cheesy and overplayed, I love it. It's a classic for a reason and nothing get more wedding-ly than it.