Kansas Summer

Epilogue

            After the wedding, there is a huge dinner reception hosted by the church, with lots of lemonade generously made by Mrs. Jackson.  Everyone congratulates us again and again, and tells us that we are the happiest couple that they have ever seen.  Jenna and I pretend not to notice, but inside, our fire of romance keeps building.  When it comes time for the cake to be cut, I am gentle in feeding it to Jenna, but she shoves it in my face.  We have to laugh, but I tell her that I will get her back one day.

            At the reception, we are surprised to receive three gifts: one, a brand new pickup truck from the bank that sold the land that our house sat on, a thousand dollars raised by the church for a honeymoon, but the most unexpected gift, from Jenna’s parents, is their house.

            “We’ve always thought of moving to Florida,” Mr. Jackson tells us after we are too speechless to thank him.  “so this is the perfect time to do so.  But,” he cautions, his tone dropping, “the house is yours.  That means that it is your responsibility.  The farm needs to be kept up, the bills need to be paid, everything.  Your mother-in-law and I aren’t accountable for it.  It is yours.  Both of yours.  Take care of it.”

           

            It is mutually agreeable between Jenna and I that our honeymoon be to Steamboat Springs, Colorado.  We start out on the morning after the wedding; it takes us the full twelve hours to navigate the mountainous Colorado backroads, but we arrive at the resort just before we both collapse in exhaustion.

            “I’m so tired,” Jenna pouts, “I’m just gonna take a shower and go to bed.  Would you keep the lights on until I get out?”

            “Sure,” I agree, flopping down on the bed and turning on the television.  Sportscenter is on, and out of boredom, I decide to indulge myself in sports. 

            By the time the football game highlights are over, my eyes are almost closed.  “You—done?” I call groggily, rubbing my eyes.

            “You tell me,” she retorts.  I prop myself up on the bed to look at Jenna.  My eyes fly open.  She stands seductively in the door jamb in a black cami-top with black sweatpants.  Her hair is neatly brushed, flowing and angelic.  Jenna strides across the room, parading right in front of me.  She plops down on the edge of her bed.

            “We gotta consummate this, ya know,” she reminds me rather nonchalantly.

            “Oh, Jen,” I groan, rubbing my eyes again, “I don’t know.  I’m awful tired.  Besides, consummate is such a long word.”  I rise and disappear in the bathroom to brush my teeth.

            “You know you want to,” Jenna sweetly purrs when I emerge from the bathroom, lying on her stomach, legs crossed in the air, cleavage generously (and strategically) showing.

            I hobble sleepily over to the bed and tuck myself into the covers.  Jenna lays next to me, leaning her head on my bare shoulder.  I half-smile and wind my hand through her silky-smooth hair.

            “Most guys would be all over you by now, but there’s something holding me back,” I confess.

            My comment makes Jenna draw back, and a frown blossoms on her face.  “What do you mean?” she asks cautiously.

            I sigh.  “It’s difficult to explain, but there just seems something wrong about this.  I mean, sex is…”

            Jenna slouches in her cross-legged position.  “Is sacred?”