Chapter Text
Ramona wakes up to sunlight streaming into her eyes, Oona's body half on top of her own, and a pounding headache. They've long since outgrown Ramona's twin-size bed, preferring to sleep in the bed downstairs in the main bedroom—Gordon's room, but the pain of it has softened over the years—but they had gotten in late last night since everyone kept insisting on bringing them more and more drinks. That's what you get, Ramona thinks blearily, when the cocktail hour of your wedding weekend is hosted by your friend's parents' cafe.
It was past 2am when they walked through the porch of the cottage. Almost on instinct, Oona had started up the stairs towards Ramona's old bedroom like they were seventeen again, not twenty-six and the eve before their wedding day.
"Oona," Ramona had whined. "Where are you going?"
"Let's go to sleep in your room. One last time, baby," she said. Ramona knew by now alcohol made Oona nostalgic and really, she agreed. It was only fitting their last night before being married was sleeping in a bed they spent most of their teenage years in. Oona's sentimentality of it had surprised Ramona, even after all this time.
Now, though, she's paying for it, with Oona splayed out next to her taking up most of the small mattress, Ramona is scrunched up next to the low-silled window. Even if she loves her fiancée, it's too early for Oona's hair to be in her mouth.
Ramona pokes her to wake up, knowing Oona's a heavy enough sleeper being gentle won't work. Oona scoots back so she's not directly laying on top of Ramona and blinks her eyes open. "Hi, my beautiful wife."
When they first starting dating—seriously dating, after the wounds of their adolescence had been discussed and healed—Ramona never thought she'd get used to all of Oona's corny lines and flirtations. Then, she realized it actually never felt corny when she'd been on the receiving end and now, years later, it makes her heart race just like when they were younger.
"Good morning," Ramona presses a kiss against Oona's temple. She closes her eyes and seems to melt against the touch . "I feel like you can't call me that yet since it's technically not true yet."
Oona groans unhappily into her pillow. "It will be in twelve hours. Then, we'll both be wifey."
The word stirs up a distant memory in Ramona's brain: a 17 year old Oona in a Little Gem blue apron and bragging. Ramona moves her head so she's right next to Oona's head in the pillow. "Remember when you told me Stacey Mallory was going to be your wife," she asks, poking Oona again.
Oona's eye that isn't covered by the pillow flies open. "I did no such thing."
Ramona rolls her eyes but smiles so Oona knows that she's teasing. "You definitely did because you crashed her date too."
"Oh, that's right. Well, that was clearly so silly of me."
"Do you think we shouldn't have invited her to our wedding? What if it's weird?" Ramona picks at the sheet with her fingers.
"Babe, that literally happened like ten years ago. Isn't her boyfriend some mechanic from Rosseau who goes on trail runs with her or something," Oona reassures her with a hand on her cheek and a kiss on her head.
"That's crazy, could you imagine they're probably gonna make their babies do like marathons or something." They both laugh
"Besides, she knows that you're mine now," Oona adds, blushing even though it's just the two of them. And she's right, Ramona is hers. For the rest of their lives.