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A short story Rukis wrote of their wedding day. There's an accompanying image but I can't post it right now. Enjoy!
"Stop fidgeting," he mutters at me, as he adjusts my tie for what has to be the thirtieth time since I put it on. Which was maybe five minutes ago.
"You're the one who's fidgeting," I dare to point out. "And - stop, it was on right the first time." I sigh. "I still don't understand why I had to wear one and you don't."
He gives me that fox grin that always undoes whatever else I was planning to say. "Because I'm the blushing bride," he asserts.
I roll my eyes. "Does there have to be a 'bride'?"
"No, and you're right to call me on that stereotype," he says, as his small paws continue to fidget on my chest. "But still, it makes for a good excuse for me to not have to wear a tie. I swear, nothing bothers me more than an askew tie. It's all I'll ever be able to see in this picture if I don't get this right. . . ."
I put a large paw over his, and gently tug his fingers away from the offending black strip down my collarbone. "Marcus," I say, looking him in the eyes, "relax. This is just a picture."
He drops his hands at his sides, and I see the nerves. I'm trying real hard not to be amused by all of this, he planned today in its entirety and I honestly just went along with everything. I'd assumed he'd be Marcus. Calm, collected, in-charge. Like he would've been planning an event with his activism back in the day. Instead he's more nervous than I've ever seen him.
I would've been just as happy visiting a Justice of the peace and having a small party at home for the few family members and friends who were willing to show up for a wedding between two men, in the southern states. He put together this little ceremony, hired the photographer, etc. I didn't want to tell him no, because he clearly wanted it, but I assumed at least it would all make him happy. Instead he's a wreck.
The funny thing was, we'd had plans to have a private ceremony of our own up until a month ago that would have been a whole lot more casual. In that it also wouldn't have been legal. It just sort of. . . worked out. . .that a month away from our tenth anniversary together, our country decided we were allowed to finally legitimize the bond we'd had for so long.
I'm more of a 'mild' man, Marcus would say. I try not to get overly-emotional about much in life, and considering events from the past, that's probably for the best for me. But even I'm pretty elated today. Maybe a bit relieved, even. I don't get as fired-up over gay rights as Marcus does, but it does get tiring living with the constant knowledge that you're arbitrarily denied the right to be legally joined with the person you've loved and lived with for nearly a decade. Filing taxes this year is going to be really liberating. And yeah, I realize how ridiculous that statement sounds. But still.
Marcus is staring at the horizon, at the mountains beyond us that look down into the Mayfield Valley. He was the one who wanted to do this close to home, and I like the lodge he picked. It's nice. Scenic, cozy, not too expensive.
I know this all means so much more to him. He's fought for this for so long, on the front lines. So, I reach down and grip both his paws, then squeeze them. I don't really know what to say, but he's told me many times when he's like this, when he's a bundle of stress, that all he really needs is for me to be there for him. So I do that.
He looks back up at me. I smile down at him, and slip an arm around his waist. And I feel some of that tension leave him.
And then I see a flash, and hear a click.
We both turn. The photographer, a raccoon friend of Marcus's from college, gives us a toothy smile. "That was perfect!" he says.
Marcus blinks, looking dazed. "What? We - we weren't ready."
"That's why it was perfect," the photographer insists. "You finally relaxed. Looked more natural. That's what you want, trust me." He waves a paw. "I can take a few more if you want, but trust me, that's the one you're gonna put on the wall."
I smirk down at Marcus. "See? It's like taking a shot. Just gotta distract you, then it's over before you know it."
Marcus makes a face. "Don't you mock my fear of needles. I had a bad experience as a child, alright?"
I laugh. "Can we please just go to the reception now? I'm absolutely starving."
He hooks his arm through mine. "Admit it, the food is the whole reason you agreed to this."
"Ninety percent. At most," I insist. He rolls his eyes, and we start off down the hallway towards the reception hall. Before we get too far though, I lean down and kiss him. For once, it actually catches him off-guard.
"What was that for?" he asks, with that sort of lazy smile he gets after I kiss him sometimes.
"An apology," I say.
He looks confused. "An apol-"
His words are cut off as I nab him about the waist and heft him off the ground, a mere few feet away from the door into the reception hall. He laughs, then kicks and fights when he realizes we're going towards the door.
"Don't you dare!" he cries out. "You're only supposed to do this back home!"
"Oh no, this is FAR more embarrassing," I smirk.
He's still fighting and squirming (and laughing) when I open the door, and carry him bride-style into the room full of our friends and family. I don't think I've ever seen his ears flush quite so pink.
But the nerves are gone for the rest of the night.
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