by Daryl Banner
“You’ll be the best,” whispers Brant, “because you already are one.”
“You still have that pic??” I lean back against him, the queasiness subsiding. “We can’t have too many ‘oops’ babies. We’ll have an army of little Brants and little Nells before we’re even married.”
Brant’s arms stiffen. “M-Married?”
“Oh, hush. It’s not us getting married today. You still gotta pass the test of my two bully brothers. No telling if you’ll get out of that alive.”
“You mean last Thanksgiving wasn’t the test? There’s more?”
I turn to face him. “There’s always more.” I give him a squeeze. “Let me freshen up, then our friends can marry and today will be a success.”
Brant smiles, gives me a light squeeze, then says, “Love you, babe.”
Just before he goes, I rise from the floor and call out, “Brant?”
He stops with his hand on the doorknob, lifting an eyebrow at me. In this still frame, he looks as handsome and charming as he did the first time I saw him—naked and hiding behind a screen in the back of the classroom. I remember it like it was just this morning. “Yeah?”
“When our kid grows up,” I tell him, take a breath, then finish, “I want … to get a dog.” A smile finds my face. “I think every child should have a dog. To protect them. Keep away the bullies and the baddies.”
Brant returns my smile knowingly, because he recognizes the true significance in what I’m saying. “You bet we’ll have ourselves a dog. Anything you want, baby.” He winks, then shuts the door behind him.
I clutch my belly, lost in a dream of the life growing within me. I’ll be a good mother, I reassure myself. Or … at least I will try.
Dessie
“I don’t care what you have to do,” Victoria says into her headset, “the fairy bouquets will be delivered on time. The wedding is about to—Y’know what? I’m hearing a lot of excuses and no answers.”
Through the mirror in front of me, Sam and I share a look as she continues to lace a blue ribbon through my hair. She bites her lip to keep from laughing. I find myself doing the same.
“I don’t care if you have to strap them to your back and bike here through a volcanic eruption. The wedding is going to start on time!”
I lean toward Sam and quietly ask her, “Is Nell okay?”
“Yeah,” Sam assures me softly. “She will be back any minute. Just a quick run to the restroom.”
“That ‘quick run’ was half an hour ago. Do you think—?”
Victoria pulls off her headset, sets it on the makeup counter, then growls, “Between the florist and your sister, I might kill someone.”
I laugh. “I think you could use a break. Stage Manager mode, off! Victoria-my-bestie mode, on! Cece works on her own time. If she’s still en route, it’s no biggie. She’ll see us at the reception afterwards.”
“Are you gonna drink that?” Victoria mumbles, nodding at a glass of wine Nell was given and apparently didn’t want a drop of. Without waiting for an answer, Victoria grabs it and downs the whole thing.
I study the side of her face for a long moment. “You’re just nervous because sexy Dirk and his pianist Lorenzo just arrived to set up for the reception,” I tease her, naming the two musicians from the Throng that she hired as the entertainment who I’ve worked with to perform some songs of my own—Dirk being the guitarist she might be obsessed with.
Victoria rolls her eyes, then says, “I’ll give you some space.” Then her face softens at once when she looks at me, as if seeing me for the first time. “You make such a beautiful Titania.”
“This was all you,” I remind her. “A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I’m not sure Clayton ever fully got behind the idea of being king of the fairies, but I think he’d look hot in such a costume.”
“He loves it,” Victoria insists. “And Brant makes a perfect Puck.”
“You mean Bottom, the perfect Ass,” I say, which makes us all—including Sam—laugh.
Victoria picks her headset back up and, likely with dreams of Dirk the guitarist floating in her eyes, dances out of the room, leaving Sam and I staring at the mirror in silence.
And in that mirror, I’m suddenly staring into my distant future. I see plays in New York, a musical in Berlin, a performance in Vancouver. Children. Family gatherings. Heartaches. Shouting matches. Forever.
Suddenly, I clutch Sam’s hand and squeeze too tight. “Sam, did I rush into this? Should we wait? Am I making a big mistake?”
After a second of mourning her hand, which I’m probably breaking, Sam pulls me to the mirror and brings our faces close, cheek to cheek. In classically odd Sam fashion, she speaks to me in perfect deadpan: “If anyone deserves the happiness that awaits you when you walk down that aisle, it’s you. Also, you’re queen of the fairies, so you have your husband tricking you into loving a donkey to look forward to. I mean, really, have you guys even read the play A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”
I hug her at once. The hug is so strong, Sam stiffens up like I plan to break her back, too. Then, just as quickly, she melts into the hug, squeezing me in return. “I’ve always counted on you to give it to me straight,” I tell her. “There’s a reason you’re my maid of honor.”
“After all you’ve given me,” Sam says back, “it’s the least I can do.”
Clayton
Sitting on the back steps, I stare at the screen where I’d typed out my vows, but I can’t seem to get my mouth around the words. There’s an imaginary sock lodged there, keeping any voice from coming out.
What a convenient day for an imaginary sock.
Someone drops onto the steps next to me. I turn to find Dmitri smiling tentatively back. He signs to me: Nice venue they got you set up in. Is this place owned by the School of Theatre, or by Doctor Thwaite himself?
He helped us secure this venue, I confirm with my hands. It’s like a damned castle. It’s owned by a benefactor and friend of Doctor Thwaite.
Dmitri chuckles, then gives a nod at my phone: Vows?
I sigh: I’m freaking out.
He shakes his head: You got this. It’s just the first day of the rest of your life. Which is every day, really. Imagine it’s only you and Dessie up there.
I stare at him like he’s crazy: What if I don’t speak loud enough? What if they don’t hear me? What if I sound weird and that’s what Dessie and her family remembers for the rest of our lives?
Dmitri slaps a hand on my back, then signs with one hand: She knows you. You know her. Just speak from your heart and you’ll be fine.
His words sink in. I give Dmitri’s thigh a hearty pat, then rise from the steps after pocketing my phone. He nods at me, and nothing needs to be signed for him to know I’m ready.
Just ten quick minutes later, I’m standing next to the officiant with my groomsmen—Eric, Dmitri, and my best man Brant. The room is decorated from one end to the other with all manner of lace and glass fairy ornaments. With the sunlight coming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, everything seems to glitter with the likeness of a fairy kingdom, of which I happen to be king.
And I’m about to marry its queen. My Dessie.
The bridesmaids come in one at a time: Nell, Victoria, and the maid of honor, Sam. When Dessie is walked down the aisle by her father, the sight of her is staggering. Her beautiful dress—Damn, that Victoria Li is brilliant—and her exquisite hair glisten, kissed by gems and flowers. The bouquet is made up of every color imaginable to feed the eyes.
When she stands next to me and turns my way, I can’t stop staring. She is beautiful beyond any of my expectations.
The proceedings are such a dream that most of the time, I hardly know what’s going on. I’m mesmerized by Dessie and let her take every lead. Dmitri signs the words of the officiant, but Dessie takes my full attention. When she signs her vows to me, they are simple and full of love: You were my everything since the first day we met. I can’t live the rest of my days without you by my side. So I suppose i
t’s a good thing we’re marrying today. I will always be yours, will always devote myself to you, and will be the best partner in this world that I can possibly be. She speaks them, too, for the benefit of the room.
But when it’s time for mine, I cannot make the words come out. I open my mouth, then close it, and I watch the anticipation in Dessie’s eyes. With my throat tightening up, I realize—after a few seconds of what I take to be a long, awkward silence in the hall—that I can’t speak.
So I sign: This vow is just for you, the love of my life, Dessie. My world was dark. You gave it light. My world was cold. You struck a fire in me. My world was silent … and you gave it song. For the rest of my days, I vow to give you everything you’ve given me, and more. I love you, now and always.
Dessie’s eyes are filled with tears when I’m through. It takes every bit of will to refrain from kissing until the officiant—through Dmitri’s interpreting hands—allows me to kiss my bride.
Hands in the whole hall go up into the air and wiggle in place—deaf applause—as I lean in to kiss Desdemona Lebeau-Watts, my wife.
Dmitri
The reception is noisy, but Sam’s presence at my side keeps me sane. We keep leaning into each other with some new, snarky thing to say about one of the guests neither of us know. We make up a story about them and pretend to know exactly who they are. It’s a fun game to pass the time.
Not that time needs any assistance. It’s flying by. Just minutes ago, Clayton and Dessie weren’t married. Now, they’re husband and wife. Just days ago, Sam and I were discussing our futures. Just months ago, we were still seniors at Klangburg University. Just years ago, Sam and I weren’t even talking. Where has all the time gone?
“Sam!” calls out Dessie. “Come over here! We need you for the big fairy photo thingy!”
Sam masks a playful roll of her eyes, then leans into me and says, “I’ll be back once I endure some girl-bonding torture,” before hopping out of her chair and scurrying off. She looks so damned cute in her dress, complemented by green butterflies in her dark, flowing hair.
“You two lovebirds tying the knot yet?” comes a voice—Eric’s voice, to be precise—as he steals the seat Sam just seconds ago vacated. “It’s gotta suck for you two, considering she’s taking off to—”
“Yeah, I know,” I cut him off a tad tersely. Really, I don’t want to talk about Sam going off to grad school, even if she’s going on a full ride and can’t possibly dream of turning such an opportunity down. It’s such a conflict of emotion; I’m so happy for her, yet can’t shake the sting of what two years’ distance will do to our relationship. We only just now started getting serious, and already she’s slipping away.
“The only one in our little gang to pursue a master’s,” mumbles Eric, shaking his head. “I guess I should be surprised, but I’m kinda not. She’s the most brilliant out of all of us, when you think on it.”
“She is,” I agree without a speck of doubt, watching her from across the room with dreams in my eyes. “That symphony she composed … her final piece … it was so incredible. I was in tears.”
“Obviously the professors thought so too, or else she wouldn’t have been offered a full ride at … whatever that school’s called in New York. Hey, she’ll be somewhat near Dessie and Clayton. Chloe, too. Haven’t you thought about chasing after her?”
“I don’t want to … smother,” mumbles Dmitri. “She needs to have her space to write music, to blossom, to learn. I’d just get in the way.”
Eric sighs. “You’re such a glutton for emotional torment. I guess it’s for the best. Sam would only satisfy one half of you, anyway.”
I shake my head. “You’re wrong. I don’t need a guy and a girl to satisfy me. What kind of greedy twat do you think I am? Sam, she’s something else. She’s everything to me. She fulfills me completely.”
Eric looks stunned by my words, and then tears sting his eyes. “Shit, you got me choked up,” he mutters. “Stupid weddings. I get so dumbly emotional. Ignore my idiot remarks. You two are made for each other.”
Just then, Bailey stumbles over to the table, tipsy, as he collapses into a nearby chair. “Ugh. This song. It’s so bad. I can’t dance to this.”
Eric snorts. “Yes, you can. And will.” He takes Bailey’s hand, pulls him back to his feet, then says, “And you’ll do it like this. Take Dmitri’s lead, as he always knows what to do—no matter what music’s thrown at him.” With that and a knowing wink my way, the pair of them waltz away, but remain in my view.
Which I guess is perfect, because all I’m staring at now are a bunch of happy couples on the dance floor, in chairs, by the wall … I’m simply surrounded by love in all of its successful forms.
And I’m pained by the failing one in my heart. If I truly love Sam, I will let her go to chase this dream of hers. The more I watch her from across the room, smiling with Dessie and Victoria and Nell, posing for the next photo that Brant eagerly takes, the more my heart swells.
Oh, Sam …
Brant
Aim. Focus. Flash. A hundred zillion photos later, and I have to say, my fingers are actually quite tired. Aim. Focus. Flash.
And my emotions have about taken as much of a workout today as I think they can handle. I’ve fought off crying, like, at least three times. My best friend is now married to the love of his life. My girlfriend is pregnant and no one knows but me. My old roommate Eric is a local playwrighting success. My other old roomie Dmitri has some awesome job interview for a magazine in town, though he’s iffy on taking it. His girl is chasing grad school dreams. Everyone’s future is burning bright.
And for the first time since I can remember, so is mine. In six more months, I’m going to be saying hello to a son or daughter.
My son or daughter.
It’s still so surreal. Maybe once we decide together to share the news with our friends, it’ll become less so. Maybe the reality will sink in and I’ll stop daydreaming through my life. It’s about time something came about that would root me, heart and body and soul, to the present.
Other than this camera. Aim. Focus. Flash.
The truth is, Nell doesn’t know that I’m working on a new project. I’m documenting Nell as she goes through this, photo by photo, and I’m titling it “Motherhood”. And every time I snap a photo of her and see her smile into the flash, another tiny secret gets pocketed away.
I’m so fucking in love with her. I wish there was a way to put that into a photograph. No image can capture how I feel, not truly. Maybe that’s why I keep taking photos—chasing the impossible one, forever.
“You have a good eye, Brant.”
I look up from the lens. Chloe stands there in all her black-lipstick glory, looking slightly awkward like she plans to bolt at any second. I take her compliment to heart right away. After all, she’s been a dick to me for so long, I have to grab any rope she throws my way. “Thanks.”
“And also,” she goes on, “I’d … kind of like to apologize to you for being a bitch. Like, all these years. I’m sorry.”
I blink. That’s not at all what I was expecting.
“And I want to wish you well before I go,” she explains further. “I’m trading the east coast for the west. You don’t know this because we don’t talk, but I have a contact in the film industry. I’m pursuing some work out there. Y’know, in the scene.” She shuffles uncomfortably.
I nod encouragingly at her. “That’s great! I … wish you the best.”
“Thanks. Goodbye, Brant.” She turns to leave.
“And …” I call out. She stops and turns, lifting an eyebrow. “I … I want to apologize for … being an asshole back when we dated. I understand why you treated me the way you did over the years. I’ve learned from it. Thank you for being hard on me. I deserved it.”
Chloe gives me a long, appraising look. Suddenly appearing quite satisfied, she replies, “No, you didn’t.” Then, with a crooked smile, she spins and saunters away, her heels clacking along the tile.
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Pleasantly touched by that, I find myself smiling when I return my attention to the room. It’s funny how some things can come full circle, even our silliest mistakes, shortcomings, or total fuck-ups. There’s a million paths through the woods, and all of them arrive at the same destination somehow. It’s just the magic of life.
And just then, I catch Nell crossing the room on her way toward me, a seductive smile on her face. No one in this room knows she’s carrying a beautiful new life within her, no one except me.
And it’s this tiny secret between us that I choose to document, bringing my camera back up to my eye to capture it. Aim. Focus.
Flash.
Sam
After Dessie’s done with me, I stand back and watch her for a while. I always thought Dessie’s family was so beautiful. But seeing them together—her joyful father, her tall and regal mother, her mini-mom and sister Cece, and now her hunky husband Clayton—really warms my soul ceaselessly. I can’t stop watching her, mesmerized by the love that so clearly radiates between them.
I have that kind of love, and it’s been burning in me for four years. I would never have believed that such a feeling was possible to exist in me. I made fun of lovers my whole life. Now, I’m the grossest kind. I kiss in public. Yes, with tongue. I hold Dmitri’s hand. I cuddle with him in movie theaters. I’m my own worst nightmare.
And I love every second of it.
I nearly miss when Dessie makes the announcement that she’s going to throw the bouquet. All the single ladies are called to the dance floor for the throwing of the bouquet, which Victoria so intricately wove together and designed.
I turn and catch Dmitri’s eyes. He’s still sitting at our table across the room. Dmitri smirks and gives a nod at the crowd of girls who’ve formed, as if suggesting I go join in. I scoff at him and shake my head, as if I’d ever deign to be one of those idiots leaping forth to wrestle with other women in hopes of coming out from underneath some dress-wearing football-player pileup with a bouquet for my trophy.