Not far off the mark, really. Though it had been more than that. So much more than that. Especially for those ashes.
“Yes, I took her with me.” Sam folded his hands in front of himself, patient but firm. “She would have hated that urn. She would have loved a road trip. I sprinkled her ashes all over the western United States. She’s still on Mitch’s dash, and now she’s been all over the continent. To Mexico. To Canada. She’s been more places than I have. That seemed a lot better end for her than sitting in an ugly urn on your shelf.”
Mitch got ready for a fight, but to his surprise, Delia deflated. After fishing a tissue out of her purse, she dabbed at her eyes. “I was going to give you the urn. As a wedding present.”
Sam softened, but not much. “That was nice of you. Except she wasn’t ever yours to give. She was my mom.”
Now Delia’s eyes lit with anger. “She was my sister.”
“Yeah. And you loved her about as much as you love me. Which is to say, not at all.”
Delia turned to stare out the kitchen window. They stood there awkwardly, nobody sure what to do next. Then Delia spoke.
“When Sharyle was pregnant with you, I was pregnant too.”
Sam blinked. “But you weren’t even married to Uncle Norman yet.”
Delia kept wiping her eyes. “We got engaged because I was pregnant. Neither one of us was ready, but after watching Sharyle go through everything with no husband or boyfriend at all, Norm felt he should do the right thing. We didn’t really love each other, but we decided that would come with time. So we announced our engagement and made plans. We set it up so we’d have the wedding before I’d show, but not so soon it appeared that’s what it was. We planned to tell people after the ceremony, quietly—people would figure it out, but at least we could have a nice wedding first, without a scandal.” She swallowed hard and shut her eyes. “Three weeks before our wedding day I miscarried.”
Mitch’s breath caught in his chest. He watched Delia’s shoulders shake, saw her sorrow, and for the first time in his life, he felt pity for Sam’s aunt.
Sam looked like he wanted to go to her but didn’t dare. “Delia,” he said, but that was all he could manage.
A bottle uncorked, she kept going. “We never told anyone about it, so no one knew. Sharyle did, but I couldn’t stand to see her because she was almost ready to give birth to you, and now I was empty. Empty for good—I couldn’t have any more children, they said. So now I was getting married, barren, to a man I didn’t love and who didn’t love me. We thought about calling it off, but we were both too scared of what people would say. So we got married. Meanwhile, Sharyle had you out of wedlock with no support and developed MS, and then cancer, and yet I envied her every single day.” She bit her lip, let out a short sob, and shook her head. “I didn’t want to hate you. But I couldn’t love you. It hurt too much.”
Sam went up behind her, shut his eyes, and hugged her.
She wept silently, brushing his hands as they closed over her arms, as if she didn’t dare touch him. “I can’t come to your wedding,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.”
Sam patted her forearm. “It’s okay.”
She shook her head. “It’s not. But I still can’t.” She extricated herself, shaking, from his embrace. “I’ll take the urn back, because it still reminds me of her. But I’ll send you a check. And I’ll think of you on your big day.”
“Thank you.” Mitch took Sam’s hand in his.
She hugged Sam awkwardly and touched Mitch’s arm. Then she scooped up the urn, and she left.
They stood in the kitchen, staring at the door where she’d disappeared.
“Wow,” Sam said at last.
Mitch kissed his hair and led him back to the couch. “Let’s finish our show.”
They sat back down together, holding each other close. Though while they both stared at the television, Mitch knew neither one of them could think about anything but Delia Biehl and her sad, lonely story.
It wasn’t something Mitch or anybody else could fix, that sorrow. But it was something he’d never forget.
Chapter Eight
VALENTINE’S DAY—MITCH and Sam’s wedding day—dawned bright, cool, and free of precipitation. Mitch had worried they would have bad weather, as they’d been saying there could be a blizzard just a few days before. Randy had admitted the wedding was out of town and had explained to them in no uncertain terms that if there was a blizzard, they were going to Des Moines ahead of it and camping out. The storm tracked north, however, and in fact temperatures were due to hit the forties by the afternoon. Which seemed to relieve Randy. When Mitch asked why, Randy told him. And Mitch about fell over.
“We’re getting married outside? In February?”
Randy shrugged, but his expression made it plain this hadn’t been his initial plan. “It’ll work out, I promise. And you’ll love it. Sam especially.”
That was all he’d give them, refusing to say anything about the wedding, making them a brunch neither Sam nor Mitch was hungry for. When Randy got tired of their fidgeting, he kicked their asses at poker until, at one, Randy glanced at the clock and slapped Mitch on the ass.
“Go get into your monkey suit. We’ve got a drive ahead of us.”
Everyone wore a suit, Randy included—dark gray, because Randy said black washed Mitch out too much. The suits, all three of them, were the only thing Mitch had paid for, because Randy wouldn’t let him touch anything else.
Sam came out of the bedroom with his bow tie dangling from his collar. He looked wickedly delicious, though he also appeared to be frustrated. “Can’t we get dressed once we get down there?”
“No. We’re heading directly to the ceremony.” Randy took over the tie, his own already knotted expertly at his throat. “And don’t try to tell me your suit is uncomfortable. It’s tailored to fit you perfectly, and it’s quality wool.”
He had to help Mitch with his tie too—even if Mitch had known how to do the tie, he was pretty sure his fingers wouldn’t have worked. He was getting married. In a matter of hours. Somewhere in Des Moines.
Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.
Sam seemed to be having much the same revelation, and once again, they couldn’t have functioned without Randy. He ushered them through packing overnight bags, then gave up and finished it himself as Sam and Mitch stared stupidly at each other in the kitchen. He drove, taking them in his van, though he surprised them by swinging over to pick up Emma and Steve, who also had an overnight bag and were dressed in their wedding finery. Emma wore a red velvet gown that looked like elegant sin beneath a beautiful faux-fur wrap, and Steve had a gray suit that matched everyone else’s.
Having them along was a coup because Emma and Randy flirted, Randy and Steve flirted, Emma and Sam flirted, and eventually they got Mitch to loosen up to wisecrack a bit too. Mostly, though, he sat stunned by the knowledge that he was riding to his wedding.
It wasn’t that he was having second thoughts, not at all—it was that never in his wildest dreams had he imagined, ever, that this would happen. When he’d been able to pretend he was straight, he hadn’t thought of marrying anyone, and as soon as he admitted he was queer, he gave up all hope. When he’d grown up, that wasn’t something anybody so much as wished for. Even when things like marriage equality started to be whispered, Mitch knew he wasn’t the kind of guy another guy would want to settle down with.
Except he was. He was the guy Sam wanted to marry. The guy Sam would marry. Today.
By the time they pulled into Des Moines, Mitch was so overwhelmed he felt dizzy. Sam took his hand, kissed it, left his captain’s chair to climb on Mitch’s lap, and whispered encouragements in his ear. Mitch shut his eyes and clung to Sam, letting his sweet voice chase away the last of his shadows.
He was good enough. He was an all right guy. He could have a happily ever after.
So long as it was with Sam Keller.
The van stopped, and Randy killed the engine. “We’re her
e. Emma texted the guys, so they should be along shortly. Oh look. There’s Kyl now.”
Sam shifted on Mitch’s lap and turned toward the front of the vehicle. “Randy, where are we getting married?”
“Here.” Randy pointed through the dash. “Right here.”
Mitch leaned over, followed Randy’s gesture, and his heart seized in his chest as he gazed at the Iowa State Capitol.
He’d seen it before, the outside many times as he’d driven through Des Moines, the inside once with Sam when they’d gone to a rally at the statehouse when the legislature had threatened to take away marriage equality. Sam had been full of facts and stories about the building and the state of Iowa in general. How the dome was real gold. How Iowa had allowed interracial marriage before the Civil War and graduated the first female lawyer in the United States. Sam was proud of his home state, very proud.
Of course Randy had known about that.
Except right now Sam wasn’t looking proud. He was whey-faced and trembling, his hand over his mouth.
Randy touched Sam’s arm. “Peaches, you okay? Did I do okay? Was this bad?”
Sam nodded, accepted a tissue from Emma, and began to cry.
Randy opened his mouth, and Mitch could see the I’m sorry forming, but he shook his head and held up a hand. Then he put his palm on Sam’s back, rubbing it soothingly, kissing his shoulder as he explained. “When he was little, Sam would come to Des Moines with his mom for her doctor’s appointments, and they would stop and have picnics here, because Sam called the capitol building his palace.” He slid his hand up to Sam’s neck, teasing the back of his hair. “He told her he’d live there someday and have big parties outside, and she could come too.”
Sam cried harder, then took hold of Randy’s face and kissed him firmly on the mouth. “Thank you,” he whispered, then kissed Randy again, once on each cheek.
“You’re welcome,” Randy whispered back, and when he pulled away, his eyes were pretty damp.
Heart swelling as he watched the scene, Mitch thought of his plans for later in the evening and knew he’d made the right decision.
They got out of the van and headed up the steps to what in the summer was a floral dais but right now was a concrete oasis surrounded by drifts of slightly dirty snow. The steps had been cleared, and they walked up them together to the small patio area where a cluster of men and women Mitch didn’t know stood.
Randy waved and greeted everyone warmly, hugging them and kissing the ladies on the cheek. He took Mitch and Sam by the arm and introduced them around—Mary, Jess, Jo, Kyl, Liam, and Mark, who had apparently been helping him set up the reception and had come now just to see the show. Two of them had official functions: Jo was taking photos, and Kyl would be their officiant. Everyone smiled and told Mitch and Sam congratulations.
“We’ve been helping Randy plan for months,” Liam explained, putting his arm around Mark. “We couldn’t miss the main event.”
“Everything’s set up at the Saddle,” Mark told Randy. “If it had been warmer, I think more people would have come over to watch.”
“Thanks.” Randy glanced around. “Okay. Sam and Mitch, you’re going to ditch your coats and gloves, because the pictures won’t be as nice with your clunky parkas. But this won’t take long, so you can suffer through a few shivers. Jo, you set to play photographer?”
Both Jo and Mary had long blonde hair—Jo was the younger one, wearing a red knit beret and a rainbow-colored scarf. She held up a professional-grade camera. “Locked and loaded.”
Mary stepped forward, extending her arms. “I’ll hold your coats.”
“You can’t take them all,” Jess said, taking point beside her. “Here, let me take them for you. Liam, you help.”.
And then Sam and Mitch’s wedding happened.
Randy and Emma walked up the stairs together, looking like they were heading to an Oscar gala, not a gay wedding on the west terrace of the state capitol, and Sam and Mitch followed after. They stood holding hands before Kyl, a charming bear of a man who spoke politely but had a mischievous glint in his eye, especially when he smiled. Randy stood beside Mitch, and Emma stood beside Sam.
No one held flowers, but Emma carried the pretty glass chest Sam had bought in Arizona that held the last of his mother’s ashes.
Kyl said a few words, not that Mitch had brain enough to hear them. They were variants on the standard we are gathered here today, tailored though to Sam and Mitch, talking about how they started with one adventure and now embarked on another, a life promised together, forever.
“And now for the vows,” Kyl said.
Hand shaking, Mitch withdrew the notecard from his pocket and began to read, doing his best to occasionally meet Sam’s gaze.
“I never thought I would meet someone like you, Sam.” He let out a shaking breath, almost dropping the card from nerves. “I never thought I’d get married, never thought I’d have a real family. But then I met you, and you made me believe. You made me believe in all kinds of things I didn’t think were possible. Love. Partners. Happily ever after.” He squeezed Sam’s hand, emotion burning in his chest as he took the ring Randy passed him and slipped it onto Sam’s finger. “I love you, Sam Keller. I promise to love you until I die, to do everything I can to make you happy. If I can give it to you, I will. Because being with you, seeing you smile, makes me happier than I ever knew I could be.”
Sam kept hold of Mitch’s hand, kissed it, then withdrew a card of his own.
“Mitch, before I met you, my life seemed so dull and hopeless. But one week with you changed everything. You helped me see the world in a new way. You helped me see myself in a new way. You made me fall in love with you harder than I ever thought I could love anyone—and I had some seriously romantic ideas before I got started.” He glanced at Emma, who produced his ring, which he slipped onto Mitch’s finger. “You call me Sunshine, but you’re my star, Mitch Tedsoe. I love you, and I always will, forever and ever.” He lowered his card and smiled at Mitch like a sun. “It’s going to be easy to make me happy, because all I need to feel that way is to be with you.”
Kyl placed his bare hands over the top of their joined ones. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you Sam and Mitch Keller-Tedsoe.” He gave their wrists a squeeze and winked as he withdrew. “Congratulations.”
Everyone cheered and clapped as Mitch and Sam went into each other’s arms and sealed their marriage with a kiss.
Married. I’m married. To Sam. The thought rang in Mitch’s head as he posed for photos and accepted hugs and kisses from total strangers who made it clear they were about to become some of his closest friends in Iowa.
It had actually happened. He’d asked Sam to marry him, Sam had said yes, and now they were married.
Legally. Real. It was real. Completely, totally real. Forever.
When it was Randy’s turn to embrace him, Mitch held his best friend tight, clutching at the back of his suit jacket and burying his face in Randy’s neck as he tried to collect himself enough to speak. He couldn’t manage it, though, and eventually Randy took pity on him and kissed his ear.
“You’re fine, you goofy Old Man. You’re just fine.”
Mitch exhaled on a shuddering breath. “Thank you. Thank you for this. For everything.”
“You haven’t even seen the reception yet. Down the street at a place called the Blazing Saddle. We have the whole back half of the bar. And as it happens, it’s leather night.”
Mitch laughed and squeezed Randy again before letting him go. He took his coat back from Mary, who gave him a hug and a kiss, then went to claim his husband’s arm so they could go to their party.
THE BLAZING SADDLE, Randy learned in his preparations for the reception, had been in the East Village of Des Moines for thirty years, weathering cultural and economic seismic shifts with a loyal, friendly clientele and its motto of always a double, never a cover. In his visits to the small but charming gay bar, Randy had met businessmen and blue collars, old queens
and sassy young things. From what Randy could gather, gay clubs came and went all around them, but the Saddle was the Iowa original, steadfast and unwavering. The pride parade passed down its street, and the burgeoning Saturday night party and Sunday festival happened right outside its front doors.
As Randy ushered Sam and Mitch through those doors on Valentine’s Day evening, the entire bar let out a cheer, raising their glasses in toast and tossing confetti. Jo made them pause for a few photos—Mary had the cake ready, which Sam and Mitch sliced together before performing the traditional circus of stuffing it in each other’s faces. Once that act was completed and photographed for posterity, the rest of the cake was passed to the small but enthusiastic crowd. Randy led Sam and Mitch to the front part of the bar, letting Jo get plenty of pictures of them milling around. He gave the bartender a word, and Kylie’s “All I See” played over the sound system. Everyone cheered as Sam and Mitch had their first dance together on the small stage by the front window.
Then, with all the niceties seen to and standard photo ops achieved, Randy led the wedding party into the back room, where Liam, Mark, and Kyl waited with the accouterments for the next stage of the game.
“Time to change,” Randy told them, as the door shut and he began to strip out of his suit. He nodded at Liam, who held out a garment bag to Mitch. “Levi’s and leather for you. Mark brought along an assortment of accessories. I’ll let you decide if you go harness or vest. You, however.” Randy pointed at Sam. “Go with Liam, who has something special set up on the stage.”
“Stage?” Sam echoed, but Liam only smiled and took his hand, leading Sam away.
“You’re going to love it. God, I wish I could wear it. But I’m wearing my puppy outfit, and wings just don’t work with my gear.”
“Wings?” Sam glanced over his shoulder at Randy, wide-eyed, but Randy only grinned.
Randy put on his leather pants and vest, knowing he’d have to peel them off with a crowbar by the time the night was over, but not really caring because he was pretty sure Mitch and Sam were only having a leather wedding reception just the once. The girls took turns commandeering the bathrooms to get into their costumes—Jo wore a fetching corset, Jess a gorgeous tit-centric leather gown. Mary declined to change, focusing instead on helping Emma into the outfit Jo had picked out for her: a gorgeous black sheath with studded collar and long leather gloves. Jo gave her a flogger too, which was a bit of a mixed message with the collar, but from the way Steve—in jeans and a leather vest—stilled as she practiced a swing under Jo’s careful tutelage, Randy thought it would probably work out okay.
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