Chapter 93: Wedding Planning
Erica’s arms are wrapped tightly around me as we sit on the plush leather sofa in the living room. Her chin rests on my shoulder, providing a sense of comfort amidst the nervous energy permeating the room.
Across from us, Mom and Vivian are hunched over the coffee table, surrounded by a sea of papers. Wedding invitations in various shades of cream and ivory are scattered across the polished wood surface, their gold and silver embossing catching the light. Thick binders filled with fabric swatches, flower arrangements, and cake designs are stacked precariously at the edge of the table.
Mom’s fingers dance nervously over the papers, her brow furrowed in concentration as she sorts through it all, woefully underqualified. Her usually immaculate appearance is slightly disheveled, a few strands of hair have escaped her neat bun, and there’s a smudge of ink on her cheek that she hasn’t noticed.
Vivian, for her part, is methodically working her way through a stack of vendor contracts, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. She occasionally mutters under her breath, shaking her head at some perceived inadequacy in the catering proposals or floral arrangements.
Off to the side, Rachel reclines in an armchair, a delicate porcelain teacup cradled in her hands. She sips her tea with an air of calm detachment, observing the chaos around her with a mixture of amusement and mild interest. The steam from her tea rises in lazy spirals, adding to the already charged atmosphere in the room.
‘I really genuinely am just not a fan of Rachel.’
Brooke stands behind Mom and Vivian, leaning over their shoulders to peer at the papers spread out before them.
Vivian looks up from the papers, her blue eyes meeting mine with a mixture of confusion and concern. She pushes her reading glasses up onto her forehead, rubbing the bridge of her nose where they’ve left faint indentations.
“Jason,” she says, her voice tinged with exasperation, “why aren’t you more worked up about this? It’s your wedding we’re planning here. Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, freaking out a little?”
I shrug, feeling the comforting weight of Erica’s arms around me. “I just want to get married to Erica,” I say simply. “I’d be happy to do it at a courthouse or whatever.”
The words come out easily, without hesitation. It’s the truth. The details of the ceremony, the flowers, the cake, none of it matters as much as the fact that at the end of it all, Erica will be my wife.
Vivian sighs heavily, shaking her head. Her blonde hair catches the light, shimmering like spun gold. “That sounds like such a girl thing to say,” she mutters, but there’s a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips.
Erica’s arms tightened around me, her breath warm against my ear as she spoke. “It’s not like we want a lot of people to show up,” she says, her voice low and intimate. I can hear the smile in her words and feel the way her body relaxes against mine at the thought of our impending marriage.
Mom and Vivian exchange a glance, their expressions softening. There’s a hint of pity in their eyes as they look at me, but it’s overshadowed by understanding and affection.
“You’re right,” Mom says, her voice gentle. She reaches across the table, her hand coming to rest on mine. Her touch is warm and comforting, a reminder of all the love and support that surrounds us. “The most important thing is that you two are happy.”
‘Classic lesbian mom W.’
Vivian nods in agreement, her earlier frustration melting away. “We just want to make sure it’s special for you both,” she adds, her voice thick with emotion. “You deserve a perfect day.”
I turn to look at Erica, taking in her radiant beauty. “Who do we even want there, anyway?” I ask softly.
Erica’s response is immediate and commanding. “Just this room,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument. Her eyes sweep across the space, taking in Mom, Vivian, Rachel, and Brooke. There’s a fierce protectiveness in her gaze, a silent declaration that these people are enough, that they’re all we need.
I can’t help but smile at her decisiveness. But then other faces flash through my mind, friends who’ve stood by us, who’ve become an integral part of our lives.
“No,” I drawl, my voice playful but insistent. “I want Justine there too she’ll be my best…. woman i guess.” The image of Justine’s fiery red hair and mischievous grin fills my mind, and I can’t imagine our wedding day without her infectious laughter. “And of course we need your friends, Tara and Nikki.”
As I mentioned, Justine, I noticed a subtle shift in Brooke’s demeanor. Her shoulders slump slightly, and a shadow seems to pass over her face. The bright smile that had been there moments ago faded, replaced by a look of quiet disappointment. Her hazel eyes, usually so warm and expressive, now hold a hint of sadness that tugs at my heart.
Brooke’s voice is soft, almost hesitant, as she speaks. “I... I can’t be your best woman?”
The realization of my oversight hits me like a punch to the gut. How could I have forgotten Brooke? Guilt washes over me, and I scramble to rectify my mistake.
“Oh, Brooke!” I exclaim, my words tumbling out in a rush. “Of course you can! You can be co-best women with Justine!”
Brooke’s expression softens, a gentle smile replacing the hurt that had momentarily clouded her features. She shakes her head, her long brown hair swaying with the movement. “No, it’s fine,” she says, her voice warm and reassuring. “Justine should be your best woman. She’s been such a big part of your life, especially recently. I’m just happy to be there for your special day.”
There’s a finality in her tone that leaves no room for further discussion on the matter.
As i go back to thinking about who else should be invited I am struck by a truly wondrous idea. I sit up straighter, excitement bubbling up inside me. “Hey,” I say, breaking the silence, “could we get Irma to officiate?”
As I suggest Irma officiating, I can almost see the wheels turning in everyone’s heads. The room falls silent for a moment; the only sound is the soft rustle of papers as a gentle breeze from the open window disturbs the carefully arranged wedding plans.
“Jason,” she begins, her voice a mixture of patience and exasperation, “I just don’t think she’d even be qualified. And then we’d have to invite Louis and Skye.”
She pauses, her fingers idly tracing patterns on my arm as she gathers her thoughts. “Plus, Skye and Tara almost got into a fight at the graduation party. If we invited those three to the wedding, I’d feel like I couldn’t drink because I’d be more worried about your safety.”
I nod slowly, feeling the tension in Erica’s body, understanding the depth of her worry. “I think that’s fair,” I say softly, leaning back into her embrace.
My eyes drift to Brooke, standing quietly by the coffee table. Her presence has been a constant, steady and unobtrusive, throughout this entire discussion. A thought strikes me, and I sit up a little straighter.
“Why not Brooke, then?” I suggest, my voice filled with renewed hope. “She could officiate.”
Erica turns to look at Brooke, her blue eyes scanning the other woman’s face thoughtfully. After a moment, she nods. “I’m cool with that,” she says.
We all turn to Brooke, waiting to see her reaction. She stands there, her posture stiff and uncertain, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. Her hazel eyes dart between us, wide with surprise and a hint of panic. The weight of our collective gaze seems to press down on her, and I can almost see the internal struggle playing out across her features.
“I... I don’t know,” Brooke stammers. “That’s a lot of responsibility. What if I mess it up? What if I ruin your special day?”
But as her eyes meet mine, something shifts. I can feel the intensity of my gaze, the eager hope that must be written plainly across my face.
Brooke’s expression softens, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Okay,” she says softly, nodding. “If it means that much to you, Jason, I’ll do it. I’d be honored to officiate your wedding.”
The relief and joy that wash over me are palpable. I beam at Brooke, gratitude shining in my eyes. “Thank you,” I say, my voice thick with emotion.
Vivian lets out a long, heavy sigh of relief, slumping back in her chair. “Well, that’s one thing down,” she says, running a hand through her blonde hair. Her blue eyes, so like Erica’s, sparkle with renewed energy as she surveys the chaos of wedding plans spread out before her.
Then, as if struck by sudden inspiration, Vivian sits up straighter. “You know,” she begins, her voice taking on a thoughtful tone, “since there’s practically nobody coming to the wedding besides us, we might as well have it in the backyard.”
As soon as the words leave Vivian’s mouth, a memory surfaces, clear and vivid. “Wait a minute,” I say, my brow furrowing in confusion. “Wasn’t that the original plan all along? To have it here in the backyard?”
“No, typically, for a Knight wedding, we’d be looking at a guest list of several hundred people. The backyard, as spacious as it is, might not comfortably accommodate that many guests.”
I can’t help but laugh, the sound echoing through the room. “Vivian,” I say, shaking my head in amusement, “have you seen your backyard lately? It’s bigger than our entire high school campus!”
“You’re right, you’re right,” she concedes. “I suppose I’ve gotten so used to it that I sometimes forget just how expansive it really is.”
A thought occurs to me. “Besides,” I add, my tone becoming more serious, “we don’t even know hundreds of people. Who would we even invite?”
At my words, Vivian’s expression shifts to one of concern and something that almost resembles... guilt? She leans back in her chair, her fingers absently tracing the pattern on the armrest.
“Well,” she begins, her voice taking on a more formal tone, “usually for a Knight wedding, we’d invite a lot of business associates, local politicians, influential figures in the community. It’s as much a networking event as it is a celebration of love.”
She pauses, her gaze drifting to the window, looking out over the very backyard we’ve been discussing. When she turns back to me, her eyes are filled with a mixture of worry and understanding.
“But...” she continues, her voice softening, “given recent events, it might be better to skip all that. To keep things small and intimate.”
“It’s okay though!” I blurt out in a panic. “We can invite all those people if that’s what’s expected. I don’t want to be the one to mess up Knight family traditions.”
Erica’s arms tightened around me, her voice firm as she said, “No.” The single word carries the weight of finality.
Vivian and Mom exchange glances before nodding in agreement with Erica. “A small ceremony is perfect,” Mom says softly.
I glance at Brooke, noticing the relief that washes over her face. She seems grateful that no one is pushing for a grand affair.
“I just... I don’t want to be the one to fuck up the Knight’s name.” I admit my voice is small.
Vivian leans forward, her blue eyes intense as she meets my gaze. “Nonsense,” she says, her tone gentle but firm. “Husbands like you are extremely rare, Jason. We would do anything to accommodate you.”
Her words warmed me, easing some of the anxiety that had gripped me. “I really don’t mind,” I begin, but Erica cuts me off.
“No,” she says again, her voice even sterner this time. She reaches up and pinches my cheek gently, the gesture both affectionate and admonishing. “We’re having a small wedding, and that’s final.”
Rachel, who has been silently observing the proceedings with an air of detached amusement, suddenly leans forward in her armchair. She sets her delicate teacup down on the side table with a soft clink, the sound drawing everyone’s attention. Her amber eyes, usually so calm and collected, now sparkle with curiosity as she turns her gaze to Erica and me.
“So,” Rachel begins, her voice carrying a hint of excitement, “where are you two planning to honeymoon? I hear the Maldives are absolutely breathtaking this time of year. Or perhaps a romantic getaway to Paris?”
The question hangs in the air, and I feel a flutter of anticipation in my chest. I turn to Erica, eager to hear her thoughts on our post-wedding adventure. But to my surprise, Erica’s expression doesn’t match my excitement. Instead, her brow furrows slightly, her blue eyes clouding with what looks like concern.
“We probably won’t,” Erica says, her voice matter-of-fact.
I blink, confusion washing over me. “We won’t?” I echo, my voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and disappointment.
Erica turns to me, her expression softening as she takes in my bewildered look. She reaches out, her fingers intertwining with mine, her touch warm and reassuring. “I don’t trust any other country or state at this point,” she explains, her voice low and serious.
Her words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of recent events. The room seems to grow quieter, and the cheerful atmosphere of wedding planning gives way to a more somber mood. I can see the others exchanging glances, a mix of understanding and concern in their eyes.
Finally, I shrug, offering Erica a small smile. “I’m fine with whatever,” I say, my voice soft but sincere. “As long as I’m with you, it doesn’t matter where we are.”
Erica’s lips curl into a smirk, her blue eyes glittering with a mixture of amusement and arrogance. She turns to address the room, her voice carrying a hint of smugness as she declares, “He’ll be happy as long as I’m fucking his brains out.”
The words hang in the air, bold and unapologetic. I feel a flush creep up my neck, spreading across my cheeks in a warm wave. But despite the heat in my face, I can’t help but shrug, a small smile playing at the corners of my lips.
“My life is a honeymoon,” I say, my voice soft but filled with contentment. “So that’s fair.”
The room seems to hold its breath for a moment, the air thick with a mixture of amusement, embarrassment, and something else, a palpable sense of the deep, all-consuming love between Erica and me.
Brooke is the first to break the silence. She lets out a long-suffering sigh, shaking her head in a mixture of exasperation and fondness. “You two really are too much,” she says as if exhausted with us.
‘She used to say we were disgusting. I see those princess pizza trips are really paying off.’
Rachel leans forward in her chair. “I’m happy my little sister is so open about it,” she says, her voice carrying a note of pride. She raises her teacup in a mock toast, a grin spreading across her face.
Vivian, for her part, is eyeing Erica with an unmistakable look of pride. Her blue eyes, so similar to her daughter’s, shine with approval and a touch of amusement.
Mom, ever the voice of practicality, turns to Erica with a raised eyebrow. “Remember,” she says, her tone a mixture of amusement and seriousness, “you promised me six grandkids.”