"Right, right. I'll work on it," he murmured. He exhaled, holding me tighter. After a beat of silence, he asked, "Is this what it feels like to breathe normally? To not worry about everything, all the time? It's fuckin' weird."
I smiled into his neck. "Get used to it, sweetheart."
Another breath whooshed out. "Give me a couple of months to figure it all out. To figuremeout, okay?"
"And then what?"
The string quartet ended a drowsy bit of background music and launched full force into a louder, more dramatic piece that prompted the guests to stand. The doors in the back of the room swept open, revealing Andy and Patrick, their hands clasped. With his eyes narrowed and his lips twisted in an expression I couldn't decipher, he stared at her as everyone shifted to face them. She met his stare with an arched eyebrow and a wisp of a smile. Our spot near the back allowed me to see her cock her head toward the altar and his slow nod in response. As they walked down the aisle together, a knot of emotion filled my throat.
"And then what?" I repeated, my words high and watery.
He hooked his finger around my belt, jerking me toward him. He leaned down, his lips hovering over mine. "And then, if I haven't made a bigger mess and you still tolerate me, we'll find an aisle we want to walk down together."
"I'm going to require a better proposal than that," I said.
He brushed his lips against mine in a too-quick kiss. "And you'll get it. You'll get it all."
Epilogue
Tom
The next summer
I counted outfive pairs of boxer briefs and then another five. One set of posh, one set of hiking-grade. One did not hike mountains in the same underwear worn under tuxedos. It simply was not done. Wes didn't know it yet but I was correcting his underwear selection, not that he adhered to my organizational philosophies on the matter.
"How many ties do I need again?" he called from the other side of our apartment. We still lived in the South End, in the only place that'd ever felt like mine. Now, it was ours.
"I gave you a checklist," I replied.
"Pretend for a second you didn't."
I set the appropriate allotment of undies beside his open suitcase. "Four, not including a bowtie."
"Four? Why four?"
"Where is your checklist?" I asked. "I put all the information on your checklist."
Footsteps sounded on the hardwood floor and soon, Wes's broad shoulders filled the doorway to our bedroom. Because Jesus loved me very much, Wes was wearing a beanie and boxers, and not a stitch more save for the ties draped over his arm. That limb still gave him trouble but it'd improved in the year and a half since the injury. And it wasn't like I minded scrubbing his back for him when he needed it.
He held out his hand, ticking his fingers as he said, "A tie for Kaisall's wedding, a bowtie for Riley's wedding, and then maybe another one for while we're in Switzerland. How do you get four from that?"
"Add in two rehearsal dinners, babe," I said. "You should probably grab one more for backup."
He glanced down at his hand, scowling as if he found this tally personally insulting. "What is there to rehearse?"
"Nothing, really. It's just an opportunity to have another party."
"That I understand," he replied, crossing the room with his arm extended in my direction. "Make this easier on me and choose the ones you like."
"I told you I'd pack for both of us," I murmured as I made my selections. "You've had more than enough going on these past few weeks."
"You're one to talk." Wes collected the ties from me and set them beside his suitcase. He dropped the remainders on his bedside table. "You've had planning board and preservation society meetings every night."
"It's not like you were home alone, honey. You were plenty busy running around with the spy boys in Virginia all week and in Quebec the week before," I countered.
He studied the piles of clothing beside his suitcase. "They arenotmy spy boys. They're Will's. They're Kaisall's. Not mine."
"You can admit you like working with them," I said as lightly as I could manage.
