"But what if I do? What if my nose gets itchy? What if—"
I put my hands on his shoulders, making him look at me. "Caleb, listen to me. You've practiced this a hundred times. You know exactly what to do. You're going to walk down the aisle nice and slow, stand next to me and Ivan, and when the officiant asks for the rings, you hold out the pillow. That's it. That's the whole job."
"But it's the most important job," Caleb says. "Without the rings, you can't get married. The wedding doesn't work."
"That's true. And I can't think of anyone in the entire world I'd trust more with that responsibility."
Caleb's chest puffs up with visible pride. "Okay. I won't let you down. I promise."
"I know you won't."
Rosalyn appears beside us, her hand settling gently on Caleb's shoulder. "Guests are starting to arrive. Let's get everyone in their positions."
The next fifteen minutes are a blur of controlled activity.
The guests filter in gradually—mostly people from Ivan's world, since I don't have many of my own. Coworkers from his job site, guys in suits who shake my hand and congratulate me. A few neighbors from the apartment complex who we've gotten friendly with. My sponsor and hiswife, who pull me into a hug and tell me how proud they are. My boss from the motorcycle shop, who clapped me on the back when I invited him and said he wouldn't miss it for anything in the world.
Rosalyn's husband Mitchell is there, quietly directing traffic, making sure everyone finds a seat, setting up last-minute details. He's a tall, steady man who doesn't say much, but when he shook my hand after I asked for his blessing to marry Ivan, his grip was firm and his eyes were genuinely kind. "Welcome to the family, son," he said, and that was enough. That was everything.
The officiant—a woman named Pastor Daniels from a small inclusive church nearby—takes her place under the arch. She's in her sixties, with silver hair and warm brown eyes, and when Ivan and I met with her last month to plan the ceremony, she listened to our entire story and actually cried.
"You two have already survived the hardest part," she told us, taking both our hands. "The wedding is just the celebration of everything you've already overcome."
The string quartet Rosalyn hired—really just four college students who play at events for extra money—begins a soft instrumental piece. The signal that it's time to start.
Ivan appears at the back door, and everything else in the world fades completely away.
He's wearing a navy-blue suit that makes his shoulders look broader, his waist narrower, the fabric perfectly tailored to fit his lean frame. The white shirt underneath is crisp and clean against his skin, open at the collar just enough to show the hollow of his throat. A forget-me-not is pinned to his lapel, the same delicate pale blue as his eyes.
God, those eyes.
The same pale blue I remember from when we were kids, the color of a winter sky just before snow falls. The color I memorized in Henderson's kitchen, across that table where we ate in silence.
There's a flush on his cheeks—nervousness or excitement. His jaw is clean-shaven, showing the sharp masculine line of it, the face that's become more angular since we were teenagers but still holds the same fundamental gentleness underneath.
He's been the most beautiful thing I've ever seen since I was fourteen years old and didn't have words for what that meant.
Rosalyn stands beside him, offering her arm. She's walking him down the aisle. When she suggested it last month, Ivan cried for ten minutes straight, and Rosalyn held him and called him her son.
The music shifts to something slower. A processional.
Diana and Destiny go first, walking side by side down the aisle in perfect sync, scattering flower petals from small wicker baskets. They're serious and focused, determined to get it exactly right, their faces set in concentration. When they reach the front, they separate to stand on either side of the arch, perfect and poised.
Then Caleb.
He walks carefully, the velvet pillow held out in front of him like he's carrying the crown jewels. His tongue pokes out slightly in concentration, and I hear a few guests chuckle softly with affection. When he reaches the front, he comes to stand beside me, looking up with a triumphant grin.
"I didn't drop them," he whispers loudly.
"I knew you wouldn't," I whisper back.
And then Ivan.
He and Rosalyn begin their walk down the aisle, and I forget how to breathe all over again.
Every step brings him closer. Every step carries the weight of all the years we spent apart, all the searching, all the hoping, all the nights I lay in that motel room wondering if I'd ever see him again.
I watch him come toward me, and I memorize everything. The way his lips are pressed together, fighting emotion that's clearly overwhelming him. The way his pale blue eyes never leave mine, not for a single second, like I'm the only thing in the entire world that matters.
