“Oh my god!” Chad laughs, clapping excitedly. “Hi, Elvis! I’m so happy!”
Elvis nods respectfully. “I can tell.”
Meanwhile, I’m trying to process the reality that I, a fully grown man with decent judgment most days, amabout to marry this ridiculous man in the middle of a sexual identity crisis with a heart too big for his own good… in a chapel with plastic rose petals glued to the carpet and a cheap Elvis impersonator.
Yet for some reason, I’m also excited about it. I haven’t felt excited about anything in a long time, but I’m pretty sure that’s what this kind of happy-nervous anticipation is.
Elvis gestures toward the altar. “If y’all would like to step this way, we can get the ceremony started.”
Chad grabs my hand instantly. “Come on, hubby!”
I stumble a little as I let him pull me forward toward the stupidest, wildest decision I’ve made in a long damn time.
“Before we begin, we just need to know which package you want,” fake Elvis says as he pulls out a fucking brochure from his pocket.
Chad rips it from his hands and flips it open, scanning it quickly. “Oh! Definitely the most expensive package.”
“Good choice for you two love birds. You hear that, Scotty? They want the Love Me Tender package.”
Package? This is the tackiest thing I’ve ever been a part of, and somehow Chad is smiling like tonight really is the best night of his life. It’s got to be the alcohol in him, I know that, but it’s also kind of nice to pretend that someone, especially someone so kind and really fucking hot, is this happy about the idea of marrying me.
“Alrighty, you two, we got Scotty here as a witness and the photographer, so we’ll get started.” He clears histhroat as Scotty hands him some papers. “Dearly beloved?—”
Chad grabs my forearm. “That’s us!”
I stare straight ahead, suppressing my smile. “Yes, Chad. It’s us.”
Elvis continues, unfazed by the interruption. “We are gathered here today to join these two souls in holy matrimony, Vegas style.”
Elvis turns to Chad. “Do you, Chad… Sinclair.” He squints at his binder. “Do you take John Sullivan here to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do. So much, like, times infinity.” He wipes under his eye, chuckling. “Oh god, I’m crying. I can’t believe this!”
Elvis nods like he sees this every day. “Beautiful.” Then he looks at me. “And do you, John Sullivan… take Chad Sinclair… to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Chad holds his breath, and for a second, I’m caught up in the absurdity of it all. I never thought I’d be asked this question by anyone, especially not a Vegas Elvis. I’ve spent over a decade closed off, convincing myself that this door was welded shut. That if I moved on, I’d be betraying someone who wasn’t even here to judge me. That I didn’t deserve to be happy because he couldn’t be.
But Chad? Chad has cracked something open in me just by existing. By being ridiculous and happy and relentlessly alive. It’s impossible not tofeelaround him.
And I hear myself say, “I do.”
Followed by Chad squealing. What is with thisgrown-ass man squealing all the damn time? Why is it somehow not even annoying?
“Okay, here are your rings if you want to put those on each other.”
I take the ring from Elvis. It’s probably fake but the gold is pretty convincing. I put it on Chad’s finger, and he gasps. When he slips the one he’s holding onto my hand, I stare at it for a moment. “How did they know our ring sizes?”
“Oh, I told Scotty when I gave him my credit card. Perfect fit though, like we’re meant to be.” He smiles at me like nothing has ever made him happier. Maybe it hasn’t. Maybe we really will make each other happier.
“Well,” Elvis continues, “I understand y’all have written your own vows?”
I turn sharply. “We didn’t?—”
“I want to go!” Chad interrupts. “I didn’t write them down, obviously, but I have them in my heart.”
“Chad, let’s make sure we keep this PG, okay?”
“Ah, yes, right, right.” Then he leans in and says to fake Elvis without even lowering his volume, “He doesn’t want me to talk about his dick piercing.”
