Locked Down with Mr. Right

It really was admirable how, even after all the shit she had been through, more than enough to turn most people to nihilism if not outright objectivism, she still put others ahead of herself. Even those she admitted that she hated.

It wasn’t so much a matter of going big as going old. The majority of cathedrals, both catholic and conservative protestant, got to a particular state of gargantuan before the 20th century. Devotion could make people do some strange and interesting things.

Despite the inanities of tradition, I more or less insisted on helping Addie find a wedding dress. We had more than enough options from all sides of our families. I did have seven sisters, after all.

Addie had gotten a bit bolder in terms of giving her opinion. My mother’s dress, while still quite lovely, was such a tight fit it made sweet Addie’s tits fall asleep. To be fair, she was quite well blessed in the chest area

The wedding was big but not particularly fancy. Neither of us were particularly keen on speeding hours or weeks planning or handing the occasion to the self-serving whims of a dictator with a clipboard, more commonly known as a ‘wedding planner.’ Besides which, it struck both of us that to add a thing, particularly anything as garish as cut flowers, to the existing beauty of the 18th century structure would very much be gilding the lily.

I stood tall at the altar, resplendent in a dashing Victorian tux, top hat and all. The latter tucked under my arm in prescribed reverence for their god. The slumbering infant strapped snugly to my chest detracted from the overall image not one iota.

The organ reared up like an awakening beast from deep in the imagination of H.P. Lovecraft. The leviathan did stretch the entire length of the sanctuary. The east and west walls were topped with row upon row of pipes like lines of brass teeth.

Our only point of disagreement during the mercifully brief planning process was the song to which Addie would perform her proverbial march. We were both against the bridal march and the Canon had become nearly as cliché. I knew that clichés become so for a reason but still, yikes!

It came down to a coin toss. Addie crossed her fingers for “The Gravel Walks,” with me throwing my support behind the crescendo of “O Fortuna.” Addie won, which was probably for the best.

She came toward us like a vision. Little Brogan bounced and gurgled at the sight of her mommy. I held her gently, calming her back into a deep, encompassing slumber. Addie was trailed by Mercy and Clementine, serving as her co-maids of honor. The rear was taken up by six of my seven sisters, all decked out in the same surprisingly tasteful bridesmaid dress. We had to call in help from a designer to make that particular miracle happen. Conspicuously absent was a best man, a violation for which I was certain the forces of tradition and conformity would soon enough forgive me.

I gave Duncan a subtle thumbs up just before Addie arrived. He returned it, letting me know everything was okay with our newly minted ring-bearer, going so far as to add on a terse nod.

The man in the fancy dress, who I thought might have been a vicar but wasn’t quite sure, started his whole greeting spiel, then got directly into the old ‘sanctity of marriage’ thing. He strongly implied that it not be entered into frivolously or, indeed, be enterprises but because it that would be generally a shitty thing to do likely not ending well for anyone, but because God will fuck you up if you try. Still, to be fair, self-preservation did seem to be a much stronger driver than logic or common decency, so I couldn’t really fault them for sticking with a winning strategy.

Eventually, we got to the vows, which we took the liberty of writing ourselves, forgoing the call and response pub sing-along method so popular for so long. It had its charm to be sure, but Addie and I were going for the personal touch when it came to the ceremony that would officially bind our lives together, the adoption already having gone through. Both of our kids were very much ours.

“You may now kiss -” the minister started, smiling beatifically.

“Thanks!” we said in unison, going in for some deep Frenching action.

At least that’s what happened in my head. In concrete reality, things were much the same, right down to the top hat and two maids of honor. The latter of which there was no argument about. We had both come to love both women as friends and couldn’t imagine not having either of them there or having to choose one over the other. We even wrote our own vows, but truth be told, they sounded a bit better in my head than in the actual building. The unforgiving acoustics didn’t help much. We might as well have had microphones picking up every potential stumble and gaff. No pressure.