Again

“You know what, Bailey? I really hope this is the last wedding of my life, because this shit is absolutely impossible.” Aidan dropped onto a barstool like it had personally wronged him. He almost let his face collapse onto the counter—but it reeked of half-wiped beer, so he settled for propping up his cheek with one hand and shooting Noah a withering look. “You’re the one who suggested doing everything in one day,” Noah said, sliding onto the stool beside him. He nodded at the bartender. “Two non-alcoholic beers.” “Wow, doubling up already? Bold move. I’ll take two actual beers, thanks.” “We’re not done yet,” Noah said, pulling out his phone. “Still two things left. Super minor: check out a couple B&Bs with gardens for the reception, and apply for the license.” “That sounds like the entire wedding disguised as a bullet point, and you’re acting like I won’t notice.” “We already locked in catering,” Noah offered. “And it’s only noon.” “The rings were easier than I expected too,” Aidan said, pulling a paper bag from his pocket and dumping two rings onto the bar. “I kept picturing something huge and sparkly—maybe even rainbow-colored—and I’d have to pretend it was fine, but secretly be dying inside because it clashed with my eyes. So yeah, in that scenario, I’d just quietly spiral and end up fleeing to Mexico.” “If you do, give me a heads-up so I can get the deposit back.” “Of course,” Aidan grinned. Then, to the bartender placing their glasses: “Hey, man—left or right?” The bartender—a massive guy in a denim jacket and a cowboy hat—stared at the two identical rings like they’d just insulted his mother. He scratched his chin, squinted thoughtfully, and finally offered: “Uh… the one on the right?” “You’re absolutely right,” Aidan said, nodding solemnly. “Way better.” “But that kind of ring wouldn’t cut it with most women,” he nodded sagely, like someone who’d once almost ruined Valentine’s Day at a JCPenney. “When my Lillian figured out I was about to propose, she sent me a picture ofexactlywhat I was supposed to buy. I was this close to a total disaster.” He lifted his hand just an inch off the bar. “That seems… pretty far, honestly,” Noah said. “Thank God no women will be harmed in the making of this ceremony,” Aidan added with a wink. The bartender looked confused. Then something clicked. He twitched, just slightly, then wordlessly grabbed a rag from somewhere behind the bar and retreated—slowly—to a safe distance. “Oh great, now we can leave a minimal tip,” Aidan muttered with a smirk. “Do you think people still expect paper invitations?” Noah asked. “That alone would cost a few hundred…” “Absolutely not.” Aidan sat up straighter, practically glowing now. “Paper invites are a bourgeois construct and we will not be printing them. That’s what we’re saying if anyone asks.” He tapped the bar for emphasis. “Group chat. Date, time, location, and a vague threat to dig everyone out of their grave if they don’t RSVP.” “Great idea.” Noah nodded. “We should also figure out where to put the gift registry.” “Finally, somethingvinteresting!” Aidan brightened. “Options?” “Amazon, obviously.” “Sure, that’s where we’ll end up. But isn’t there anything else?” “Crate & Barrel or CB2. Dillard’s, maybe—but that gets weird, like… ‘Hi, can someone gift us a couple of ties and some cufflinks from the spring collection?’” Aidan snatched Noah’s phone and squinted at the list. “BassPro? Seriously?” “Me and Lillian had our registry there,” the bartender offered. “Well, good for you, man. Was it fishing rods or guns?” “Inflatable boat, tent, and folding chairs.” “Ah. My bad. That’s beautiful. Can I get my second beer now?” “Aidan, are you sure?” Noah glanced at him with a flicker of concern and waved off his own second glass. “Of course I’m sure! You have no idea how much easier it is to face the local government and declare that I’m marrying one man, for life, after two drinks.” “Should we maybe talk about this again?” “What’s to talk about?” Aidan threw his hands up, half-laughing, half-ready to climb into the jukebox. “We bought these stunning rings, you can finally add me to your fabulous insurance plan, I love you, and we might get a damn ice auger as a wedding gift!” “Oh, you fish?” the bartender perked up. “Winnebago or Black Oak?” “More like Brokeback Mountain,” Aidan shot back, turning back to Noah before the bartender could fully process that. “Anyway, everything’s fine. Stop panicking! What’s with the doubt, Bailey?” He paused, then lit up like he’d just solved climate change. “By the way! Moore-Bailey and Bailey-Moore both sound terrible, so let’s just keep our own names. Or we could swap them, just to confuse everyone.” “Let’s leave them as is,” Noah said. “Exactly what I was thinking.” The clerk at the County Office pretended not to notice that one of the grooms-to-be wasn’t entirely sober. He scanned their documents, confirmed the signatures, and when Aidan asked, “Can I kiss my almost-husband now?” he answered, “Knock yourself out.” The potential wedding venues were all flawed and breathtakingly expensive. Surprisingly, only one of them felt the need to issue a warning before letting them tour the rooms: “No lingering,” the owner said, and when Aidan protested, eyes wide with mock offense, “Seriously?” How dare you even think that… about us! We’re not even married yet!”, she frowned and replied, “I’m serious—no sex on my property until you’ve put down a deposit.” They left immediately and never came back. Still, by nightfall, somehow, they’d crossed everything off the list. They even managed to ambush thirty people by dropping them into a group chat titled: “So Basically, We’re Getting Married.” They were too tired to answer the flood of questions. Or to start the Amazon gift registry.

***

“You are horrible people!” Caitlin dropped her bag onto the table, knocking over two empty glasses, a stack of papers, and the cat. She immediately scooped up the cat and began apologizing profusely. The papers, though, became Noah’s problem. “Do you bring wrath and destruction intoeveryhome, or are we the only lucky ones?” Aidan kissed their now entirely unbothered cat first, then Caitlin’s flushed cheek. “Who’s your planner?” “Mr. Bailey. You may have heard of him. Very organized.” Aidan grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and passed it to her with the calm efficiency of someone who’d seen this movie before. “Seriously? Seriously?! Noah, no offense, babe, but this is a complete disconnect from reality.” “We’ve got it under control,” said the man who had, without his consent, been designated sole wedding planner. He retrieved his tablet, clearly preparing to demonstrate exactly how much did not require her concern. “Oh yeah? Then I’m sure you’ll have no trouble answering a few questions.” Caitlin set the cat gently on the floor, took the chair like she was claiming a seat at a deposition, crossed her legs, and gave the room an appraising look. “When does your marriage license expire?” “Not soon,” Aidan said. “August ninth,” Noah clarified. “Well. That’s something.” Caitlin nodded. “Since our wedding’s on July fifteenth, we’ve still got wiggle room for a disaster or two.” “How comforting to know you now consider yourself either one of the grooms or a member of the organizing committee,” Aidan said. “From now on, whenever I say ‘we,’ you’ll be part of the pronoun.” “Let’s not pretend this wedding hasn’t been the dream of my entire life,” Caitlin replied. “So you two better not mess it up.” “Your level of involvement is starting to get a little scary,” Noah said. “Just a little.” “Deal with your fear on your own time, we don’t have room for it right now. Next question: what kind of place is still available at the beginning of summer? You do realize that’s incredibly suspicious, right?” “It’s a perfectly fine place,” Aidan said, very convincingly. “No wild dogs in the garden, no chemical waste burial site, and the owners didn’t throw holy water at us the second they heard we were two men getting married.” “With standards like that, we might as well book an abandoned cheese factory, a haunted garden plot, or even my house — and I’m already scared. Show me at least a few photos. Skip the glossy website shots — I want the ones you took.” “They don’t have a website.” Noah delivered the line. Caitlin visibly flinched. “I snapped some stuff while we were passing through. Look.” Aidan handed her his phone. “Oh my God, why is everything so… run-down?” Caitlin muttered, scrolling. “Is that IKEA décor? What the hell happened to their lawn? I get that it’s supposed to be rustic, but those benches are practically splinters waiting to happen. On the plus side: no plastic chairs, so that’s a win. Who hangs homemade flags between trees? Were these made by actual children? Elementary school art projects?” She glanced up, eyes wide with faux horror. “Noah, I didn’t mean to insult elementary schools. Just for the record.” “Katie, you do remember I don’t teach elementary school, right?” “Yeah… that does ring a bell,” Caitlin said distractedly. “And where are the room photos? Not everyone’s going to be able to go home the same night.” “They’re fine,” Aidan assured her. “They have all the essentials—walls, floor, ceiling. So no one has to sleep on the lawn from hell in the rain.” “It’s painfully obvious that neither of you has ever had your own wedding before. Your flippancy is deeply upsetting. Is this it? Seven photos?” “Seven? I thought I only took three.” “There are twenty pictures of the cat and ten selfies of you. Aidan! This is wildly irresponsible.” She stared at him, genuinely appalled. “Who’s officiating this disaster?” “A judge. The one who was available,” Noah said with a shrug. “You’re telling me the ceremony is going to be in a courthouse? Do you even understand that they have linoleum floors in there?!” “Linoleum in a courtroom is actually extremely practical,” Aidan replied. “Picture it—someone’s being sentenced to life. Or community service. Or marriage. You never know what kind of mess people are going to make.” “And you actually want to get married in the same room where people get sentenced to life in prison?” “Well, not at the same time,obviously,” Aidan said, genuinely confused by her negative tone. “Oh. My.God.” Caitlin rolled her eyes with such force it might’ve counted as cardio. “And when exactly are the vows happening?” “Never?” Aidan guessed, beating Noah to it by a second — though he was pretty sure Noah was going to say the same thing anyway. “Moore, I will hit you,” Caitlin hissed. “If I’m going to this wedding and shelling out for a gift, I expect to cry tears of joy, hear declarations of love, and watch you two make out at least three times. So you’d better deliver all of that and more, understood?” “What are you getting us?” Aidan asked, attempting a strategic subject change. “A brand new, twenty-speed vibrator with a two-hour battery life. If you decide it’s meh, it doubles as a nightlight.” “Is it too late to ask for a grill set instead?” Noah asked cautiously. “It is. And it’s non-returnable,” Caitlin snapped. “Honestly, it sounds… intriguing,” Aidan said thoughtfully. “But it does make me wonder how many other people are ignoring our carefully curated registry and planning to bring sin back to Wisconsin.” “Odds are, the rest are suck-ups who’ll follow your instructions to the letter and gift you all the boring crap you think you want for the start of your marital bliss.” She waved him off. “But seriously — pull up your Pinterest board. Let’s see if we can salvage this thing.” The grooms-to-be exchanged a look. Then exchanged one with the cat. None of them had any idea what she’d just said. “Great. It’s gonna be a long night.” Caitlin pulled the laptop table toward her with purpose. “What night? It’s three in the afternoon,” Aidan reminded her. “Oh, sweet boy. You still don’t get it.” She shook her head. “I’m going to make sure I remember your wedding day for the rest of my life.” Aidan raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you sa your wedding day? Already abandoning the all-consuming ‘we’?” “Oh no.Never. Right now we want an energy drink. Later, we may require food, pajamas, and a foot massage.” She scratched the cat behind the ear. “Right, Ewan? Who’s the very best boy?” The cat offered no response, having clearly identified the question as rhetorical.

***

Sometime deep into the night, Caitlin stretched and said, “All that’s left is to hear back from the photographers.” “The sound of your spine cracking is keeping me from sleeping,” Aidan mumbled from her lap. His head was resting there, eyes long since off the screen. “Can’t the guests just take pictures on their phones?” Caitlin blinked. “Are you seriously telling me your professional soul won’t shrivel up looking at a hundred blurry, low-res disaster shots?” “If it saves money, I’ll survive.” He shifted slightly. “Your boobs are all over my face again.” “Deal with it. I’m sure your face has seen worse.” “How can you say things like that to a man on the brink of marriage—one that will very likely be monogamous, no less?” Aidan sighed dramatically. “Don’t you know that everything between spouses is sanctioned, sacred, and fantastic for the skin?” “How would I know? I’ve never bound myself to anything.” Caitlin leaned back with a smirk. “My whole situation’s more… spontaneous. Irregular. Occasionally exciting.” “Jeeeesus,stop bragging!” “I was complaining, actually.” “You clearly have no idea how to do that properly. Watch and learn.” Aidan sniffled — very convincingly — and said in a tight, tear-choked voice,: “Just imagine. I’m marrying this beautiful, loving, caring human being. Who also happens to be smart, and sexy, and has the most incredible sense of humor — okay, not everyone agrees with me, but that’s just because they don’t know him the way I do! And sometimes I genuinely forget my own name when he gives me one of those looks—” “He doesn’t have ‘those looks,’” Caitlin cut in, mimicking his drama. “How would you know?” Aidan huffed. “That’s like saying something wasn’t said in a foreign language you don’t speak. And stop monitoring my future husband’s face, you creep.” “Not stopping.” “Fine. Don’t stop. But at least admit he’s got incredible nonverbal communication skills.” “Sure,” Caitlin said with a shrug. “But you know what he’s missing? A little mystery. Maybe some bad boy vibes?” “Ugh, no, I’m way too old for this shit!” “So… you’re not going to complain, then?” “Oh, right. Forgot. Okay, well, I just don’t get how this is supposed to work. Like, does it even work? Why does something basically intangible — something that only becomes real if you go pick up a piece of paper from the County Records Office — make a person this nervous? Nothing’s actually changing! I’m not moving out of my parents’ house with a dowry, I’m not even changing my name! What the hell is wrong with me?” “Nothing’s wrong with you.” Caitlin leaned back. “When I found out about your wedding, I couldn’t sleep half the night.” “That is not the same thing.” “It’s almost the same thing. Oh! Someone replied!” She clicked open an email. “It’s a rookie photographer from Chicago. He’s willing to do it for food and travel expenses.” “What?! Absolutely no FIBs at one of the five most important events of my life!” “You’re a FIB.” “I’ve assimilated, so I don’t count anymore. And anyway, someone definitely came up with a better version — Friendly Illinois Buddy. Or my favorite: Fucking Illinois Badass.” Caitlin seemed like she wasn’t even listening. She was mumbling almost to herself, counting on the fingers of her right hand. “What are you doing over there? Trying to calculate how much gas we’ll owe him for coming up here?” Aidan tilted his head. “I could tell you right now — I still remember driving out here almost every weekend.” “What? No, not gas.” She shook her head, and a few strands of hair fell across Aidan’s face. “The first most important event in your life was meeting me.” “I mean… sure. Although I wouldn’t rank things like that. I’d lay them out in a line, no particular order.” “Nope. Even in a line, something’s first. Second: meeting Noah.” “I don’t think that’s how this works. Like, if the wedding is on the list, I’m not also listing meeting him, because that’s implied — otherwise we’re headed for twenty items real fast.” “Well, now I’m confused.” “How? It’s easy! You, Noah, my first paycheck, first time I kissed a guy, first time I kissed not a guy—” “Oh! So I’m on there twice!” “Do you seriously think I waited until twenty-five before kissing a woman?” Aidan looked up at her with mock horror. “What a strange and charming thought.” “Aid!” “What? Of course I had a control group way earlier! I’m not one of those lucky people who’s like, ‘Oh, I just knew from birth!’ Like, ‘Oh, the moment I opened my eyes I knew I would faint at the word vagina and I wouldn’t touch a woman even if she was laminated.’ Please. I got top marks in science — of course I tested things.” “I couldn’t help but notice your Big Five didn’t include your first time.” “What would that be doing in there? Getting lost among far greater and more significant events? It’s not even Top Ten material.” “I booked the FIB,” Caitlin said casually. “Want to look at his portfolio?” “No. If I have to look at one more wedding-related anything, I’ll need to be hospitalized for emotional overdose.” “Okay. We can sleep now.” “I already am asleep.” “I can’t feel my legs. You’re a terrible lap guest.” “Then go sleep with Noah. He’s a very polite bedmate. You’re a wonderful bed guest. The two of you will be a perfectly coordinated couple — no numb limbs whatsoever.” “Or you could go to him. Not a bad idea either.” “Oh right. You’re so persuasive.” Aidan slid off the couch without lifting his head, gave Caitlin’s legs a farewell hug — the only part of her he could reach without standing up — offered a dramatic goodnight, thanked her for her service, and finally shuffled off into the night.