Epilogue
EPILOGUE
ADAM
This is the second time I’ve been a groomsman at a wedding this year. Though, this time I’m a “bridesman,” and I don’t have to wear my starched firefighter dress uniform.
The dress code for today is white. Anything white. Everything white.
“It’s a white wedding,” Dee explains for the hundredth time to Drew and me, and we delight in pretending we don’t understand the concept.
“I don’t think that means what you think it means,” I tell Dee as she butchers the chorus of Billy Idol’s “White Wedding.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m no virgin. It’s about new beginnings,” Dee explains, and because Drew and I know this spiel by heart, we say the second part with her. “It’s about fresh starts.”
She scowls at us but grins a little when we laugh. Hey, we’re just doing our part to keep the bride from getting nervous.
Outside, the weather has cooperated, too, dumping a thin layer of snow on the ground. It’s a freak occurrence for central Texas to get snow in December, so the county fire department has had volunteer crews out all day, clearing and salting the roads to and from the venue so we can ensure Dee gets her dream wedding.
When the event organizer gives us the signal, Drew and I line up, alternating with Rico’s brothers Javi and Manny to form the processional. Once the music starts, the four of us walk in with matching white linen pants, button-up shirts, and vests, each with a white rose boutonniere pinned to the lapel.
At the altar, we stand on either side of Watts, who sure has been busy officiating his fire station’s weddings this year. Beside him, Rico looks stunningly handsome and a bit nervous in his white suit. Big back pats from his older brothers seem to calm his nerves as he smiles at us all and takes a deep breath.
I breathe deeply, too, as I turn and take a moment to look at the space in awe. Truly, it’s lovely. The wedding is in the old Daughtry barn, which is probably close to one hundred years old. A massive space that used to be filled with horse stalls, it’s all shined up to be a wedding and events venue now that the Daughtry grandkids sold the farm to a winery.
With festoon lights draped over the honey-colored oak beams above, the whole space is bathed in a warm golden glow. The new owners have lain wood floors over the stone dust, and chairs fan out from both sides of an aisle up the center, white rose petals dotting the bride’s path.
Everyone, not just the wedding party, is wearing white. That old No-White-After-Labor-Day rule be damned, the bride threatened to kick out any guest who thought to rebel and wear red to her wedding. The visual effect of the honey-colored building and the warm lights with all that white silk and linen is gorgeous. Honestly, I didn’t know Dee had it in her to create this living embodiment of a romantic Instagram aesthetic.
Part of me wants to film the event, but I promised Dee: no Rooster Crows appearances tonight. A couple months ago, I was arguing with her about that particular wedding rule. But today, I get it. I haven’t posted much as Rooster lately, opting to keep my private moments private as I share them with my new favorite someone.
Speaking of that favorite someone… I scan the sea of white outfits and find him easily. I will always find him easily. He’s my north pole, and my compass will always point his way. Okay, that sounded really phallic. I laugh at my own thought, and when my eyes alight upon Markus in that mass of wedding white, he’s grinning, too, his celestial cerulean eyes bright with humor.
My hot vet sits in the second row, looking gorgeous with a trim white blazer over his shirt. At my insistence, Markus left the top few shirt buttons open, giving me a glimpse of his delectable chest. How could he deny me when I unfastened the buttons myself, on a quest to kiss that sexy little suprasternal notch between his clavicles?
Despite my efforts to tussle his dark hair, he’s managed to tame it into a neat wave. The dark strands shine where they reflect the lights from above like a halo on the crown of his head. Damn, I’ve got it bad for this man, seeing heaven in his eyes and halos in his hair.
Markus is surrounded by my family, sisters on every side and Mom in the row ahead. Ava is closest, speaking behind her hand as she whispers into my boyfriend’s ear. He chuckles at whatever she’s said, so she repeats it for all my family to hear, laughing a little as they look at me.
What’s so funny? I glance down to make sure my fly is zipped. It is, so why are they laughing?
My anxiety ratchets up with each word Ava whispers, but Markus shares a smile with me and winks. Just like that, the anxiety is gone. Markus has that power over me, the ability to keep me smiling like a dumbass in love. And that thought—that L-word thought—takes my mind in a new direction.
It’s time. As of today, we’ve been official for six weeks, so I plan to take this opportunity to say something important: three important little words. But first…
Behind the audience, the big barn doors open to the snowy vista. The music changes—sadly, not to Billy Idol, but something classical—and everyone stands to turn and watch. Right on cue, Dee appears, flanked by her escorts.
My tough-as-nails LT looks ethereal in a gorgeous white off-the-shoulder satin gown. The tight bodice accentuates her lovely curves and extends down into a mermaid skirt, which swishes around her feet with each step she takes. Her long blond hair shines in this light and drapes in soft curls over one shoulder. The woman absolutely glows from the top of her golden head to the red soles of her white Louboutin pumps.
In one hand she holds a bouquet of white roses and orchids, and her father has his arm clasped with hers at the elbow. Mateo holds her other hand as he helps escort her to the aisle. After all, when you’re marrying a single dad, it’s not just the father you’re committing to love and cherish—you’re making a promise to his son too.
Mateo is proud of his role in the ceremony, and his smile beams brighter than the sun. He looks adorable in a white suit that matches his dad’s. When they make it to the altar, Dee’s father kisses her cheek and takes his seat, but Mateo stays with us, taking his father’s hand so he’s linked to both Dee and Rico.
Watts starts with stories about the bride and groom, how they met as kids and spent most of their lives in love with each other. Childhood sweethearts who separated for a time but finally found their way back to each other. There’s even a funny story about the summer they volunteered to muck out the horse stalls in this very barn, only to do more making out than mucking out when no one was looking.
The stories are romantic and sweet and funny. When they exchange vows, Mateo pulls the rings out of his little pockets to hand to his dad and soon-to-be stepmom, and I tear up a bit. I’ve been tearing up a lot lately.
These past few weeks, it’s like the blinders have been taken off my eyes, and for the first time I can see the love I share with kith and kin. From the mother and sisters I was born to, to the fire family I work with, to the community we all share: turns out, they care about me. They more than just accept me; most of the folks of Krause truly love me too.
That revelation brings tears to my eyes. And when Dee and Rico kiss, making this marriage official, a few tears fall down my cheeks. Lord have mercy! I’m crying at Dee’s wedding. Pigs are probably flying around the sunset sky too.
After hugs and high fives around the altar, we groomsmen and bridesmen lead the way to the other end of the barn, where tables and chairs are set up for the reception. I find my seat, and my date, waiting for me at the wedding party table, and I give Markus a kiss as soon as I can.
“God, you look gorgeous in that vest,” Markus says as he smiles against my lips. “It’s giving me all sorts of naughty ideas about getting you alone in nothing but this.”
He clasps his hands on the lapel of the vest to pull me in for another kiss, and damn, I really want to find a dark corner of this barn to start working on his plans. Though I can’t help but add, “How would you feel about me coming to bed wearing just the vest and my Doctor Who socks?”
Markus throws back his head and laughs, then opens his mouth like he’s going to say more. But before he speaks, Drew is on us, an arm around each of our shoulders so he can squeeze us together in a bear hug. “Ah, don’t you just love weddings? And LT Dee looks so happy.”
Drew has gotten so sappy since Chloe moved into his life. It’s adorable. I wrap an arm around him and squeeze him back. “Speaking of looking happy… Where’s your newlywedded bride?”
“Right here,” Chloe says, and we pull away from our bro hug to make way for the little lady who is carrying a plate laden with brisket, a rack of ribs, and heaps of sides and fixings.
Leave it to Dee to serve barbeque at a white wedding.
My stomach growls, and I’m pretty sure I hear Markus’s hunger rage too. Like he can read my mind, he clasps my hand in his, and we make our way to the food line. Once we have our own dinners dished up, we settle into our seats, tuck our napkins into our shirt collars, and dig into the food.
It’s all very “couple-y,” and I love it. I never in a million years would have imagined the bonded-pair life for myself, but I’m enjoying this immensely.
Interestingly, now that Markus is in my life, and he calls me Adam, a few other people have started to do the same. I hear people refer to us as “Adam and Markus” far more often than “Rooster and Markus.” It’s like I’ve graduated from my childhood nickname to my adult identity.
When we’ve finished our food and used the wet wipes placed beside each napkin to clean our hands, I reach for Markus. He laces his fingers with mine, filling me with warmth. Linked like this, we sit and enjoy the company as various people stand to give toasts. We all get a little tipsier with each clink and cheer to the bride and groom.
Once Dee and Rico cut the cake, I stand to go get Markus a slice of the sweet stuff, but the wedding band starts playing the song of the hour—Billy Idol’s “White Wedding”—and Markus redirects me to the dance floor, explaining, “If I eat another bite, I’ll explode. Let’s dance some of the barbeque off.”
Perfect plan. For my grand romantic gesture to work, the dance floor is exactly where I need Markus.
Weeks ago, I reached out to the band Dee hired to perform, and I requested a song. Now I just hope they added it to their playlist for the occasion.
Even if they haven’t, we’re still having a blast dancing with the other guests—mostly my sisters. We lose ourselves to the music, dancing to everything the band plays. Fast or slow, upbeat or down, it doesn’t matter. We’re having too much fun to stop.
The band slows it down a bit with Elvis’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” and I pull Markus closer, wrapping him in my arms as we sway.
“This is perfect,” Markus says as he glances around at the other couples dancing, then his eyes come back to me.
I look around too. The doors of this big barn are still open to the cold winter evening, but heat lamps set around the dance space keep us warm. Their blue and orange flames give movement to the shadows that dance in the old rafters and really bring this space to life. “It is. I didn’t know Dee had it in her to plan something so romantic?—”
“I’m in love with you,” Markus says so fast it’s like someone set fire to the seat of his pants.
“You. What?” Wait. That was going to me my line.
“I’m in love with you,” Markus repeats with a little more air in his lungs and volume in his words this time. “You don’t have to say it back. You can move on your own time. I just need you to know?—”
“I’m in love with you too.” I interrupt whatever other allowances he planned to give me. I don’t need them. “I…” I laugh. “I planned to tell you tonight, but I was waiting for the right song.”
“What could possibly be better than this song?” he asks as he sings along with Elvis and the wedding singer. As if the band is punking us, the keyboard player transitions from one song to the next, and it’s the very familiar chords of the song I requested: George Michael’s “One More Try.”
“This one,” I say and pull him just a little closer as he gives me the sweetest smile, and we move together along with the slow rhythm of his favorite song—now my favorite too. Markus leans close like he’s going to kiss me. He’s so near that all I can see are his eyes. All I can feel is his breath against my lips. I whisper, “I’ve fallen deeply, totally, completely in love with you, and every morning I wake with you in my arms, I fall some more. I’m proud to be yours and claim you as mine. I need you, and I want you, and I’m so goddamn lucky that I have you.”
The air rushes out of him on a gust, and he sort of grins when he responds. “Wow. Same.”
I laugh and it feels good. I feel good, lighter somehow, now that all those words are out. I kiss Markus, reveling in his familiar warmth and taste.
From somewhere behind me, I can hear my sisters hooting and hollering. Others join them as Markus and I stop any pretense of dancing and stand together—at the center of the dance floor in the center of this rustic old barn at the heart of our community in the heart of Texas—the world turning around us while we love each other.