Chapter 94: The Wedding Rehearsal
Chapter 94: The Wedding Rehearsal
Moses
The church was smaller than expected—stained glass windows filtering afternoon light into rainbow patterns across wooden pews, the altar simple, elegant, the space chosen deliberately for its inclusivity, the pastor a woman who'd married same-sex couples for decades, her warmth immediate when we'd met months ago. June tenth, five days before the wedding, and the rehearsal was chaotic—crew assembled, Emma coordinating with military precision, her social work organizational skills deployed toward floral arrangements, seating charts, processional order.
Timothy stood near the altar, his suit jacket slung over a pew, shirt sleeves rolled up, arguing good-naturedly with Leo about groomsmen positions—best man honors split between Leo and Jade, both refusing to concede, their bickering affectionate, familiar. Noah was adjusting the sound system, testing microphone levels, while Emma directed, her clipboard thick with notes, checklists, contingencies.
Rachel sat in the front pew, her role as officiant requiring preparation, her legal mind applying to ceremonial precision, vows reviewed, timing calculated, backup plans for weather—outdoor reception planned, tents erected in the community center's lot adjacent to the memorial garden, Dad's marker visible from the reception space, his presence symbolic, integrated. Reyes had RSVP'd yes, bringing a date—a fellow officer, their relationship new but promising—the guest list small, intimate, fifty people maximum, the crew, some law school classmates, Timothy's workshop kids, Emma's reconciled parents, even Lila, her recovery complete, her attendance meaningful despite history's complication.
The rehearsal began—processional practiced, music cued, Jade and Leo walking in sync finally after Emma's fourth attempt at correction, their laughter echoing off the church's vaulted ceiling. I stood at the altar beside Timothy, facing Rachel, her practiced words filling the space: "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..." The familiarity was comforting, traditional structure grounding the ceremony's significance, and I felt it—the weight of Dad's absence, Marcus's betrayal, Sarah's poison, all the battles fought culminating in this moment, this choice, this public declaration of love hard-won.
"Moses, your vows?" Rachel prompted, rehearsal skipping actual content, saving the real declarations for the wedding, but I stumbled anyway, overwhelmed suddenly by the enormity—marrying Timothy, the ring on my finger transforming from engagement to wedding band in five days, the future once impossible now inevitable, and I laughed, nervous, breaking the rehearsal's flow.
"Sorry, it's just—this is real. We're doing this, actually getting married, and five years ago, hell, two years ago, I couldn't have imagined this. Dad dying, Sarah's trial, Marcus's hunt—it all seemed endless, like we'd never get here, never get to just be happy, normal, boring married couple. And now we are, and it's overwhelming in the best way."
Timothy's hand found mine, his smile wide, genuine. "It's real, Mo. Five days, you're stuck with me officially, legally, forever. No take-backs." His humor was gentle, grounding, and I nodded, Rachel continuing the rehearsal, our responses automatic—"I do," exchanged, rings mimed, the kiss practiced—chaste, quick, saving passion for the real ceremony—and the rehearsal concluded, the crew applauding, Emma checking her list, satisfaction evident.
"Dinner next," she announced, her voice carrying authority. "Rehearsal dinner at Lucia's, reservation at seven, everyone invited. Moses, Timothy, no stress—we've handled everything, you just show up, eat, enjoy." Her directive was clear, and we complied, the crew filing out, the church emptying, but I lingered, Timothy beside me, the space quiet now, sacred.
"You okay?" he asked, and I nodded, walking toward the altar, touching the wood, the cross hanging above, symbol I'd complicated relationship with—religion, family, Dad's closeted faith—but here, in this inclusive space, it felt different, redemptive. "Thinking about your dad?" Timothy's question was gentle, and I nodded again, the words coming slowly.
"He should be here. Walking me down the aisle, giving me away, whatever traditional fathers do. But he's not, and Marcus's video, the revelation about his sexuality—it's made me wonder if Dad would've wanted this wedding, celebrated it, or if societal pressure, his own closeted pain, would've made him uncomfortable, distant." My fear was vulnerable, the doubt Marcus's final gift—planting questions where certainty had been, and Timothy's arms wrapped around me from behind, his chin on my shoulder.
"Your dad loved you, Moses. Authentically, completely, regardless of his own struggles. He would've been here, proud, celebrating, because you're living the life he couldn't—openly, honestly, with someone who loves you. Don't let Marcus's manipulation, the video's revelation, taint that. Your dad's legacy is love, not closeted pain. Remember that."
His words were balm, the reassurance necessary, and I turned, kissing him properly, the church's sanctity notwithstanding, the moment ours. "Five days," I said, echoing him, and he grinned, his hands framing my face.
"Five days," he confirmed, and we left, the church locking behind us, the rehearsal complete, the wedding imminent, the future bright despite shadows lingering, and I felt ready—to marry Timothy, to honor Dad's memory, to close this chapter fully, finally, and begin the next, whatever it held.