Saturday, Three Weeks until the Wedding
Prelude
GABRIEL DONNELLY rearranged the piles of laundry on the bed for the third time. “So, who are you going to be presenting to this time? And remind me why you’re going to San Diego while I’m stuck here where it won’t stop raining?”
“It’s a conference for trauma doctors,” Ethan Brandt answered. “And when I asked you if you wanted to go, you showed me a list of things you had to get done that was actually as long as your arm.”
Donnelly sighed. “It’s gotten longer since then, with the wedding just three weeks away.” But then he perked up. “You’ll be back before we need to fly to New York to get on the ship, right?”
“Absolutely. Fly out Wednesday, present Thursday, fly back Friday. We’ll pack up and head to New York Saturday so we can get on the ship Sunday morning. We’ll cruise across the ocean and land in the loving arms of every single member of both of our families—even the ones we can’t stand sitting next to at Thanksgiving—plus as many friends as we can stuff into a drafty castle in merry old England. We won’t have a moment to ourselves, plus we’ll have to smile endlessly because everyone has a camera, and we’ll do it all wearing kilts. Sounds like a festival of awesomeness, doesn’t it?”
“It all ends with us finally being husband and husband, and that’s all I care about,” Donnelly said with a smile. “The rest of it is just a bunch of details. Lots and lots of details.” He sighed again. “Hundreds of little details.”
“I know it seems like a lot of work, but what we’re doing is an immense task. Moving an entire wedding across an ocean, in the space of two months, is herculean. Wendell did a lot, and James has been amazing paying for it all and helping out, and Bryce and Nestor have pitched in all over the place, but the hardest parts of it have fallen to you. And you have kept calm and carried on, and you’ve been amazing.” Brandt kissed his fiancé on the nose. “And I love you for it. You’re my hero.”
“You’re just sweet-talking me because you’re guilty about running off to play with doctors in the Southern California sun.”
“Maybe a little. Honestly, I’d rather be here with you. But Greg worked really hard to set this up. If the ER docs who took care of Peter had been made aware of how to support gay and lesbian spouses, Greg might have been able to be with him when he died. It’s really important work.”
“I know, I know. I’m just being selfish, trying to have you all to myself.” Donnelly smiled as he dug deeply into the laundry basket. He pulled out a tiny bright red Speedo. “Taking this along to San Diego or saving it for the honeymoon?” He waggled the shiny bit of fabric at Brandt.
“Let’s say I’m saving it,” Brandt replied, rolling his eyes.
“All right, it goes in the honeymoon pile,” Donnelly sang happily.
“No, I don’t want to take it on our honeymoon,” Brandt said.
Donnelly looked crestfallen. “But you promised.”
Brandt leaned in close and whispered into Donnelly’s ear. “The pool at the Villa Hermes is clothing optional.” He stepped back to take in Donnelly’s shocked expression. “I opt for none.”
“Get over here,” Donnelly growled, yanking Brandt to the bed. “Packing can wait.”