Tempting. Jackson and I looked at each other. “I have to send these pictures to my parents,” he said.
“And I’m not going to put a picture of me being married by Old Elvis on my desk at school,” I added.
No Old Elvis for us. Another opportunity smothered by social practicality.
The chapel looked precisely like what you probably imagine. It could have been a chapel in those fake pictures they put into photo frames, beautiful but generic and devoid of any personality. They had painted the walls a soft shade of beige that wouldn’t clash with whatever colors of camouflage the military half of the pairing wore, and trimmed the room in hardwood tones to bring in warmth and a natural touch.
Fresh flowers in crystal vases perfumed the air with what I can only call a strength of fragrance calculated for a pleasant atmosphere. Roses and lilies today, accented with fern leaves and baby’s breath. Sunlight poured in through the window behind the wooden altar, west-facing to show Pikes Peak in all its glory, and teased rainbow fragments from the crystal vases as it filled the room with a gorgeous, golden light.
The priest wore a black suit with a gold tie. Our complimentary photographer worked the room as we stood up at the altar, clasped hands, and stared into each other’s eyes. I’d brought our free wedding bands with me to the air field, tucked into my jeans pocket, and they waited for us on a small table near the priest. We heard words about commitment, about the mysterious ways of the divine, and I thought about M4-CH+M4-KR’s divergence from its usual program to bring us together.
I thought about being an exciting, essential match, and about the promise I’d made to walk away, no hassle required, if Jackson wanted to pull the ripcord on our marital parachute. I wondered if this were the strangest, most off-the-wall mistake I had ever made, and if I should have made it with Old Elvis for the sake of later relating.Let me tell you about that time I talked a soldier into marrying me, and stood up with Old Elvis to swear I’d stay forever! Or until he decided he didn’t like me anymore, which happened right after our first curry dinner…
Jackson isn’t like that,I told myself. Jackson had deployed to Mars three times. He had hesitated to marry me because he wouldn’t break promises unless he saw no other choice. That thought bolstered me as the officiant asked for our store-brand vows. Love. Cherish. Stay faithful. For better or worse, through sickness, injury, and health.
He slipped the ring onto my finger and made his pledge to me with shining eyes. “I, Jackson Roy, vow to take you, Sebastian Galen, as my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold from this day forward,” and here, he squeezed my hands, “for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, until death do us part.”
Until death do us part.
A couple days ago, I’d thought I’d made peace withuntil death. Every single one of us who signs up for Mail Call Mates goes through the class that educates us on our chances of becoming widowers. The Mars Conflict hadn’t lasted as long as some wars, so our data had gaps, but most soldiers didn’t retire from the Red Planet. They came home as dehydrated dust that took up no more weight allowance than necessary and left holes in the lives of those who had married them.
I had sacrificed a large portion of my years to the service of saving lives. When saving lives, you by necessity learn aboutlosingthem, about the horrible ways weapons of war could mangle those on the wrong side of the barrel. I knew better than most about what the men and women in ruddy camouflage risked to gain ground on a world I would never see.
Once, I had wanted to go to Mars to save lives. Advance science. Live history as it was made. Now, I wanted to go to Mars because my husband would be there, and I didn’t like the feeling in the pit of my gut as he saiduntil death do us part.
Then it was my turn, and that cloud of dread blew over as I put the ring on Jackson’s finger and spoke my vows to him. “I, Sebastian Galen, vow to take you, Jackson Roy, as my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health,forsaking all others,” and you better believe I emphasized that, “until death do us part.”
Not today, Death. This soldier is mine, and I will throw hands if you try to take him from me.
The priest beamed. “Then by the power vested in me by the State of Colorado, I now declare you husband and husband, and invite you to seal your union with a kiss.”
We’d ascended from Purgatory to revel in Heaven. This was the place, and the time, especially since we’d just thrown caution to the wind and gotten married. A moment of hesitation threatened to stretch into an awkward minute as we gazed at each other, shellshocked and in the grip of some damn enormous feels.
Then Jackson’s hands tightened on mine so he could pull me forward. I stepped to him willingly, eagerly even, our chests pressed together as the space between us disappeared.
One hand let go of mine, but only so it could brush over my hip and rest against my lower back. His palm flattened against my spine, and his fingers curled in to grip me tighter as at long last, our lips touched.
My knees weakened. Had he not held me to him, I might have fallen over, and I would never have noticed. My body came alive in an explosion of passion and electrified synapses whose ground zero was the point where our lips met. My arms wrapped around him of their own accord, clinging to him as the kiss strengthened, deepened, became something far more than two people in an embrace.
I wanted a kiss that would change my life. Jackson delivered. As his tongue flickered across my lips, then brushed against mine, I knew I could never want another person. Not a man. Not a woman. Only this one man, the one I had vowed my life to, whom I could not wait to learn to love.
We pulled away after a breathless eternity. Or thirty seconds, before the priest cleared his throat and we took the hint not to make out in the chapel. We both gawked at the other with the same surprised, wide-eyed expression, which the photographer kindly captured for us to laugh about later.
“Congratulations!” Elaine said from where she had waited at the back of the room. Our legal witness, I recalled as I stumbled my way back into reality. “May you both have a long and happy life together. We’ll be sending you a portable drive with all your wedding photos on it, professionally edited, but perhaps you’d like some initial snaps to send to your friends? I can text them to you.”
Jackson pulled out his phone. “Love some. My folks will be thrilled.”
I pulled out my phone and discovered that, in the several hours I’d had it powered off in my pocket, it had lost its battery charge and would work fine as a doorstop. As usual.
My new husband (!!!*) gave me a look of wry amusement. “We have got to get you a new phone, babe,” he said.
And as nice as new technology would have been, I didn’t care, because I’d just realized I had a new husband, and he’d called mebabe, and I erupted into cartoon-style heart bubbles all over again.
8DOES THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM STARE AT YOU LIKE A CAT DOES WHEN YOU HAVE SEX?
Jackson calledfor barbecue before we’d even left the chapel. His phone had not betrayed him, whereas mine had progressed to attempted murder by starvation. It refused to power on, not even for baby back ribs.
Elaine gave us a card for a complimentary dinner at our preferred restaurant. She might also have convinced Old Elvis to come out for a few comedy pictures, but I can neither confirm nor deny that. A gentleman does not talk about his blue suede shoes.