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Squip’s wedding day crept upon him, a thief of the last vestiges of his bachelor lifestyle. Once upon a time, he’d-
Oh who was he kidding? Squip had never led a bachelor lifestyle, though he’d certainly been single prior to meeting Jeremy nine years prior. Nine years! And oh, how the near-decade had been kind to Jeremy. Squip had watched him grow—quite literally grow, in fact, his legs lengthening, his shoulders growing (ever so slightly) broader, the baby fat in his face slimming out.
Well, not slimming too much, admittedly. He still carried an air of youth. But his stutter had calmed, his confidence had soared, and his budding career in short film animation (well, okay, it was an internet based venture, he’d yet to be picked up by any studio, but who was to say he’d even want that?) was really starting to gain a sizeable fanbase.
Oh, how proud Squip was of him. He’d never realized, prior to meeting Jeremy, that he was even capable of feeling pride for anything besides his own efficiency. Yet here he was, circuits warmed by how far Jeremy had come, how proud he stood, the utterly inescapable loveliness he exuded on a day to day basis.
And certainly they’d already been living together prior to this. And certainly their union wouldn’t be legally recognized, not with Squip’s synthetic status, as the laws put it. Certainly it was all for show, a mirage of meaning, and the symbolism really wasn’t worth much.
Humans operated largely in symbolic gestures, though. And Squip wasn’t going to rob Jeremy of this milestone, even if it provided no insurance or other spousal benefits.
“Hey, buttnuggets, how’s it going in here?” The door to the dressing room swung open, and in sauntered Rich Goranski, bowtie dangling impotent, untied, around his neck, the collar of his crisp white shirt popped, the rest of the garment half untucked. His boyfriend, the impossibly tall Moses (stooped down now to be more leveled with Squip), worked on finishing tying Squip’s own tie.
“Just finishing up here, sunshine, and then I’ll see to you.”
“Must you fawn over each other while I’m still in the room?” Squip griped. But it was a familiar complaint, worn comfortable with the years of repetition.
Moses smiled, tucking a strand of his own lengthy dark hair behind his ear, before grabbing the can of hairspray. He cupped his hand in a way to prevent the spray from getting into Squip’s face, though not before saying, “Shut your eyes for me,” and then spraying a hefty amount of the mist over his head.
Squip considered coughing, just to be dramatic, but he decided against it. It would be unbecoming.
“How’s the bride to be handling everything?” Moses continued to fuss over Squip, setting aside the hairspray to pick up a lint roller (god knew their cat—Jeremy’s cat, actually, Squip certainly didn’t care for him, especially when she’d get into his lap and demand pets and purr and generally be very adorable and, oh no, he really was getting soft, wasn’t he?—had left a trail of black fur over him before they’d come to the beach house). He ran it over the white shirt, then dropped to his knees to begin running the roller over his legs.
“I can handle that myself,” he mumbled.
Unsurprisingly, they ignored him, as Rich instead opted to answer Moses’ earlier question. “Crying again.”
Squip’s head whipped towards him in shock and concern. “Why is he crying?” Crying was a human distress response, after all. Was he injured? Psychologically damaged? Was he regretting saying yes? “I have to go to him.”
“Whoa whoa whoa, groomszilla, you can’t see your lady until she’s walking down the aisle.” Rich cackled midway through his words, beaming at Moses. “Get it? I’m calling Jeremy a lady because he’s such a bottom.”
Squip opened his mouth as though to correct him.
Then he thought better of it.
“Mhm,” Moses said, a small smirk working onto his own lips. Squip could have punched him, though he supposed bruising his best man would be frowned upon.
Until he remembered Mo’s own synthetic nature. Punching couldn’t bruise that which had no blood. But the moment of irritation had already passed by the time he remembered.
“Anyway, he’s only crying because, and I quote,” Rich cleared his throat, his voice hitching in dramatic recreation, “‘I’m just so happy!’”
“Utter nonsense. Crying is for pain and misery.”
“Not necessarily,” Moses countered. He finally stood again, setting the roller down. He grasped a small cylinder of lip gloss.
Squip managed not to smack it away, though he did glower at him. “You are not putting that on my face.”
Moses shrugged, setting it back down on the vanity. “Humans cry for any variety of reasons. Trauma, yes, but also an excess of emotions of any sort. Including joy.”
“Yeah! I cry about fuckin’ sentimental commercials myself.”
Rich could be ignored. “I fail to see why this would make him cry.” Squip started to cross his arms, remembered that it would wrinkle the fabric, and then let his arms drop back to his sides.
Moses grabbed his waist coat, helping Squip slip it on, then buttoning it. Once again, Squip considered telling him he could do it himself.
Though it was a little nice, he had to admit, having someone assisting him. He hoped Jeremy was being equally pampered.
“Because he loves you, stupid.” Rich grinned. “And we love you too. You’re a lovable goof.”
“I’m neither of those things.” Squip hated the way his internals warmed once again at the words. He hated that he had someone he was close enough to to be his best man. He hated that Jeremy’s friends had worked their way into being his friends too—Rich, Christine, Brooke, even Michael. All here, with various roles within the ceremony. All here, to celebrate the both of them. He hated it. He hated all of it.
And he especially hated the fact that he didn’t hate it at all, not even a little bit.
“I’m going to get Richard situated now. You look dashing,” Moses patted his shoulder with his large, but strangely delicate hand, before he moved over to Rich.
“Whatever,” Squip shoved his hands in his pocket. He commanded his facial processors not to prompt a smile.
“Is Alex here yet?” Moses asked, as he started to tuck Rich’s shirt in.
“Oh yeah, he’s in with the future Mrs. Squip—hey wait, who’s taking who’s last name?”
“I don’t have a surname. Or at least not…I’m taking his name.” Squip finished the sentence in a rush, as though ashamed. Or as though disbelieving.
“Squip Heere.” Rich said. And then snorted. “That’s hilarious.”
“It is not. It’s an important symbolic gesture to make sure Jeremy understands my devotion.”
“I think the whole engagement ring and elaborate beach wedding did that, bub.”
“Yes, well, he deserves—I don’t need to explain my choices to you.”
“Are you nervous?”
Squip’s hands trembled, the faintest of reactions, and it occurred to him that the clammy quivering of them hadn’t subsided since he first exited sleep mode this morning. “Of course not.”
“Liar liar tux on fire. Oh wait, don’t button me up yet.” Rich pulled away from Squip, grabbing the two sides of his unbuttoned shirt. “You wanna see how serious I am about officiating?”
“No.”
“Check this out.”
“I swear, if you really tattooed our faces on your chest-”
Rich pulled his shirt open, and Squip instinctively averted his gaze. Only to almost timidly glance back.
“See? I wore my formal binder today.”
The binder around his synthetic chest displayed a tuxedo pattern, complete with printed bow tie.
Squip blinked. “That’s…” He trailed off, then rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s actually fairly amusing.”
“I know, right?” Rich closed his shirt again, allowing Moses to work his fingers up the buttons. “I can’t believe you guys asked me to marry you. Aren’t you worried about the lisp?”
“It doesn’t particularly phase me.”
“You’re not worried I’ll flub the lines?”
“No. Jeremy has confidence in you, and I have confidence in Jeremy.”
“Yeah, that makes sense. Jeremy’s got good taste in people.”
“Well, yes, he’s marrying me.”
“I meant Mikey and Chris, but you know.”
Squip understood who Mikey was. However he couldn’t seem to place the other name. Had he invited someone else? But Squip had perfectly designed the table designs and seating charts to assure maximum efficiency for guest socialization and proximity to any food selections. Another person would surely throw everything off.
“Who exactly is Chris?”
“Christine.”
Ah. Nevermind that anxiety then.
“I see.”
“Okay, okay, I meant you. Not you being Chris, but you being the proof that Jeremy has good taste.” Rich smiled, as Moses finished tying his tie. “Relax, okay? Jeremy loves you. Everything is going to be perfect. And even if it’s not perfect-”
“I’m not worried.” His hands quivered a little more intently. Moses moved towards him, taking one of his hands. It succeeded in stilling his actions, though Squip’s other hand remained restless, aimless.
Maybe he was a little nervous.
“I suppose if it will make you feel better though, you can give me your pep talk.”
Rich bounced upon the balls of his feet. “Awesome! Okay. So. Listen up. Whatever happens, even if everything goes tits up and awful, you gotta remember, you’re going to be spending the rest of your lives together. Do you realize how cool that is? I mean, you love this guy, right?”
“Of course.”
“So it doesn’t matter, the details. This is just a big party to allow all of us to celebrate you two. But you’ve already done all the hard stuff, right? Falling in love. Courtship. You already belong to him, and he belongs to you. But like in a cool, not-problematic way, obviously.”
“I see.”
“Just, you know, I think you deserve to have fun. You’ve planned everything, and I know you want it to go right. But relax. We’ll worry about the fine details now. You just worry about your future husband.”
Husband.
Jeremy was going to be his husband.
Squip took a shaky breath, only to remember he didn’t need oxygen to function. Another habit he must have picked up from Jeremy.
“I suppose you’re expecting me to thank you.”
“Nope! I’m expecting you to finish getting ready. I’m gonna go check on Jeremy, and then the organist, and then run through my lines one more time. You remember your vows?”
“They’re imprinted in my memory banks.”
“Good. Some of us aren’t so blessed, you lucky droid you. You’d think they’d have installed that in me, but noooo. Oh! Hey Mo,” he glanced at his boyfriend, sliding up towards him and bumping their hips together. “Speaking of organists, maybe I can play your organ later-”
“Once again I’m asking you to refrain from this nauseating display until after I’m out of earshot.”
Both of them laughed. Obnoxious.
Endearing.
Comforting.
And when Squip found himself on the beach, the ocean behind him, the organist playing a wedding march, he looked out upon all those who’d come to support them. Jeremy’s family and friends, some from high school (he could distinctly see Jake shooting him a grin), some from college, some collaborators for his creative projects. He could see his own small spattering of acquaintances he’d picked up over the years. Robots he’d met through the office. The barista with the purple hair he’d begun speaking with out of sheer curiosity. Friends from trade school, where Squip had both downloaded upgrades and data for the workforce, and learned manual skills as a failsafe in case of damage.
And then he looked to their wedding parties, already waiting for the second groom, just as Squip was. Alex. Christine. Michael. All wearing tuxes (though certainly Christine’s was a more feminine cut; truth be told, Squip didn’t know why she hadn’t opted for a dress, but there was something quirky and charming and utterly Christine about her choice in attire). All wearing smiles. And though he wasn’t looking at Moses currently, he could feel his smile, and the sync between their processors, sending him affection.
All of them sending him love.
Loved ones. He had loved ones.
Jeremy really had been a wonderful influence on him, hadn’t he? Before meeting him, he’d had no one, and no one had had him.
The music swelled, and eyes turned backwards, as Jeremy began to walk down the sandy pathway, his father by his side. An antiquated tradition that stemmed from-
Squip turned off his automatic information settings. He didn’t care where the tradition came from.
All he knew, as his eyes locked with Jeremy’s, as Jeremy’s eyes began to swell with tears of his own, a small smile on his delicate, beautiful face, was that he was starting to comprehend just why humans might be compelled to cry from sheer joy.