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The venue was warm.
Norway was having an unprecedented winter season, complete with sunshine-laden mornings and a handful of lakes defrosting one by one. Valkyrie was inevitably annoyed, considering her attachment to pretentious woolen pants, suit jackets and fluffy sweatshirts. She was crossing her arms, mid-argument with Thor; something melodramatic about the audacity of the sun, and Monica chuckled.
She attempted to hide her grin, somewhat, but amid the waving hands and flowing braids, Val met her eyes from across the room.
She rolled them lightly
Don't you have somewhere to be? Go on, shoo, she indicated, and then a softer, more familial look. Make sure she eats something... please?
Monica raised her palms in yield. She nodded- on it- and strolled by the kitchen step by step, her heels clicking against the floor as her dress trailed along soon after: a brush of fabric to wood. It sounded like a sea, almost. An ocean quietly whooshing just out of sight, and when Monica turned the corner, Muneeba's kurta was already at work: bustling around, a flash of citrus orange and yellow as her arms floated.
"Yes... the flowers," she was saying, Kamala giddy at her side. "Aamir, no- ah, beta. Kamala, come- come. Alhamdulillah, let me look at you. How is she? Good, excited? And she's eaten, yes?"
"Yes, Ammi. She took two bites of a banana."
"Two bites, ah- that is not enough."
"Ammiiiiii," Kamala reminded. "She doesn't need to eat, remember? Or breathe. Or drink, or- oh!"
Monica shot Kamala a wink, but continued to walk. Keep her occupied? she asked wordlessly, head nodding in Muneeba's general direction. No detours this morning, and Kamala grinned.
She answered with a two-fingered salute, grabbing her mother's hands.
"Thor set up the cake table wrong," she said loud, with fervor, and as the inevitable, "It is a table. How has he never set up a table? These Asgardians, beta- they are killing me," started up, Monica slipped away unseen.
She stepped around Sam, Bucky, Stephen- she still couldn't believe Carol invited Strange- and Wong, who was inspecting the charcuterie table with wandering fingers. Kate, America, Cassie... all hovering around with giddy smiles and emerald dresses.
And then the children.
So many kids scampering up and down long stretches of floor, weaving in between tables like heathens. Monica easily side-stepped Morgan, who was on a one-woman mission to herd Love into a bathroom and slid into the back hall.
She followed the anxiety as it drifted high: closer, closer... and arrived at her destination: a brown, wooden door tucked into the corner of the Mansion. She rapt her knuckles softly until a playfully annoyed, "You can come in, but you better avert your eyes or so help me, Brunn- I will chunk this granola bar at your head," permitted her entry.
"Easy there," Monica called out. "It's me. Switzerland. Have mercy."
Carol exhaled loudly, "Oh, thank Gods," and when Monica turned, she snorted at the sight in front of her: long limbs sprawled haphazard out on the bed.
Carol's dress was creamy white with loose sleeves that hung delicately over her wrist. Very similar to her Aladna getup, save for the color and the absence of a familiar emblem. Monica ran her thumb over her necklace- the same 8-pointed star- catching bits and pieces of Carol's rambling.
"... even though I told her it's bad luck and last time Thor was here, too. Because he wanted to see the dress before her? Or something?"
Monica interrupted, "Seriously? She knows she isn't supposed to peek."
"Then there was America a few minutes ago," Carol continued, oblivious. "She came from the window, but she was just... I don't know. She gave me an apple, Mon. Like the fruit. The red fruit. Is it a fruit thing?"
Monica tapped Carol's outstretched legs. "Mom," she voiced, but to no avail.
The nervous rambling continued.
"Do weddings and fruit go together, somehow? Is it a cultural practice 'cause Kamala gave me a banana, okay- "Mom"- and Axl threw a kiwi at me from a random portal and there was a coconut that leaked everywhere- "Mom"- I don't think I'm a coconut fan. I like pineapple a little bit, but why are they giving me fruit, it's so much fruit-"
"CAROL!"
Monica grabbed Carol's arms. She jolted her slightly. "You're fine. Absolutely fine," she said, and naturally leaned in. Carol's arms wrapped around her quickly, chin resting on the edge of her shoulder. Snug, until the hug was well established. "They're just worry warts whose love languages involve a strange combination of food and minced insults."
"So... it isn't a weird wedding tradition, or something? Like throwing tomatoes at a joker."
"A comedian," Monica corrected. "And no, it's not a weird wedding tradition. Pinky swear."
The release of Carol's shoulder tension was palpable. "I'm so nervous," she whispered.
"I know."
"I don't know why I'm so nervous. Maybe it's because there are so many people down there."
A soft laugh. "You're the one who invited them."
"I should have done the courthouse route," Carol admitted. "She gave me an out, but I mean... I couldn't say no to Kamala's little face. And it's been so long since we've all been together, I guess. I just..."
She readjusted her dress, fiddling with the straps, and Monica feigned a punch to her shoulder. She stayed silent, waiting for Carol to come to her own conclusion, little by little.
"I don't know. It's just different this time," Carol murmured. "Less of the theatrics and the bright colors and the singing and more of the, well... you know..."
Monica patted her on the knee. "It's real," she said knowingly, and Carol nodded, squeezing their hands together.
"Yeah."
"And you love her."
"I-" Carol licked her lips. With a small laugh, as if caught in a memory, she replied in a far-away whisper, "Yeah. I do."
"Well, then. That's all there is to it. Isn't there?"
The silence lingered. Carol didn't verbally respond to Monica's acceptance, but her face was a rainbow of emotions: nervous, grateful, sad... the guilt evaporated away, and then a tinge of something calmer snuck in. She cracked another smile, eyes teary. Like the day Monica had returned- bright and relieved and full of hope- and voiced under the buzz of laughter from outside, "Monica?"
"Hmm?"
"Thank you. For being here with me."
Monica smiled. Her chest fluttered; the thumping of her heart settling into itself. She stole Val's catchphrase with little shame, meaning every single inch of the word and more.
"Always," she replied, already goopy-eyed by the thought of Carol's impending walk down the aisle.
"Thanks for being here with me, too."