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I was about to be sick in the back of cab for, unsurprisingly, the ninth or tenth time in my life. Bridget was tugging on my arm, saying things that I’m sure were meant to be comforting. But I wasn’t even listening. We slowed as Oliver’s flat appeared outside the window, and I flung myself out the door, desperate for some air.
Was I making the right decision? Was I about to fuck everything up so bad that I could never unfuck all the fucking I’d done. Oliver was probably never going to talk to me again. And what if Bridget had to choose between us, and she chose Oliver? And then the rest of our friend group came apart without her. Mum would probably be mad at me too, she loved Oliver. Shit, even Alex would blame me for messing things up with him.
I’d made a mistake. I started to turn back to the cab, but then the front door opened. Oliver stood in the doorway, and he looked – not to sound insulting, because he always looked gorgeous no matter what – but he looked awful. Possibly worse than I did. He’d obviously been awake all night too, but had apparently spent the whole time crying. His eyes were red and puffy, and his hair was sticking out at odd angles like the hedgehogs on my underwear.
“Lucien,” his voice broke slightly. “What are you doing here.”
Bridget appeared at my side, having remembered to pay the cab driver. “Luc, you’ve made him cry already! What did you say to him? I told you to be gentle.”
“I haven’t said anything yet,” I protested.
“What’s going on?” Oliver eyed us anxiously. “Has something happened?”
“We should be asking you that.” I said, skilfully avoiding what I would inevitably have to say. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
“Luc, seriously!” Bridget elbowed me in the ribs. “Oliver, Luc has something very important to tell you. But if now isn’t a good time we can come back later. Preferably before you get married though.”
Oliver’s face mirrored the nausea I’d been feeling for the last eight hours. He stepped back from the doorway to let us in, and closed the door slowly behind us. I found myself wandering into the living room out of habit, and saw the floor scattered with papers and folders. Oliver’s laptop was open on the coffee table.
“Have you been working?” I asked, incredulously. “What could you possibly be working on the night before your wedding?”
“It’s just a bit of admin. I needed something to distract me. I would appreciate it if you didn’t look too closely, there is a lot of confidential information.”
“Where’s Bridge?” I asked, noticing that she hadn’t followed us into the room.
“She said she wanted to make us tea.”
Of course she was expecting me to handle this on my own. Bridget always had more faith in me than she should have considering my track record. She probably thought she’d come to give us our tea, and me and Oliver would be all over each other on the couch, having set aside our differences and fallen even more deeply in love. She was going to be very disappointed.
“Lucien, I’m still very confused. What is it you need to tell me?”
I hovered awkwardly for a moment, trying to think of the best strategy, before settling myself gingerly on the couch. Oliver followed suit, keeping half a metre between us.
“This is going to sound really, really bad,” I began. “I guess it is really, really bad, of me. But I need to you listen. And I just need you to understand where I’m coming from. I love you Oliver. I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather spend my life with. I need you to know that, and I thought I needed a way to show you that. But I realise now that there are so many ways to show someone that you love them. And some ways work for some people, and don’t work for other people. And, what I’m trying to say is, I chose the wrong way to show you that I love you. I- I can’t marry you.”
I swore I could hear the penny drop in the silence that ensued. I watched Oliver’s face contort as he registered what I’d said. I prepared for the worst: tears, anger, a long speech about the morals of telling your fiancé you can’t marry them the morning of the ceremony.
“Oh, thank god,” he sighed, all the tension in his body dissipating.
“I’m so sor- hold on. What?”
“I have been thinking a lot tonight, and I can’t marry you either.”
“But you were so prepared. You put so much time and effort into making sure everything was perfect.”
“That’s where the root of the problem lies, from what I can tell. I was so fixated on what society would deem a ‘perfect wedding’, that I forgot to consider what perfect meant for us. I’ve spent so long trying to conform to what is expected of me, and I forced that on something that wasn’t only for me. It was for you too, and for that I’m sorry. I thought because I’ve never felt particularly affiliated with the rest of the queer community that I would comply with all the standards of heteronormativity. However, I understand now that I can comply with some elements, and not with others, and that I don’t fundamentally belong to either group. In the case of marriage it only feels right to deviate from society and love you on my own terms.”
“Wow, you have been thinking. My thought process was mostly: marriage equals vomit.”
Oliver cracked a smile and slid closer along the couch. “That might have been part of mine too.”
“But what are we going to do about, y’know, the wedding we actually have planned? Some guests have already traveled hours, we can’t call it off now.”
“We don’t have to,” he shrugged. “We can still have the ceremony, and the party, we just won’t sign the paperwork. It can be a non-legally binding celebration of us.”
“Like a Vegas wedding.”
“Most Vegas weddings are legally binding.”
“What? So you mean I’m actually married to that millionaire mob boss I met back in 2012?”
Oliver laughed his beautiful, unrestrained laugh, and pulled me towards him. Our lips met, tasting slightly of tears and vomit that could have been from either of us. But I didn’t care. He gently pushed me onto my back and I hugged my chest against his, relishing in the pressure of his body. I was vaguely aware of Bridget entering holding two mugs of tea. She placed them on the table and quickly disappeared, not at all disappointed.