Night had fallen. The wedding party feasted around the long table set upon the lawn, white linens draped like a bride's veil concealing the evidence of their gluttony beneath. Patrick and Emory sat together at the center, commanding the best view of the lake. They gorged on lobster and pasta, while Livia lovingly helped find dishes acceptable to Maisie and Grant's more selective tastes. The children let her do so without a hint of derision or scorn. Patrick looked around at the gathering of family and strangers alike, filled with admiration for the Italians and their ability to shift the direction of their hospitality so effortlessly. It didn't matter who they were gathered to celebrate, so much as that they were gathered to celebrate. There was a real lesson in that. They raised glasses, popped corks, and shouted boisterously in both English and Italian. They laughed generously; at times, it felt like the whole table shook.
The sky was pitch black when they moved back up to the terrazza, now cleared of chairs for dancing. A few boats were scattered across the lake in the soft mist of darkness, lit just enough to form new and unfamiliar constellations in the water that served as their sky. Above the terrace, a cream-colored awning rippled like low, soft clouds. Patrick stood on his heels and poked at it.
"Are you wearing lifts?" Clara asked.
To which Patrick replied, "Bite your tongue."
He spotted Emory at the railing, looking out across the lake. Patrick tiptoed up from behind until he could wrap his arms around him. "Come quickly, I am drinking the stars." Emory leaned back into Patrick's embrace. "Husband," Patrick whispered in Emory's ear.
"Say it in Italian."
Patrick had reached the limits of his vocabulary and took a wild stab. "Husbandito."
"Close," Emory replied. "Marito."
Patrick pulled back far enough for Emory to see the puzzled look on his face. "Did SayHi teach you that?"
"No, Palmina told me to call you that." Emory's enthusiasm dimmed. "But knowing you two, perhaps it's a slur." Emory pulled the scarf she had tied around their wrists from his pocket. "I borrowed this. I thought we could put it to use later."
"Wonderful," Patrick said, though he wasn't sure he wanted any part of Palmina invading their bedroom. He glanced over and saw Greg standing alone, so he asked Emory to excuse him.
Patrick walked over to his brother and hugged him. "Were you thinking about how all this should have been yours?"
Greg looked wistfully at the reception. "Yes and no. I was actually just thinking about Sara."
Patrick was taken aback.
"Don't look so surprised. I think about her every day." Greg pretended to study his cuticles before fidgeting with his empty ring finger. "I'm looking forward to having a ring on this finger again. We're not dishonoring them by loving again, are we?"
Patrick swallowed the lump in his throat. "I think quite the opposite, in fact."
Soon it was midnight. The band played one last song before packing their instruments to leave. Without music, things fell eerily quiet, the silence pierced only by the chatter of small conversations clustered around them. Patrick watched as the last of the table settings were struck and cleared before the Edison bulbs were turned off for the night, blanketing the lawn in darkness. Only the floating pool lights remained glowing, the water a beckoning aqua blue against the surrounding gloom of the lake. Emory was charming Livia's family; they were perhaps more taken with Emory than they had been with him. But that was okay. That was the thing about love. Somehow, people adoring your partner reflected well on you. He walked over to the kids, who were fighting to stay awake.
Patrick knelt beside them. Grant leaned against his bent leg and Maisie rested her head on his shoulder. "I was thinking back to our summer in Palm Springs," he said.
"Oh yeah?"
"Remember the pool floats? There was a slow leak in one. The pineapple, perhaps."
"Or Pegasus!" Grant offered. Pegathuth.
"Maybe. You were so upset that it kept deflating."
"I was?" Grant seemed skeptical.
"You both were. And me a little bit, too. The thing of it is, so much air had escaped from our lives. Your mother kept us all afloat. But I look around me tonight, and I think we did a good job patching the leak." There was suddenly a lump in Patrick's throat.
Maisie gripped his shirt tightly, and he didn't admonish her for wrinkling it.
"Your mom is missing so much. It's really not fair. She's missing your accomplishments. She's missing your crying. She's missing your dancing. All of it." He could feel Maisie's head bobbing in agreement against his collar. "I wish she could be at my wedding. I think she would love Emory. Don't you?" Grant played with the button studs on Patrick's chest. "And my god, she would love you. The incredible people you are becoming. All the things you are going to be. She'd be so thrilled. And she'll love you forever. I've only ever wanted you to be secure in that knowledge. And to be happy. I just want to squeeze you right now and demand you be happy." He shook them both until they cracked and giggled. "But I can't do that. I can't snap my fingers and order you to be anything. I can ask you to choose happiness when you can. I can ask you to try. I can show you what happens when you let new people into your life." He looked across at Emory and did his best to contain himself. Greg sauntered over to listen, but stayed far enough back not to encroach on their moment.
"I'm sorry you're sad about missing Mom," Grant said.
Patrick undid a button on his shirt. "That's just the thing. It doesn't feel like sadness. It feels like love."
Patrick jostled them again until they cracked.
"How does it feel for you?" Patrick leaned from Maisie to Grant and back again, as if they might whisper the answer in his ear. "Are you happy?"
Maisie hesitated. "For Emory and you?"
"About Emory and me."
"YES!" Grant screamed as he pumped his fist in the air.
Patrick held both palms up, waiting for two high fives, which came in perfect unison. He then stood and looked his brother, Greg, in the eye. "And that's—"
"Don't say it," Greg pleaded. Emory, who was just joining them, likewise encouraged him to quit while he was ahead.
But there was no stopping Patrick from employing his character's catchphrase from his first TV sitcom. "—how you do it."
Maisie looked like she was going to be sick.
"Oh come on," Patrick protested. "It was meant to be funny!"
They had the terrazza reserved for another hour. Soon it would be hosed down, and tables would be set for breakfast service, which began at six. But Patrick wasn't willing to cede the night to those who rose with the sun. Not his night. Not their night. The wedding would soon be over and a new life would begin. He would head home, say goodbye to the kids, and figure out everything to come next.
"Someone must have speakers or something. We need more dancing!"
Palmina offered the Bluetooth speakers in her room, which was closest to the terrazza. When she returned with them, Patrick snatched the speakers from her grip before she could plug them in.
"Why don't you like Palmina?" Maisie asked, having observed this interaction go down.
"Who says I don't like Palmina?" Patrick protested. But as he waited for his phone to pair with the speakers, he earnestly replied, "I like Palmina very much."
Palmina closed her eyes in disgust. There was no need to get mushy now.
"Lesbians, then," Maisie pressed, as if she wasn't buying his response.
"Let me tell you something," he said, looking up at Palmina. "Lesbians are heroes. They were at the forefront of earning women the right to vote. They helped pave the way for marriage equality and were on the front lines to normalize the idea of gay people raising kids. They held our hands when we were dying of AIDS. Sally Ride was the first woman in space! Also, they went to the prom with us when we were scared queer boys and allowed us to hold our heads high. And, if that weren't enough, they lend you their speakers when you want to dance."
"Then why do you bicker so much?"
Patrick thought this was obvious. "Why do you bicker with Grant? Gay men and lesbians are brothers and sisters. And sometimes you tease your family because you love them the most." Maisie seemed to find this acceptable just as the speakers blipped their connection. "But you can't dance to anyone who played Lilith Fair, so we're going to play music from my phone." He winked at Palmina, who found Patrick's references as outdated and square as the kids did.
Patrick pulled up an old standby playlist that never failed to get people on their feet.
"We didn't get you anything," Grant said panicked, looking at the few gifts that had been hastily procured and placed in a sad little lump in the corner. Gifts had never been Patrick's love language, anyway.
Patrick placed his hands on their shoulders and turned them outward to face their spectacular setting—the lake, the moon, the stars that punctured the sky. Emory wandered into their sight line and waved. "Correction," Patrick whispered so only they could hear. "You got me everything." He then pressed play on his phone and the opening synth-pop beats of Starship's "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now" unspooled from the speakers.
Emory groaned. "Not oldies."
But Clara squealed with recognition, as did several others, and Patrick amped up the volume. He had just enough time to spin Emory onto the makeshift checkered tile dance floor and say, "Oldies. Don't make me marry and divorce you in the same night." He then lip-synched the opening lyrics. *Lookin' in your eyes, I see a paradise...*
Emory relented and whispered the next lyrics back. Indeed, the world that they found seemed too good to be true.
Clara and Gustavo, Greg and Livia, even Palmina and the Robert Palmer girls all took the dance floor, unable to resist a power ballad. "Oldies," Patrick scoffed over the music. "CLASSICS!" Even Maisie and Grant couldn't hold themselves back from dancing. Grant had long lost his little suit jacket and he'd rolled up his sleeves to get down. As always, he was a natural, and over the years Patrick had encouraged his interest in dancing by introducing him to all kinds of music that kept the kid on his feet. Maisie was just a half step off the beat, much as she was in life. Awkward, but also beautiful, like a baby giraffe first standing tall. But they were at the heart of it all; Patrick, Emory, Palmina, Livia, Clara, and even Groot couldn't help but break in to have a turn dancing with each kid.
Patrick eyed Emory from across the dance floor. If the world ran out of lovers, they'd still have each other. There were challenges ahead, and a new life to get used to, but indeed—nothing could stop them now.
Except for the event staff at the Grand Hotel Tremezzo, who eventually did stop them just after one in the morning. Drenched in sweat, a slight chill descended over Patrick and the kids once they stopped dancing, and Grant asked if he and Maisie could have hot chocolate. Livia agreed the nightcap was a fine idea and offered to join them.
"We've had the best in the world," Grant warned, looking back at his uncle, as if this would be a make-or-break test for Livia. Finer things.
"In Paris?" she asked, looking to Patrick for confirmation. Livia didn't seem too concerned. "Well, let me tell you, there is a difference in French and Italian hot chocolates. We both use heavy cream, but Italians add cornstarch to thicken the drink into something special."
"Cornstarch?" Maisie frowned, unsure. It didn't seem like an ingredient that screamed rich dessert.
"How about we go to the kitchen and I will have them whip some up, and you can tell me who has the best in the world."
"DEAL," Grant said, and he spit in his hand before offering it to shake.
Livia stared at Patrick, trying her best to mask horror.
"He didn't learn that from me!" Patrick protested, who was more likely to spit bons mots than saliva.
On Livia's other side, Palmina did her best to look innocent. Sadly, innocent was not her default setting and it was clear to everyone who encouraged this. She cleared her throat to get Livia's attention, a little familial encouragement. Livia hesitated only a second before spitting in her own hand and grabbing Grant's to seal their agreement. "Deal."
Patrick applauded and tossed her a nearby napkin. *Well done,* he said with his eyes as Livia turned to lead the children inside.
He looked around at the motley assortment of lingering guests, the ones that were somehow still standing. Part of the joy in not growing up imagining one's wedding was the security in knowing it could never be a disappointment. Emory and Patrick were an unlikely pair that worked because they each let the other be exactly who they were. *Let 'em say we're crazy,* Patrick thought silently to himself, not wanting to incur Maisie's friend Audra Brackett's wrath. He then put his hand in Emory's and neither of them looked back.