There’s something about weddings that’s so life affirming and hope-filling. They can even soothe the most frightened and vulnerable open hearts. Especially when it’s the wedding of people you love and care about. I didn’t even stress out over the fact that I woke up this morning with indentations all over one side of my face from smushing it into a pillow, after finally getting to sleep in the wee small hours. It now seems like years ago that I was tossing and turning, my nostrils filled with the mild lingering scent of pepperoni, my head filled with paranoia about missed opportunities with Scott.

I got up early to help Maya get dressed up, in her delicate subtly shimmery rose gold slip dress and slender silver halo that’s adorned with crystals, wildflowers and gardenias. Each of the bridesmaid dresses are slightly different in style, but all made from the same billowy blush fabric that was donated by one of Maya’s favorite teachers at FIDM. The men wear off-white slacks, jackets and shirts—no ties. It’s a good look.

We had pictures taken in the National Park. First we did the ladies, and then there were the “First Look” pictures, when the guys brought Sam and he saw Maya for the first time in her bridal dress. His jaw actually dropped, right before he started weeping like a little boy who couldn’t believe he just got exactly what he’d asked for for Christmas. All of us women had to have our eye makeup touched up after that because OH MY GOD. So cute.

Scott is wearing his glasses. I know him well enough to understand that it’s because he expected to cry today, and he doesn’t want his contact lenses to cloud up or get dislocated if he rubs his eyes. Knowing this—knowing that he knew he would cry while his best friend got married—makes me love him even more. Standing next to our best friends, while the minister said: “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” we stared at each other. We weren’t smiling, we weren’t solemn, we were both crying happy tears, because in our own small ways we made this happen, by introducing them. At least, I think that’s what we were both thinking.

We’re under the big tent, surrounded by desert and hills and the setting sun, flowing gauzy magenta fabric, and so much glittering candlelight. It’s warm, no longer hot. It does sort of feel like we’re in Morocco, and it definitely feels like we’re at a wonderful party wherein two beloved people just happened to officially marry each other. It’s exactly what Maya and Sam wanted for the weekend.

Scott and I are sitting next to each other at Table Number One, with the bride and groom and their parents. We’ve already consumed the salmon and chicken kebabs that I helped to skewer, and we’re eating the incredible layer cake that tastes even better than it looks. Maya and Sam’s parents and grandparents have all given their lovely little speeches, and now Sam is wrapping up his long, meandering, rhapsodic ode to all of the people he loves, most of all Maya. He thanks Scott for deciding to go to Emerson to study screenwriting, so Scott could meet me, and thanks me for being a great enough person for Maya to love and live with, and thanks our agents for getting married, so I could introduce her to him at their wedding.

I see Maya lean back, make eye contact with Scott, and give him a look that says: make him stop! Scott gets up, hugs Sam, and takes the microphone away from him. “Okay, Champ, why don’t we take a little intermission from this beautiful journey down memory lane.” He signals for me to tap my water glass, and I do. Maya grabs Sam and kisses him, for the hundredth time this evening.

“Hi, everyone,” Scott continues, into the mike. It is of no surprise to me that he’s a natural public speaker. “I’m Scott. I’ll keep this brief. What a relief that I no longer have to share my most embarrassing Sam story with everyone, because you all just witnessed it. And he isn’t even drunk!”

There is laughter, and applause and cheering from the Scotsmen, who are allowed to drink champagne tonight.

“I’m just kidding, Sammy, you’re adorable…I’m sure there are more than a few cynics out there who'd find it hard to believe that two people can meet, fall in love, get married and get pregnant (not necessarily in that order), without facing or creating any obstacles.” He looks directly at me.  “But fuck the cynics.  Obstacles are for love stories.” He looks back at Maya and Sam.  “Your love is real. I don’t know if we choose who we love, but we do choose how we love. You both chose to love each other unabashedly and without limits from the moment you met and it’s inspiring to me and I think it’s safe to say that you’ve both inspired everyone here and we are all so lucky to be here to celebrate you and the amazing beautiful thing you’re bringing into this world together…”

He pauses, to pull off his glasses and dab at his eyes with his fingers. He sniffles and laughs at himself.

Everyone in the room with a pair of ovaries goes “awwww.” Even me.

“Sorry. Let’s all raise our glasses again, to this gorgeous couple, and promise to be there for them and their spawn always. To Maya and Sam.”

There’s a chorus of: “Maya and Sam!”

Sam and Maya hug Scott, and then he hands the microphone to me.

“Thanks a lot,” I mumble. I had been so preoccupied with Scott Thoughts that I didn’t even prepare a Maid of Honor speech. Normally, I would have prepped like I would for a pitch meeting. But it’s a good thing, because anything I would have written would have sounded like a phony monologue from the end of a bad rom com after that.

I clear my throat and keep stroking the open hearts pendant of my necklace. “Well, that’s not an easy act to follow, but I will keep this very brief and to the point. Sam and Maya, I love you both, and this is my gift to you—other than the one I got off your registry. I think you’ll appreciate this even more than the juicer…” I turn to look at Scott and I say to him: “I’m in love with you, asshole. I love you, and if we can be even half as happy together as Maya and Sam are, then it will be worth putting up with you for the rest of my life or as long as I can.”

I drop the mike, hearing laughter and applause, I hug Maya and Sam, who are laughing and crying, and then I go over to Scott. He has stood up and his face is as expressionless now as it was when I told him I loved him in front of all these people. I stand before him, waiting for a reaction. He grabs me, dips me, and says in my ear: “I’ve been in love with you since before I met you, you dumbass.” He kisses me, holding me in his arms, and I relax into it, trusting that he won’t drop me.

Sam and Maya hoot and holler, and Sam calls out to the DJ to start up the music. Not one person hesitates to boogie on out to the dance floor.

Somebody drops a champagne glass and it shatters on the ground. Scott immediately puts his arm out to stop me from stepping onto the dance floor barefoot.

“Where are your shoes?”

“I don’t know! I can’t remember when I took them off.”

“Get on my back. I don’t want you to cut yourself.”

“Oh my God, I can just avoid that area—look someone’s cleaning it up.”

“Get on my back, woman. Now.”

I roll my eyes, hike up my dress and jump up onto his back. He carries me out like this, to join Maya and Sam and all of their beautiful friends and family, and we dance like this for half an hour until he has carried me all around the area and I find my shoes.

He collapses into a chair while I slip my shoes on. “You are so much heavier than you look.”

“You’re just weak from loving me so much.”

“No way. It gives me strength. I feed on it.” He watches me for a moment, as I straighten myself up, then he pulls me onto his lap.

“Move in with me.”

“I can’t move in with you.”

“Come on. You will eventually.”

“Oh really.”

“What’s the point of you moving to a smaller apartment or going through all the annoying shit you have to go through to find a new roommate, if you’re just going to shack up with me eventually anyway.”

“One step at a time.”

“But we’re going to be together all the time if we’re writing together.”

“All the more reason we should have separate places to retreat to.”

“I just don’t want you to waste money on rent if you don’t need to.”

I put my hands on the sides of his face. “I appreciate it. I do. I’m sure it will happen eventually, but let’s not rush into it. I want this to work.”

He relents. “Me too.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“For what?”

“For waiting for me.” I kiss him and then pull away. “We need to get back to writing soon. Keep the momentum going!”

“It’s Joshua Tree weekend, take a break.”

“I know, I know. But what should we write next? Another relationship-y horror movie?”

“Something supernatural and more R-rated this time. The Lovely Boners.”

“Your boners really are lovely and supernatural.”

“I wasn’t fishing for compliments, but thank you.”

“Let the Right One In…My Pants.”

“Yeah you did.” He high-fives me. “The Woman in Black…Boyshorts.”

“Awww.”

“Memories.”

“Actually I think we should do a psychological horror like Black Swan, like we talked about.”

“About a screenwriter who’s convinced another writer is trying to ruin her career when really he’s just falling in love with her and trying to get into her pants?”

“It would have been so much sweeter if you’d left out that last part.”

“You’re never going to stop editing me, are you?” he says, smiling.

“Nope.”

“Good. Wait, what about the idea we had after we saw Sleep No More?”

“Oh yeah! Wow. We have so much to write together.”

“We’re going to have to implement some stringent no-sex while working rules.”

“I was just going to say that. Some hard and fast rules.”

“For instance, because we now know that according to scientists—sitting down all day is very bad for our health—so every half an hour we should take a break from sitting and typing and not have sex in a chair or in a lying down position.”

“Right. We should have sex standing up.”

“For the sake of our health.”

“Every half an hour, huh?”

“We’re gonna be really healthy.” He grins.

I look around, at Maya and Sam’s crew. One of Sam’s bands is doing a funky cover of the Shania Twain song From This Moment On, and everyone is dancing, except us. Still on Scott’s lap, I can feel that he is thinking what I’m thinking. We could definitely sneak away for a few minutes and not be missed. I glance over at him, look into his hooded eyes and pull his glasses off his face. “I’ll hang onto these while we do it,” I say.

He picks me up, stands up, and we run to the house, hand-in-hand.

He locks the bathroom door and I place his glasses on the countertop.

He grabs my hips from behind, squeezing them and groaning. “I’ve missed touching you.”

“Me too.” I turn to face him, fumbling with his shirt buttons, while he slowly runs his fingers up my thighs, under my dress. I am a trembling mess of hot want. He cradles my face in his hands and kisses my lips, tenderly.

The kiss calms me down, but unleashes something in him. He pushes me up against the bathroom door, pressing my hands up over my head, pressing himself against me. “You better be in this for the long haul, Duffy.” His voice is gruff. “I’m not fucking around here.”

“I’m not fucking around either, Braddock.” I look up at him, directly into his eyes. They are brown like chai tea, spicy and comforting at the same time. “I’m gonna love you like you’ve never been loved before.”

He laughs, then catches his breath. “I fucking love you so much. I do. I want you, I want all of you.”

“Take it. I’m all yours.” I mean it. It feels so good to say it out loud to him.

He kisses me, then drops to his knees and dips his head under my dress. He pulls down my panties, lifts my leg up to rest it on his shoulder and slips his tongue inside of me, exploring and groaning at the wetness that has awaited him, sucking on my clit, his fingers digging into the flesh of my ass. I was so afraid I’d never experience this with him again that as soon as my body realized it had been invited back to the party it was ready to orgasm. I don’t even hold back the loud gasps or the convulsions. I want him to know how he makes me feel and I want to feel everything with him.

By the time he stands up and presses his hard cock inside of me, his own body trembling now, I feel full of him, in the best way, welcoming and accepting him into me. I keep my eyes open and locked with his.

I’m not afraid of anything. I’m not afraid of anyone seeing or hearing us, I’m not afraid of how attracted I am to him, I’m not afraid of how much I love him, I’m not afraid of how much I will hate him sometimes, and I’m not even afraid of how much it would hurt if it were all taken away.

It’s like having writer’s block and then unlocking some part of your brain and suddenly everything falls into place.

This was our story, complete with obstacles and cynics, and I wouldn’t change a thing, and it’s just beginning.