June First

June, age 23

The gems on my tulle skirt twinkle like tiny prisms as the sun streaks in through the pop-up tent. I stand before a full-length mirror while my mother bounces one of my long curls inside her cupped palm, her eyes also twinkling. Incandescent blue. “You look like a dream,” she murmurs to me.

I smile, fingering the bluebird pendant around my neck.

Celeste pops her head up from her bottle of nail polish as she glides it over a long fingernail. Her baby blue dress sparkles in the afternoon sunglow. “I feel like I’m in a game of Candyland. I’m Queen Frostine.”

Giggling, I realize that I did go all out with the rainbow theme. I’m wearing a white lace leotard with a magnificent skirt infused with Technicolor silk and tulle. A rainbow train spills out the back, and I’m quite an eccentric sight for a bride, but…

Still a step up from a zebra.

Wendy chuckles, sitting at the same small table as Celeste and scrolling through her phone as we count down the final minutes before the wedding begins. Her dress resembles Celeste’s, the icy blue color a striking contrast against her fiery red hair. “I sent Wyatt a selfie. He told me I look like a Smurf.”

I chuckle. “How is Wyatt? It’s been years.”

“Miraculously, not in jail. He actually met a nice girl and got his shit together,” Wendy says, smiling as she types out a text. “He works for the union, has a dog named Lucy—heck, I think he’s well on his way to becoming fully domesticated.” Glancing up at me, she adds, “He sends his congratulations, by the way.”

“Really?” My eyebrow lifts.

Wendy snorts, tucking her phone back into her purse. “No, he said to eat a bowl of fuck, but he sent it with a little heart emoji, so I think that’s basically the same thing.”

Mom stiffens behind me and clears her throat as my cheeks stain with blush.

“The food looked great, June. I can’t wait to see if Pauly’s Beef Wellington is as good as Brant’s.”

She changes the subject like a pro.

My mom is right, though. I can already smell the delicious food that Pauly has been cooking, after he volunteered to be the one-man caterer on our special day. When Pauly moved back to New York this past spring, he ended up purchasing an expansive property with a horse farm, reminiscent of his childhood. He doesn’t have any horses yet, but he plans on naming his first horse “Stellina”—the pet name he gave to Wendy, his new fiancée who joined him in New York, and is helping him run his restaurants.

Shockingly enough, Wendy and I have become close.

We’re friends.

And while Celeste has been swamped with stage shows, earning herself starring roles in critically acclaimed performances, Wendy has stepped in to help me with—

“Oh, Caroline, sweet little love of mine.” Dad pushes through the tent opening, his eyes brimful of adoration, and his arms full of a tiny, perfect being.

Our daughter.

With tufts of light brown curls and cheeks fat and pink, she makes little cooing noises that I swear sound like “Aggie.” My dad plucks the toy elephant off a folding chair, as if hearing what I just heard, and bounces her up and down, still singing his silly rhymes. “Kip and I were putting the finishing touches on the arbor, while this little angel serenaded us with baby giggles in her bouncer.” He lifts her up high, then brings her back to his chest, holding her head with his big bear paw. “Weren’t you, darling girl?”

My father is completely whipped.

He melts into putty every time Caroline gives him a gummy smile or wraps her baby fist around his finger.

I swoon. “Give her here, Dad. I need to smell and squeeze her for good luck.”

Caroline just turned four months old. She was born with wayward sprouts of golden hair that have since fallen out, replaced by dark brown curls. I wonder if her eyes will be blue like mine, or hazel like her father’s. She has my button nose, Brant’s dimples, and a unique birthmark on her hip that Brant says looks like an apple—the apple of her Daddy’s eye.

I think it looks like a peach.

My father hands her over to me, and she smells like lavender, baby powder, and bubble baths; I want to bottle up her sweet scent and savor it for life.

Mom curls a final ribbon of brown hair, letting it flutter between her fingertips. She sighs, and it sounds like something equally melancholy and joyous.

The end of an era.

The beginning of a brand new journey.

“Goodness… I feel old,” Mom reflects, stroking Caroline’s little round head. Her eyes lift up to me with nostalgia. “It feels like yesterday I was putting pigtails in your hair, pulling pennies from your nose, and washing dirt stains out of your rompers.”

I can’t help but laugh.

“Now, you’re getting married,” Dad muses.

He shows no sign of resentment or scorn toward the man I’m getting married to—we’re beyond that, now. While our family dynamic isn’t conventional, and I realize my parents may never undoubtedly approve of the path we’ve taken, I know there is still acceptance there. And as each day passes, the acceptance grows.

They accept that we are what we are.

They accept that they can’t change what we are, and they would rather love us than leave us.

They accept Brant as the boy they raised and as the man who fell in love with their daughter.

And above all, they accept this:

Just as we cannot force ourselves to love someone, we cannot force ourselves to unlove them, either. Fate can be foolish, and fate can be careless.

But fate is always true.

Placing a glossy kiss to Caroline’s head, I smile with fondness, I smile with joy, and I gaze up at my parents with the same sentiment.

“Have a remarkable day, my darling daughter,” my father says, his eyes creased with emotion. Canting his head down, he gives my arm a tender squeeze as he whispers into my ear, “Each remarkable day paves the way toward a truly remarkable life.”

The expression on our reverend’s face concerns me.

My arms start to shake as I clutch the bouquet of flowers to my chest and worry my lip between my teeth. I watch the wrinkles in his forehead furrow as his eyes flare slightly and his lips twitch with a strange combination of professional politeness and…

Amusement? Horror? Confusion?

I simply can’t read him. Leaning forward a bit, I whisper. “What is it?”

Glancing at me, the reverend forces a smile, then returns his attention to just over my shoulder.

He winces.

What is happening?

With wobbly knees, I shuffle from foot to foot on the rainbow aisle runner, my eyes flickering across the sky as I tilt my head up to distract myself. I’m sluiced with nerves and impatience. What’s taking so long? Is Brant having second thoughts? Cold feet?

Is he hurt? Sick? Lost?

Pauly’s property is certainly hard to find, tucked away in wooded suburbia, but surely, someone would have informed me if he was running late to his own wedding before I made it down the aisle.

A family of birds fly overhead, and I smile, inhaling a deep, calming breath.

It’s fine, June. Just be patient.

The speakers finally crackle to life with the prelude to our song. My heart races, more nerves coasting through me.

Only… instead of Over the Rainbow, it’s the intro to Closer by Nine Inch Nails.

“Shit.” I hear Kip curse over the deep base beats as he frantically adjusts the song. “Sorry, wrong playlist.”

Oh my God.

I glance toward the sky again as I fidget in place, assuming that with my luck, the birds will soon be circling back to poop on me.

Sweaty fingers cling to the bouquet stems while everything goes silent, and the reverend clears his throat. He looks dubious. He remains unreadable, but I’m not allowed to look behind me yet.

Brant has a surprise.

I realize it’s backwards having me already at the end of the aisle, while Brant walks down to meet me, but I suppose we’ve always been a little bit backwards. I promised I wouldn’t turn around until he told me to, so here I stand—in all of my quivering, sweaty-limbed, heart-palpitating glory.

C’mon, Brant!

Music finally floats through the speakers, and I sigh with relief when it’s the beginning of Over the Rainbow; an acoustic cover performed by Amber Leigh Irish.

Our song.

And I’d be near tears right now if the romantic mood wasn’t interrupted by collective gasps, followed by a sound that vaguely resembles a horse.

The reverend’s eyebrows lift to his hairline, but he refuses to look at me, crossing his hands at the wrists in front of him.

I blink. “Was that a horse?”

He shakes his head slightly, forcing another taut smile.

Of course, I didn’t hear a horse.

That would be absurd. It was probably just—

“No! Get back here!” Brant’s voice thunders over the melodic song, causing my eyes to pop. “Crap.”

What. Is. Going. On?!

Voices clamor behind me.

“Should we help him?”

Aunt Kelly.

“He’s eating the decorations!”

Mom.

“This was a terrible idea.”

Dad.

“Look, he’s peeing… for an eternity.”

Wendy.

“Will he ever stop peeing?”

Wendy again.

“Ooh, really good dye job.”

Celeste.

I can’t take it anymore.

I turn around.

And then…

There’s a unicorn.

A horse is decorated like a unicorn, galloping around the small group of folding chairs with a “horn” half falling off its head, a multicolored mane and tail, and letters scrawled across its flank and shoulders in rainbow letters that read, “Rupert.”

Rupert.

The unicorn in my fever dream when I was twelve.

I told Brant about it, and he’d laughed.

He’d laughed and evidently took immaculate mental notes.

My hand plants against my chest as my heart beats wildly out of control. “Oh my…” I glance behind me, my eyes landing on a defeated Brant pinching the bridge of his nose in a baby blue tux and navy bowtie. His head shakes back and forth with dismay.

Laughter spills out of me as I run to him, lifting up my tulle skirt, hardly able to contain my amusement. “Brant,” I choke out. The music goes silent once more, and I fling my arms around his neck. “You remembered my dream.”

He makes an “oof” sound when I collide with his chest. Two strong arms wrap around me as he lets out a sigh of disappointment. “That did not go how I expected it to.”

I can’t help but murmur against his suit vest, “Have we ever gone according to plan?”

“I guess not,” he laughs.

Pauly is already on his feet, reining in the rebellious roan and walking him toward the back of the aisle as a streamer floats from Rupert’s tail that reads ‘Just Married.’ The reverend clears his throat again, still standing beneath our wedding arch, waiting for this circus to mellow out so we can have a proper vow exchange.

Smiling fondly, amusedly, Brant holds his hand out to me. “Ready, Junebug?”

I flash back to my dream.

My eyes case the small group of guests, zoning in on my father holding an elderly Yoshi on a short leash in the front row. The old Dachshund is nearly seventeen, having been a loyal friend for almost my whole life.

Something old.

Mom sits beside my father with a pink bundle tucked inside her arms, bouncing the infant up and down in her lap, trying to calm her fussing.

Our baby daughter.

Something new.

Glancing toward the chair that only holds two stuffed elephants and a framed photograph, my eyes start to mist. The pre-Prom picture of me standing and laughing between Theo and Brant sits beside Aggie and Bubbles on the seat cushion, serving as a tangible reminder of the brother I miss with my whole heart. The brother who isn’t here today because he used his final moments to save someone else.

The brother who will never stop saving me, even in death.

My fingers fiddle with the bronze badge pinned to the lacy leotard of my dress.

Theo’s badge.

Something borrowed.

A tear slips down my cheek as I stare at the precious photograph, wishing I could hear his speech. Begging to feel his fierce, protective arms around me one last time.

I close my eyes as the breeze picks up, coasting across my face like the hug I crave.

It’s warm, it’s familiar, and I pretend it’s him.

I pretend it’s Theo, giving us his blessing, and whispering into my ear, “I’m proud of you, Peach. You know that, right?”

Yeah, I know.

I readjust the tiara into my curled, glitter-dusted hair, taking Brant by the hand and nodding my head toward Kip to restart the song.

“I’m ready.”

Over the Rainbow starts to play as we make our way down the aisle together, landing beneath the decorated arch.

It’s a rainbow, of course.

It’s impossible to predict a rainbow, so we created our very own.

We both glance up at it before our eyes lock with charmed smiles, and the officiant begins the ceremony. It’s short and sweet. We didn’t want anything drawn-out or extravagant, just as the wedding itself is nothing more than an intimate gathering of close friends and family.

It’s a celebration of love on our dear friends’ property with a cake made by the love of my life, an exchange of vows beneath a vibrant sky, and dancing until dusk.

It’s perfect.

It’s us.

And as we wrap up our vows, and Brant says “I do” with tears in his earth-spun eyes, I can’t help myself. I mouth to him, “You mean it?”

Grinning, he mouths back, “Of course, I mean it.”

Rupert neighs as the reverend pronounces us man and wife, and then we kiss.

And it’s not just any kiss.

It’s a kiss of courage, a kiss of comfort, a kiss of two people beating the odds and weaving a love story out of tragedy. It’s finding a happily ever after within the one person you least expect, yet the only person meant for you.

It’s not our first kiss.

It’s not our last kiss.

It’s a kiss that culminates our past, brings magic to our present, and seals our future forever.

“I love you so much,” I murmur, stroking my palm down his stubbled cheek as his dimples smile back at me.

“I love you, Junebug. More than you’ll ever know,” he replies, planting a kiss to my hairline. He breathes in deep. “More than you could ever dare to dream.”

As Brant pulls back, grinning wide, our guests clap with celebration, and Wendy and Aunt Kelly rise from their seats. They skip over to the tiny bird cage sitting beside us in the grass as another familiar breeze sweeps by.

I take my husband’s hand in mine and interlace our fingers, turning toward the women. Emotions run through me like a roaring river.

Wendy picks up the cage, clutching it between her arms as she sends us a beaming smile.

Aunt Kelly lifts her hand and opens the metal door.

And then I start to cry.

I break down into tears, watching as the tiny bluebird spreads its wings and flies free, soaring up to the hazy blue sky and disappearing into a cloud.

Brant pulls me close as he exhales a shuddering breath against my hair, his eyes on the sky, our hands interlocked, and his heart eternally woven with mine.

Something blue.