Page 46 of Husband Material
“Dearly beloved,” he began, “in case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t going to be a traditional service. We aren’t in a church and I’m certainly not a priest, but ladies, if you want to see God, call me after the ceremony.” He rode the laughter a bit before he continued. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the love of two totally fucking amazing people—”
And I sort of checked out after that because I was having feels. Complicated feels. Because for all I could snark about the indie venue and the rainbow lights and the drag minister, this had been my world for years until one of thefucking amazing peoplewe were here to celebrate had blown it up.
“And here they are,” Roger finished with a stagy snap of his fingers.
All eyes turned to the back of the room, where Miles and JoJo entered from opposite sides of the archway, linked arms with a precision I suspected they’d practiced at least a hundred and twelve times, and proceeded down the aisle. A well-hidden speakersystem kicked in and “Slip Away” by Perfume Genius played over the procession while two professional cameramen captured the whole thing for what I was willing to bet—and a sneaky check of JoJo’s Twitch channel confirmed—was a livestream.
And I did have to admit that they both, in their radically different ways, looked great. Irritatingly great. Miles was dressed in a very traditional suit that made him every inch the perfect groom and even managed to make his hipster beard less risible. JoJo was in full makeup, with rainbow eyeshadow out to the temples, and wearing a silk tailcoat over a denim shirt and a black skirt flowing with organza.
Fuck.The man who’d ruined my life was a spread in gayHello. Which I guess would beBona to Vada Your Eek.
The ceremony that followed was irreverent, joyful, and occasionally vulgar, but it was also depressingly touching. Miles and JoJo were clearly head-over-heels for each other, and the guests—me and my cynical boyfriend aside—were clearly head-over-heels for them and their future happiness.
“JoJo,” said Miles, looking legitimately glisteny-eyed as he kicked off the exchange of cloying sincerity that made you really misslove, honour, and obey. I mean, sure it was outdated and misogynistic, but at least it was short. He swallowed. “JoJo,” he tried again, “when we met, I was in a…in a dark place.”
Oh, poor you. If you give me some of your fifty grand, I’ll buy you the world’s smallest violin.
“But,” Miles continued inexorably, “you showed me how to be happy again. You came into my life like a bolt of sunshine. You make me feel safe and loved and seen, and I know that I’m a better person when I’m with you.”
Considering the kind of person he’d been when he was with me, that was a pretty low bar.
“You’ve given me so much: your generous spirit, your dauntlessheart. You’ve filled my days with joy and my nights with a frankly astonishing collection of fancy lube.”
Pause for laughter. Eye roll.
Miles continued gazing at his husband-to-be with intense devotion. “I love you, JoJo. I always will.”
I stole a look at Oliver. It was his blankest face. And that was oddly reassuring.
“Miles.” JoJo gazed back. “You’re my rock. You’re the best, kindest man I’ve ever known. Except, of course, for my amazing Patreons—I’m kidding, I’m kidding.”
Another pause for laughter. Although I liked to think he wasn’t joking. Miles deserved to marry a man with sponsored vows.
“I was lost when we met,” JoJo went on, “but you found me. I’d forgotten how to believe in myself, but you remembered how to believe in me.”
Mean Oliver leaned over and whispered as softly as he could, “Have I developed spontaneous aphasia or are they just saying words at random?”
“You should object,” I told him.
“You know it doesn’t work like that.” He paused. “Especially because this is a wedding.”
“I was lonely,” JoJo went on. And on. “And now I’m not. Because I’ve got you, and I know you’ll always be there for me, and you’ve made me happier than anyone ever has.”
Oh God. He was crying and not in an artful gets-me-clicks way. He actually meant every word of this, and as usual, I was being a prick.
He dabbed at his eyes, smearing his rainbows a little, but looking so offensively radiant it didn’t matter. “I love you, Miles. And I always will.”
Pause for awwws.
For about ninety seconds I felt real bile rising up in mystomach because people were awwwing for my arsehole ex and his jailbait boyfriend. Sorry, jailbait spouse. I’d sort of convinced myself that the wedding would prove to me that Miles was nothing but a tired hipster chasing a YouTube trophy husband and the ceremony would just be a self-congratulatory wankfest to cover their sham of a marriage. Except, in the end, the ceremony had been a self-congratulatory wankfest that had been…really sweet and meaningful. And rather than being doomed forever, it was clear that Miles and JoJo kind of had something.
And I was, once again, the one left behind with nothing.
Wait. No, I wasn’t. I hadn’t been that for years, even though I’d believed I was for quite a long time. It had been a pisser of a journey, but I was slowly working out that I was more than the shitty things that had happened to me. And one of the best things that had happened to me was sitting right there, helping me mock the vows at my ex-boyfriend’s wedding.
Which—and maybe I was an overcompensating person or just a rubbish person—was some #relationshipgoals shit right there.
I gave Oliver’s hand a little squeeze. I could do this. I could totally do this. I was fine.
