"Okay?" Dan asks.
"Do you want to marry me?" Marc asks.
Dan freezes.
"I looked into it," Marc says, "and if we were to file for a marriage certificate now—"
"Marc," Dan interrupts.
"What?" Marc asks.
"Did you just propose and then not wait for an answer?" Dan asks.
There is a distinctly guilty silence on the line.
"You proposed over the phone?" Dan asks.
"I did not want to wait," Marc says defensively. "And it is time-sensitive if we want to make the All-Star date—"
"Yes," Dan interrupts.
"What?" Marc asks.
"Yes, you idiot," Dan says, torn between giddiness and being totally appalled that he's saying yes to someone who forgot to wait for an answer, "I'll marry you."
"Oh," Marc says. "Oh, good."
"Oh good," Dan mimics.
"Fuck off," Marc says, and Dan can only laugh.
epilogue: you could make a life
Dan calls his mom first. She cries almost silently for a minute, then insists she isn't crying, okay, she is, but it's because she's so happy, what did Marc say? Dan doesn't lie exactly, but he does omit the fact where Marc didn't actually wait for his response before starting to plan logistics.
After that, she's no nonsense, sends him an email the next day outlining exactly what they're going to have to do: the timeline for getting a licence, the numbers for some non-denominational ministers since Dan and Marc's Catholic backgrounds are not helpful on the gay marriage front. She gets Marc's mom's number from somewhere—Marc seems equally confused as to how—and they team up and get practically everything settled without Dan or Marc lifting a finger, which is pretty helpful considering it's the middle of the season, what was Marc thinking?
She books a small banquet hall, and caterers, and bar staff, and then hilariously sends them both a consolidated invoice like the contractor she is.
"I don't get it though," Dan says later on Skype, when Marc calls to laugh about the invoice. "It's pretty much going to be family."
"And Ulf," Marc adds.
"Well of course Larsson," Dan says, unthinking, then, "Wait, how the hell did you convince Larsson to willingly come up to Toronto on his vacation?"
"He complained for ten minutes," Marc says. "But that was only because it took him that long to figure out the American Airlines page. And then ten minutes more to book the Four Seasons. He swore at me then."
"We have a guest bedroom," Dan says.
"I said that," Marc agrees. "And he said he has heard enough of our sex, thank you."
He probably did say thank you. He's way more polite than they are. Canada's reputation for being polite is bullshit, just look at Marc.
*
The marriage licence has to be all them, so the next time Marc has part of a day free, he comes to Ottawa and meets Dan at City Hall. They spend more than an hour waiting in line, signing things—paperwork but also a couple autographs—and by the time they actually get everything squared, Marc has maybe an hour max before he's going to have to turn right back around.
"How far is your apartment from here?" Marc asks.
"Fifteen minutes?" Dan guesses.
"Okay," Marc says. "It will have to be a quickie."
Dan laughs. "You're so romantic," he says. "No wonder I'm marrying you."
"Tick tock, Riley," Marc says, already walking in the direction of Dan's apartment. Dan follows, because he's not stupid.
*
Of course some fan puts up a photo she took with Marc and Dan along with the information that they were at City Hall while doing so, and now it's fucking news, because there are really only so many reasons Dan and Marc would have to hit up municipal government together, and Dan's life is so typical.
"I'm hurt," Carruthers says the morning after it gets covered, sitting down beside Dan before practice. "You hurt me. And Bowie."
"And me," Bowman chimes in from where he's trapped Dan's only escape.
"It's going to be during All-Star break," Dan says feebly. "And it'll be in Toronto."
"I'm from Brampton," Carruthers says. "I'm just going to be around anyway. With Andy."
"I have nothing better to do," Bowman confirms.
God, the two of them are more codependent than Dan and Marc.
"So," Carruthers says. "Are we invited?"
"My family's going to be there," Dan protests.
"Dude, I saw those Stanley Cup pictures, your mom totally knows how to party," Carruthers says.
"Don't talk about my mom," Dan says, but somehow agrees to everything else. Suddenly he understands why his mother booked a hall. God, she is so much smarter than him.
*
After the game one of the beat reporters—who really should know better—asks him where his engagement ring is, and he only doesn't snap at him because shit, they forgot about rings.
He calls his mom and she laughs at him and tells him she can't pick out their wedding rings, and Dan doesn't know why not, considering she seems to be handling everything else. But what that leads to is Dan's next visit to Marc being ring shopping and not sex, and that's tragic for all involved.
They get recognized a fair amount—they're in Montreal, they're in a mall, Marc is Montreal's golden boy the same way he was Toronto's, but Frencher, and with fans less likely to turn on him (if only a little). The clerk at the jewelry store is the first to ask for an autograph and a picture, but she waits until the end and didn't let on that she knew who they were while helping them pick out rings, so Dan and Marc are happy to oblige, because they've got rings in their pockets and hopefully the next visit will involve more sex and less logistics. Or they'll be getting married. Dan hasn't looked at Marc's schedule lately because the forward movement of January is freaking him out.
Dan's less happy when the sales clerk puts the picture up online, along with gushing about their rings and how in love they seemed. Dan doesn't remember acting more in love than usual, but he's been informed that his usual is pretty nauseating by more than one person, so he may not be the best judge of that.
This time, at least, the media doesn't care—Marc's always pretty big news, but the sports media wouldn't lower themselves to speculating over ring shopping like the gossip sites they secretly are. But it's everywhere on social media, to an extent that sort of staggers Dan, because he's not really surprised by the sheer amount of discussion of Marc's glimmering eyes and molten gold hair and pretty yet chiseled face (he agrees, though he thinks their use of adjectives is a little frightening), but there's all this shit about him too.
"Oh my god," Sarah says, laughing, when he calls her. "You didn't realise you had fans?"
"I'm not even a high-profile player," Dan says.
"Oh Dan," Sarah says, mock sympathetic. "They don't care about your skills. They just want you. And Marc. And you and Marc together."
"I am very confused," Dan says helplessly.
"You are the Brangelina of hockey," Sarah says.
"I don't want to be the Brangelina of hockey," Dan says meekly.
"You are years too late for that, bud," Sarah says. "You guys have a following. If you ever broke up you would make girls cry."
"I don't want to break up," Dan says. "Or make girls cry."
He stares at the ceiling of his hotel room. His laptop's been put in a place of shame in the corner of the room because he'd stumbled across descriptions of him with similarly scary adjective use, and that he did not agree with. Also he's pretty sure there was porn. He was afraid to confirm that, though. "I'm confused," he repeats.
"At least that's something you're used to," Sarah says, and then hangs up on him, because she's a real bitch sometimes.
*
Dan doesn't have a chance to see Marc again before the break, the closest thing he gets a Skype session with Marc looking grainy and very guilty.
"What did you do?" Dan asks.
"I do not know how it happened," Marc says, "I only i
nvited Bovard and Depardieu, but now they all have this idea in their head."
"Wait," Dan says, "how many Habs are going to be at our wedding?"
Marc bites his lip.
"Oh my god," Dan says. "There totally is a Quebec Secret Society, you lied to me!"
"We are not a cult," Marc says patiently. "We are a province."
They're totally a cult. They even have their own secret language.
*
Dan and Marc's vacations start at the same time, though Dan's starts at the tail-end of a road trip, so he's booking a commercial red-eye from Chicago instead of driving. It gets delayed, and then delayed again, and it's two in the morning before he even boards. He tries to sleep, but it's not easy when he's got his knees practically up to his nose. He's been so spoiled by private flights that the second a baby starts crying or there's an announcement he's jerking awake again.
By the time he's staggered in Marc's been home long enough to open the windows to air out the place, order food, eat half of it, and then pass out face down on the couch. Dan crouches beside him, rubs Marc's back.
"Salut," Marc mumbles.
"Salut," Dan says. "Ça va?"
Marc's nose wrinkles, and he sits up. Trust Dan's terrible French to get him up every time. He's been so entrenched in the all French all the time of Montreal that he's slipped a few times with Dan, starts explaining something in French until he remembers that Dan basically doesn't understand a word he's saying.
"Bed?" Dan asks.
"I got you food," Marc argues.
"Yeah," Dan says. "But I was stuck at O'Hare for hours and also we're getting married in, like, 36 hours, so."
"Bed," Marc agrees.
Dan puts away the leftovers, puts Marc's plate in the sink, and walks into their bedroom to find Marc passed out again, still completely dressed. He weighs the pros and cons of waking him up just to wrestle him out of his clothes. It sounds exhausting, so he just nudges at Marc until he's properly under the covers, crawls in beside him.
*
Dan's woken up way too early by the the intercom buzzing incessantly. Marc sleeps through it, so Dan's the one who has to stumble to the door, lean on the button.
"What," he grunts.
"I tried calling," his mom says.
"Oh my god, what time is it?" Dan asks.
"Eleven," his mom says. "You're getting married tomorrow and you're sleeping in?"
Dan groans wordlessly and buzzes her up, unlocks the door for her, then goes to collapse on the couch. He manages to get two minutes of blissful sleep before she's smacking his arm.
"I got in past five," Dan whines, opening one eye.
She looks unsympathetic.
"We have to discuss final details," she says.
"Fine," Dan says. "Then you have to wake up Marc."
"I'm not going to wake up Marc," she says.
"Ugh," Dan says, and picks himself up, drags himself to the bedroom, and falls half on top of Marc. Marc's comfortable, so Dan rests there until there's a sharp knock on their bedroom door.
"My mom's here," Dan mumbles, when Marc starts to move under him. "She wants to talk about our wedding."
"Tabarnak," Marc says into his pillow. Dan could not agree more.
*
Dan drags himself out of bed when it becomes very clear that his mom is not going to leave, and will also make their lives miserable until they get up. She's made coffee to soften the blow, and Dan sips it while she goes over last minute details and Marc makes himself scarce, supposedly making breakfast, but probably asleep on his feet in the kitchen.
She runs through the guest list, the food, the drinks, the freaking flower arrangements (Dan doesn't even remember agreeing to flower arrangements). Finally, she brings up the option of a service jointly in French and English, which may have been possible if Dan had a month straight to practice, but now?
"I couldn't remember it all," Dan argues.
"It's just simple things," his mom says. "You wouldn't have to memorise much."
"Dan would screw it up," Marc calls from the kitchen. Dan guesses he must be awake, then. Dan doesn't even have to speak in terrible French, someone can just mention Dan's terrible French, and suddenly there Marc is, mocking it.
"I would not screw it up," Dan calls back.
"His French is atrocious," Marc adds.
"My French is not atrocious," Dan mumbles.
"So you do want the bilingual ceremony?" his mom asks.
"Oh god no," Dan says. "I would screw it up, my French is atrocious, why are you listening to me?"
Marc pokes his head out of the kitchen and—there is no other word for it—cackles. Dan's going to be married to that in a day. That cackling, evil little Frenchman.
His mom looks at him fondly.
"What?" Dan asks.
"You're grinning," she says. He hadn't even noticed.
"Must be all the head injuries," Dan says, and she smacks him on the back of the head, which probably doesn't help. He explains this, but she's unimpressed, and moves on to parking. Who thinks of parking? Dan's mom, apparently.
Marc finally comes out with bagels and lox for a proper Montreal breakfast. He leans against Dan, eyes half shut, and blindly pushes his bagel in the general direction of his mouth.
"There's one more thing," Dan's mom says. "Typically the night before the wedding—"
"No," Dan says.
Marc got caught with his mouth full of food, but he gestures pointedly in Dan's direction in the clearest "what he said" that Dan's ever seen.
"It's tradition," Dan's mom says.
"It's not a traditional wedding," Dan argues. "No way."
Marc finally swallows. "Anne, we appreciate your help," he says, "but I do not get to see Dan enough as it is."
Dan gestures pointedly in Marc's direction. He may not be eating, but Marc says things better, so he'll leave it to him. Also there is no way he is going to admit to his mom that if she cockblocks him the night before he gets married he might cry, so being silent is best.
His mom rolls her eyes, but her mouth quirks slightly.
"Fine," she says, raising her hands, "you win. Be ready for noon tomorrow."
"It's not until four," Dan argues.
"Noon," she repeats, and walks out before Dan can argue further.
*
The day of the wedding she's much more insistent on separating them, threatening force when they argue, so Dan and Marc get ready on different sides of the rented building, Marc presumably with his family, Dan stuck with Sarah and his mom fiddling with his stupid fucking bow tie, his dad having been wise enough to escape. When Dan's mom leaves to go check on the crowd, Dan bribes Sarah to keep quiet and goes to investigate, peering out of a side door into the room they're using like a makeshift chapel.
Half of the Habs roster (the French half) has come in from Montreal, and they're looking suspiciously at where Carruthers and Bowman (and Olsen and Leon, when did Dan invite Olsen and Leon?) have camped out, looking equally suspicious. Tremblay must have gotten news from somewhere (no Quebec cult Dan's ass), and has infiltrated the Habs. Dan doesn't think they even realise they have a Leaf in their midst, or if they do, the fact he's French clearly outweighs that fact. Leon looks uneasy about being on the wrong side of the French brotherhood, but he sticks to Olsen's side like a good Senator.
Larsson sits by himself and laughs at all of them, and Buchanan and his family—who Dan did invite—enter and appear mostly bewildered before they seem to decide sitting with Larsson is the safest option. Dotted throughout are Dan and Marc's extended families, who seem confused by the fact they're in the middle of a Cold War.
Dan has a terrible feeling about all this.
Dan's mom approaches the rows and crosses her arms. "If there is any fighting at this wedding every single one of you will wish you were never born," she announces, and every hockey player is immediately united in looking down at his shoes and mumbling agreement, even Buch.
"You're magic,"
Dan says, when his mom catches him peeking out and goes to shove him out of the room. "You made hockey players behave."
"Just wait until they start drinking," she says grimly.
"I didn't invite most of these people," Dan says quickly, because he would like to not be blamed for anything that may or may not happen at his wedding reception. "This is all Marc's fault."
She rolls her eyes at him. "Already blaming the husband?" she asks.
"Well I learned from you," Dan says, and gets smacked and marched back to his holding cell, which he probably deserves.
It's only minutes later she's coming right back, fiddling with his bowtie until it's worse. "Five minutes," she says, and Dan exhales, frees the bowtie from her grip, and fixes it himself.
"Cold feet?" she asks, once Sarah has left to grab her seat.
"Nah," Dan says.
"I think I knew you would marry that boy the second he walked in our door," she says.
"I had known him for, like, a week," Dan points out.
"I think you knew you would too," she says, and reaches for his bowtie again, pulling back when he slaps her hands away. "He makes you so happy," she says, choked.
"Don't cry," Dan warns her. "If you make me cry, I am going to get chirped for the rest of my life."
She takes a breath, visibly calms herself down, like she has the nerves Dan doesn't. "Ready to get married?" she asks.
"Ready," Dan says.
*
Marc's already in the room when Dan's mom escorts him through the door before taking her seat. There's no walking down the aisle or anything—even with all the jokes Marc had made about Buchanan walking Dan in like a proper father figure—no bridesmaids or groomsmen or whatever, just them and a woman wearing pretty much the same stuff as the audience, wedding casual.
Marc looks pale, kind of shocky, and when Dan gets to the makeshift front he takes Marc's hand, squeezing lightly while the woman speaks. She reads a poem, one Dan remembers agreeing to, something about love, because of course it is, and Dan rubs his thumb over the back of Marc's hand, trying to be calming, until Marc takes a breath and smiles at him.
Marc's mostly pulled himself together when she starts with, "Do you, Pierre Marc Lapointe—"
You Could Make a Life Page 20
