by J. M. Snyder
The light on the slot flashed green and the lock disengaged with a soft, audible click. “Thank you, Jesus,” Lane murmured, pushing his way into the room.
Behind him, Remy griped, “Yeah, because I’m sure Chell from Hell had nothing to do with it.”
Lane only managed two steps in before he stopped, agog. Remy bumped into him, and Lane felt his lover’s hand nudge the small of his back. “Keep it moving, babe.”
Lane stepped to one side, the strap of his duffle bag slipping out of his fingers. “Will you look at this place?”
The room was stunning. No, it wasn’t a room—it was a suite, a small apartment, even. To one side was a small kitchen, complete with stove, full-size refrigerator and freezer, cabinets, microwave, sink, and dishwasher. A counter separated the kitchen from the living room area, and four wooden bar stools were tucked under the counter, giving it a bistro feel. In the living room, a recessed area was encircled by a large, white, leather sofa; the end tables came directly out of the floor at either side, and a glass coffee table separated the sofa from the huge, curved, LED TV.
Braden saw the TV and his eyes widened until they almost fell out of his head. “They have an Xbox One!” he cried, dropping his bags as he raced into the room.
“Careful,” Remy warned.
Braden paid no attention. Tripping down the three steps into the recessed area, he fell to his knees in front of the entertainment console and started rifling through the drawers. “A Playstation 4! I only have a PS3. A Wii U! They have the new Assassin’s Creed! Dad, this is awesome!”
To Lane, Remy muttered, “And now we’ll never get him out of our room. Thank you, Chell.”
But it wasn’t the TV that caught Lane’s interest—it was the view from the floor-to-ceiling windows beyond it. The vertical blinds had been drawn back, and the windows were tinted near the top to avoid a harsh glare, so all he could see from where he stood across the room was the deep clear blue Hawaiian sky. “God, that’s gorgeous,” he sighed, drawn to the window.
Remy trailed behind him, keeping a hand on his back. “Lovely view, I will admit.”
As they came closer, Lane grinned. “It only gets better.”
The window opened out onto a breathtaking vista of sun and sand and sea. The beach stretched away below them like a promise, almost too beautiful to be real. It was a scene from a postcard, picture perfect, and eleven storeys up, none of the sounds of traffic or tourists interrupted their enjoyment of the view. “I love this,” Lane said simply, leaning his forehead against the glass. It was surprisingly cool beneath his skin, but when he glanced down, he saw the air conditioning register sunk into the floor and realized why.
Remy’s arms eased around Lane’s waist, then Remy set his chin on Lane’s shoulder. “I love you, oh man of mine. This is the perfect place to start the rest of our lives together.”
Lane leaned back into Remy’s embrace and closed his eyes. Weariness draped over him like a heavy blanket. It had been a long, long day, and it was far from over, but right here, right now, in Remy’s arms, he was right where he’d always wanted to be.
“Dad, look!” Braden cried, excited. “They have the new Super Smash Bros! I asked for this for Christmas! Can you play this with me? Can you, please?”
Remy sighed against Lane’s neck. “This is an awesome suite, but if Kate’s room doesn’t have video games, we should switch with her when she gets here, what do you say?”
“Dad, please?”
Lane snickered. “I think that’s a great idea.”
Chapter 7
Remy played a few rounds of Super Smash Bros with Braden while Lane went into the bedroom to unpack their bags. The same large windows in the living room were also in the bedroom, and Remy couldn’t wait to awaken to the glorious, cloudless sky above Honolulu every morning with Lane by his side. There was no roll-out bed for Braden, but the sofa was more than large enough to accommodate the nine year old, and besides, once Kate arrived, he would be dividing his time between Remy’s room and hers anyway. As long as Remy could somehow make sure the television stayed off after Braden’s bedtime, he saw no problem with his son sleeping in the living room.
After Braden had beaten his father at the video game for the third time in a row, Remy called it quits. “Aw, come on, please?” Braden pleaded.
“Play the computer,” Remy told him, setting his controller aside.
Braden pouted. “No fair. The computer always wins.”
Ruffling his son’s hair, Remy said with a smile, “Now you know how I feel. I’m tuckered out from the flight, aren’t you?”
“No way!” Braden crowed, resetting the game.
They should bottle that energy and sell it over the counter, Remy thought as he sank down onto the couch and stretched. They’d make a fortune marketing it to old farts like me. Essence of Childhood. I’d buy a year’s supply.
He really was feeling the effects of traveling thousands of miles across the country. Outside the sun was shining and the clock read mid-afternoon, but his body was telling him it was going on midnight and he was crazy for still being awake at this hour. He glanced at the bedroom door, where Lane had disappeared a while ago to unpack and had never reemerged, and suspected his lover was probably spread-eagle across the king-sized bed, zonked out. Sounds perfect to me, Remy thought, stifling a yawn. If Braden wasn’t constantly calling out, “Dad, watch this!” then he would join Lane in a heartbeat.
But Braden was too wired to let Remy get any sleep just yet. With one eye on the TV screen, Remy grabbed his briefcase off the kitchen counter and decided to take a look at those papers Chell sent him over the summer. He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he really should’ve reviewed them back then, when he might have had a chance to change things, instead of waiting until the last minute. With Christmas a week away and his wedding just around the corner, he knew it was too late to fix anything she may have royally screwed up. Where would he find a new venue on such short notice?
Maybe we should’ve stayed in Richmond. Or, hell, gone to Vegas after all.
Settling back onto the couch, he opened the FedEx envelope and spread the papers out across his lap. The airplane confirmations were no longer in the package; he’d sent them to his and Lane’s families earlier so they would have the paperwork needed to pick up the tickets for their flights. But Chell’s cover letter was still on top, and he held it in one hand as he checked off the items she listed in it to make sure he had everything else.
Hotel reservations, yes. Five rooms at the Aloha Hoaloha Hotel, all non-smoking, all suites, all on the same floor. Grudgingly, Remy gave Chell props for that last caveat. It’d be nice to have his family nearby for the length of their stay, and it would make things easier when shuttling Braden between his room and Kate’s.
Next were the rental contracts. Two tuxedos from a place called Male ‘Ana Bridal. He double-checked the sizes, and was glad he did because he noticed they had to pick up the tuxes on Saturday by noon. “Dumb bitch,” he muttered. Nice of her to tell him about this. Not that it was on his itinerary…
He dug the schedule out of the packet and looked to make sure. Nope, nothing about a collection date for the formalwear. And without a rental car, how exactly was he supposed to get to this place, anyway? “Tomorrow, I’m taking a cab to the airport and getting a car when I pick up your mother,” he said, half to Braden, half to himself.
His son paused the video game and turned around. “Are you talking to me?”
“Just thinking out loud,” Remy muttered.
Rummaging through his briefcase, he pulled out his phone and opened his calendar to make notes for himself. Obviously he wouldn’t be able to count on Chell for anything over the weekend; he was glad he’d already marked down when everyone else’s flights were coming in. Now he added the time he had to be at the bridal shop. What else hadn’t she told him?
There was a contract for the cake. God, I hate to think what it’s going to look like, he thought
, shaking his head. Luckily he didn’t have to do anything about it—the caterer was scheduled to deliver it early Sunday morning. So there was one thing that he didn’t need to worry about.
Or, rather, that’s too late to worry about at this point. Because by now he wouldn’t be able to change the design of the cake, or the flavors they would use, or anything like that. So he’d deal with whatever they got. No matter what it looked or tasted like, he knew it’d get eaten. Hell, it was cake.
The same caterer would also provide a finger food buffet. The wedding was scheduled for mid-morning, with a reception at eleven o’clock. The food on the menu Chell had included in Remy’s packet wasn’t heavy enough for a full lunch, but it would suffice to bridge the gap between breakfast and an early dinner. Lots of seafood and fruit, Remy noticed, with fresh local coffee, too. Quarter sandwiches, pineapple, bacon-wrapped shrimp, meringues, veggie trays…the same stuff one found on buffets around the country. He saw an alcohol list—margaritas, cocktails, beer, wine—and almost had a heart attack thinking he had to pay for all that, too, but then he saw the words cash bar and relaxed. Sure, let everyone get drunk if they wanted to, as long as it was on their own dime.
There was a contract for a wedding photographer, who was booked the entire day to take pictures of the ceremony, as well as candid shots of them getting ready before and of the reception afterward. And there was a florist, Pua ‘Ahui, to deliver an obscene amount of blooms to the venue. “Where do they come up with these names?” Remy mumbled, amused.
Braden paused his game again. “Are you asking me?”
“No, no, never mind.” Remy glanced at the TV. “Are you winning?”
“This game rocks!” Braden told him. “It’s the only thing I want for Christmas now.”
Turning back to his paperwork, Remy said, “Well, be sure to tell your mother that.”
“I will!” Braden cried. “And yes, I’m kicking butt!”
Remy shuffled papers until he found mention of the venue—on the beach. Of course, he thought with a sour grin. It wouldn’t surprise him if Chell showed up with her longboard attached to her ankle, ready to hang ten as soon as they said, “I do.” Mau Loa Beach Nuptials was providing the canopies, tables, chairs, and decorating everything in subtle shades of sand and teal. Color swatches were attached to the contract, and Remy had to admit the colors went well together. He set them aside to take with him to the bridal shop on Saturday, to make sure their waistcoats matched. The teal would offset Lane’s eyes beautifully, and Remy knew the sand color would bring out the natural blond in his hair.
A rehearsal was scheduled in the hotel ballroom Saturday evening, with a dinner following, catered by the hotel. Remy would speak with the staff at some point about the menu. He was also pleased to see Chell had ordered a turkey dinner with all the fixings to be delivered to Remy’s room on Christmas Eve, enough food for everyone to gather over the next day and enjoy.
It appeared almost everything was ready to go. There was really only one thing left dangling, and that was the officiator who would preside over the ceremony. Neither Remy nor Lane regularly attended church. Lane grew up Catholic, and asking a priest to marry them was out of the question. Remy was raised Southern Baptist, another denomination not very welcoming of its gay constituents. They’d considered approaching an LGBT-friendly church in Honolulu, and had even looked online at several, but didn’t feel right with a religious ceremony. Lane’s family were still staunch, practicing Catholics who would’ve been uncomfortable throughout the wedding, and Remy’s parents—and Braden—would’ve been bored.
Half-joking, Lane had mentioned getting married on a ship, but when Remy Googled that, he found out maritime licenses didn’t really give boat captains the ability to perform marriages at sea.
What Remy had told Chell over the summer was to look into what it would take to have a non-denominational minister perform a simple wedding ceremony, or perhaps a Justice of the Peace or other judge who could officiate. His requirements were fairly simple—nothing religious, and it had to be a marriage, not a handfasting or civil union or commitment ceremony. A legally binding marriage, with all the do yous and I dos intact.
Now he turned to the last paper in the stack from the FedEx envelope. It was a print-out from the Hawaii Department of Health website with the heading Marriage Performer Minister Registration. Remy glanced over it and did a double-take. “No,” he whispered.
Braden paused his video game. “What’s that, Dad?”
Remy blinked, but the name on the paper didn’t change. “Oh, hell no.”
On the line that read Name of Minister was written Michelle Rae Banks.
The papers fell in a flurry as Remy scrambled to his feet. “Lane!”
* * * *
With Lane up from his nap, Remy somehow managed to get Braden to turn off the video game long enough for the three of them to get to the hotel restaurant. It was still too early for dinner, but Remy needed that margarita, and now. Of course, Braden protested the whole elevator ride down to the second level, where the restaurant was located.
“Can’t I stay in the room?” he griped.
“Not by yourself,” Remy replied, trying to catch Lane’s eye in the mirrored door.
But Lane had that wide-eyed, just woken up look of his Remy knew all too well—Lane might be up and about, but he wasn’t actually awake. There was a dazed smile on his face, and his response when Remy told him Chell had signed herself up as the minister for their wedding had been only, “Hmm.”
Remy thought the news deserved more of a reaction than that. Personally Remy was torn between firing her in a text message and calling a cab to take him to the Pipeline, wherever that might be, so he could rip out her dreadlocks one by one. He’d punctuated each tug with a resounding no so there would be no room for doubt on where he stood when it came to her involvement officiating their ceremony. The day he’d been dreaming off all year long was turning into a nightmare!
The elevator stopped at the second level and the doors opened onto the lobby of a posh restaurant. At least Chell hadn’t skimped when it came to spending his money on the hotel, Remy noted sourly. The maître d’ looked up from the podium with a slight frown on his deeply tanned face. “I’m sorry, sirs,” he started, “but lunch has ended, and dinner doesn’t begin until five—”
“We just want drinks,” Remy told him. “You do have a bar, right?”
With a nod, the maître d’ stepped aside, one arm pointed towards the darkened dining area beyond. “Yes, sir. Right this way.”
“Something strong and fruity,” Remy muttered under his breath as he led the way.
Behind him, Lane joked, “You could’ve had that back at the room.”
“Hey-oh!” Remy winked at his lover over his shoulder. “Looks like someone’s finally awake. Did you get what I said earlier about your friend, the minister?”
Lane blinked. “Who?”
“Chell.” As angry as Remy was about it, he had to admit he did like seeing Lane so…well, confuzzled was a good word for it. “She put herself down as the minister for our wedding.”
Lane stopped in mid-step. “What?”
Remy suppressed a grin. “Why do you think I woke you up? I was going through the paperwork and—”
“Dad!” Braden cried suddenly, interrupting them. “Look, a pool!”
Elbowing his way between Remy and Lane, he took off across the dining room at a dangerous speed, hell-bent for the windows looking out at the glistening blue waters of the hotel swimming pool. “Can I go out there?” he asked. “Can I? Please?”
“Brae, don’t run in here.” Remy shook his head at the maître d’, who looked at Braden with something akin to horror. “Some people’s children, I swear.”
“Dad, please?” Braden tried.
But Remy wasn’t in the mood to sit poolside at the moment and watch Braden have fun when he himself had work to do. “Not right now. Come on, we’re here to get something to drink. Don’t you want to
go back upstairs and play your game when we’re done?”
Pouting, Braden dragged his sneakers across the rug as he came back to where they were. “I want to go into the pool.”
“Maybe later,” Remy said. They had reached the bar, which was made of a dark wood polished until it shone and accented with burnished gold leaf. He pulled out a stool and patted the overstuffed leather seat. “Hop on up. Want a mocktail?”
Interested in spite of his mood, Braden climbed up onto the stool as a bartender appeared from somewhere behind the wall of bottles on the other side of the bar. Her straight black hair was tied into a knot at the nape of her neck, and a tribal tattoo looped around her neck like a choker. Her dark skin gave away her Hawaiian heritage, and when she saw Braden, she gave him a toothy grin. “Aloha, little man. What can I get ‘cha?”
“I can’t have a cocktail, can I?” he asked, frowning at his father. “Those have alcohol in them.”
“A mocktail doesn’t,” Remy said. “It’s made the same way but without the booze. That’s what the mock means. It’s pretend.”
“Pretend what?” Braden wanted to know.
The bartender wiped down a spot on the bar in front of him and leaned down to his level. “Anything you want,” she said with a wink. “What’s your favorite color?”
Braden pressed his lips together in distrust. After a long moment, he admitted, “Purple.”
The bartender nodded. “Okay. Let me make you a purple drink, then.”
“Like with grape Kool-Aid?” Braden asked.
She shook her head. “It’s a surprise,” she whispered. “I’m going to make you my specialty. The Purple Pineapple Pizzazz. You’ll love it.”
Raising his arms, Braden whooped, “All right!”
She stood and smiled at Remy and Lane. “He can have pineapple, right? I mean, he isn’t allergic or anything?”
“No, that’s fine,” Remy assured her. “And if you can make it fizzy, he’ll love you for life.”
