How to Say I Do

by Tal Bauer

Noël was so vibrantly alive that being next to him was like being battered by the sea. The presence of him, the churn of all his moving parts, the rush of recognizing his tender places rising to the surface as I got a peek past his armor— He made me think of roses opening after winter, buds tentatively unfurling and testing the light before embracing a bloom. He made me feel sixteen again, heady and breathless and losing myself in daydreams and fantasies. I was gone. Ass over head, my boots well in the air, hungry for more of Noël. I wanted everything: the man who’d eaten both our burgers and poured his broken heart out to a strange cowboy, and the man who’d snuck a bottle of vodka onto a plane and chugged a homemade screwdriver while smirking at me like we were partners in crime. The man who melted into my side when he couldn’t go one step further, and who had trusted me to bring him the rest of the way. The man who looked at me with eyes brighter than all the stars over Texas combined, and who had held on to me and said he was sorry I’d lost my father with a softness that moved deep down into my most fragile, hidden places.

I was okay with that. I was. I was a big boy, and I could have said adios at any time yesterday. There was no need to hike to the lagoon with him, or take him to dinner after, or even to answer his probing questions with anything other than the emotional two-step I’d danced for years. I didn’t need to tell him all those truths about my life. I could have made my excuses and said a polite goodnight and taken myself off to bed, and this would have been over and done with. I certainly didn’t need to walk him back to his villa. Or ask him what we’d be doing tomorrow, all the while holding my breath and crossing my fingers and toes that he’d want to keep honeymooning with me. But I had, and I did, and… It was enough, I thought, to fall in love, even though he wouldn’t fall, too. It was enough to go a little crazy inside myself, and to feel like the world had lit on fire, and for these few days, to pretend that anything was possible.

“Wyatt, kiss me.” My lips moved against his as I spoke. He stopped dancing like his feet had turned to stone, and his hands rose and cradled my face. He searched my gaze for a single moment before he leaned in and seized my lips with his own. Wyatt tasted like sea salt and waves, chapped lips, and the coconut margarita he’d had earlier. Like promises and patience and the way he’d touched his fingers to his hat brim when he’d said “Howdy” in Dallas. Like sweetness and adoration and the first blush of falling in love. The world was gone, replaced by Wyatt. His lips moving over mine, his breath shuddering across my lips. His tongue, slipping out to tease at the same time his thumbs glided over my cheekbones. Tiki torches and drums. Moonlight melting into firelight. Liam’s voice somewhere over my shoulder. Wyatt in my arms. My hands were everywhere, greedy for him, traveling up his arms and over his shoulders and down to his chest. He dragged me closer, burying his face against mine. “Let’s get out of here,” I whispered.

Maybe, maybe, maybe we could, one day… Lord, the thought of it—imagining it, coloring in the outlines, even thinking it was a possibility—walked like a ghost through my veins, so powerful it felt like a memory, something I had time-traveled forward and seen with my own eyes. Noël, stunningly gorgeous, the both of us in matching cowboy hats. Me with my arms around him, my hands laced behind his back, gazing into his full-hearted eyes as someone read our vows. The candlelight flickering in his ocean eyes, the sea foam hugging our ankles. All that champagne and starlight, and the music rolling on the waves. This was a love story, our love story. His sea-turtles ring caught on the callouses of my palms, a physical reminder of putting that band on him. Even if it was only a tourist trinket, and even that was just gold leaf painted on tin, the moment when he’d held out his hand had happened. We had happened. I was in love. Heartbreakingly and profoundly in love. I loved him, I did, even in such a short time. I knew it wasn’t supposed to be possible. What did I honestly know about Noël? Well, I knew enough, I thought. I knew I wanted forever.

Looking at him, I realized: even with all the heartache and the unknowns, and even if Noël, with all his luminosity and his prickliness and his brilliance, his defensiveness and his shyness and his hidden sweetness, ultimately wasn’t meant to be with me, I was still unbearably lucky to have him brush against my life.

A sip— Rich, velvety ripeness. Complexity. A story unfolding in a taste of love and loss and heartbreak. I was sobbing before I swallowed. The wine tasted like time, like ten years and my whole childhood distilled into a drop, like my father was standing in front of me again and holding out a grape fresh off the vine. Then we were walking the rows, and I was tracing the undersides of the leaves as he was describing his dream. In my mind, we swung around and headed for home, and he threw his arm around my neck and pointed to the ranch, and I could see everything. All of it, past and present and future. All of the blocks, even the ones that didn’t exist when he was alive, and the barn whitewashed for Noël. I saw Liam and Savannah on the back porch with Jason and two other mischievous boys. And Noël, God, Noël was there, too, waving to me and holding out his hand. Time looped and folded, past and present. All of my father’s love and all the ways he worked this life, nurturing fruit and family in equal portions, and I heard my father’s voice again. I’m so proud of you, Wyatt.

“Noël?” His eyes were blown wide, frantic with fear. The comfort of him, finally here after what felt like a galactic age, overwhelmed me. I melted into him, grasping his filthy jacket as my sobs ratcheted. He was wearing that barn jacket, the one he’d put around my shoulders during our first ride. I couldn’t breathe. There was no air for me between the driving rain and my tears. I was gasping. Peanut had trotted out into the rain to investigate, and she whined when she saw me, shoving her nose into my neck. Wyatt’s hands cupped my face. “What happened? Noël, Jesus Christ, what happened? What’s—” “I came to you!” I shouted, oh so romantically, at him. “I came here for you, Wyatt! I came here to be with you!”

“I love you, and I want everything with you!” I screamed. “All of it, our whole lives, together-forever! I want to marry you and have kids with you! I want to grow grapes with you and stay up for a whole week to pick them! I want to listen to Jason run wild on Christmas morning, and I want to hide Easter eggs for him in the vineyards, and I want to argue with Liam every day of my life. I want to grow old with you and sit in rocking chairs and wear sneakers with Velcro. I want to be with you, Wyatt, forever, because I love—” He kissed me, big and bold and true, just like those Hollywood movies. No, better than, because this was my true love’s kiss and this was our meeting in the rain. He flung his arms around me and wrapped me up. I gripped the lapels of his filthy jacket and pulled him closer. He lowered his head, his lips brushing over mine again and again like a promise. Neither of us noticed when his hat toppled into the mud.

It was a shout from the past, and Wyatt's father was suddenly here, right beside the two of us and sharing our step. I never told Wyatt, but sometimes I talked to his father when I was all alone and out on the ranch, where I knew his dad could still hear me. I’d whisper promises to him that I’d love and cherish his son forever, and that I’d try my best to never, ever fuck up again. And if I did—because of course I would, I’m me—I swore I’d make things right every time. Abel, I’d murmur to the wind. I love your son, and I’m going to love him for all time. I promise, I swear. He’ll never be alone. I felt wind slip down the back of my neck.

All the moments we’d had, from the first one to now. From burgers in airport bars and orange juice and smuggled vodka on airplanes to hidden lagoons and steel drum bands and snorkeling with sea turtles, from finger painting starlight to our very first kiss. Those perfect days on the beach, and then all the terrible ones that followed. How hard we’d worked to build this life, our life, made up of devotion and gratitude and respect and, most of all, boundless and unconditional love. All of our moments, and now, this one: a new first step down the long and winding road ahead of us that led to the rest of our lives. This was our happy beginning.