Chapter Text
SAVE THE DATE!
Catherine Burton and Diane Grant invite you to their wedding.
When: August 27, 1991
Where: 153 Almondside dr., Biska Creek, Ontario
RSVP
[ ]yes (how many)_____ [ ]no
While Cathy rarely cared about tradition, she never did things only half-way. Which was why Boots was hiding with Diane in her childhood bedroom so that Cathy wouldn’t see her in her dress before the ceremony.
Cathy was out in the backyard with Bruno while Bruno yelled at the committee of Macdonald Hall graduates he’d managed to convince to come early and set up, and Cathy yelled at Bruno and anyone else who got in her way.
Diane had found Cathy’s perfectionism about the ceremony endearing at first. She liked being doted on just like when they were first dating. The committees and coalitions had reminded her of when they met back at Scrimmage’s. Then having Cathy so constantly busy began to get annoying, and Diane got tired of comparing nearly-identical color pallets.
She just wanted the actual day to arrive. Now the day was here and Diane was more anxious than she had been since her first day of middle school, but the sound of Cathy being so familiarly Cathy, soothed her.
“Is it stupid of me to be nervous?” Diane asked.
“Of course not,” Boots said. “You’re getting married. That’s big.”
“Yeah, but… It’s not a real wedding. It’s not legally binding. We’re just going through the motions. I feel like I’m getting worked up over nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” Boots said. “I’m sure Cathy would legally marry you if she could. But legal status isn’t really what matters. If it were, I’m sure Cathy would have found a loophole, or personally bullied the Prime Minister into it.”
Diane laughed. “I guess you’re right. It’s just the nerves talking. Mostly.”
“Did you want to wait until it was legal?” Boots asked.
“No,” Diane said, “but only because I didn’t want to wait. Don’t tell Cathy that, she’ll do something stupid.”
Boots laughed. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”
“What about you and Bruno?” Diane asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Have you guys talked about this?”
It took Boots a moment to realize she meant ‘have you and Bruno talked about getting married’ and not ‘have you and Bruno talked about my wedding.’ Boots felt his face heat up. He honestly didn’t know. Bruno had made some jokes over the years about ‘when we’ve grown old’ or ‘2.5 kids and a white picket fence’, but Bruno joked about everything. Boots had thought about it, but not seriously. Everybody who knew them seemed to just assume they’d be together forever, but that was everybody else.
“No,” Boots said, “not yet.”
Diane seemed to sense he was nervous because she said, “That’s okay. We’re still pretty young. Honestly, if it was anyone other than Cathy, my parents would probably have an aneurysm about my getting married at 23.”
Boot smiled, and got up to stretch. They had been sitting down for a while, and he could feel one of his feet starting to fall asleep. Diane took the place he had been sitting on the bed and flopped back with a sigh.
Boots felt a familiar sensation seeing Diane all dressed up like this. It felt just like it had at the Scrimmage-Macdonald Hall graduation party when Mark had pulled out pictures of them all from their first year there, and it suddenly hit Boots how much they had all grown up without him even noticing. Not only was the Diane in front of him barely recognisable as the same girl he had met 12 years ago, but she looked more mature and wiser than the young woman she had been the last time he and Bruno had climbed up the drainpipe.
There were the obvious differences of course—Cathy had pierced her ears with an ice cube and sewing needle back in 8th grade, her parents no longer chose her clothes, she had cut her hair short a few years ago—but there was also something in her face and the way she acted. Maybe it was because she had a college degree or was getting married or maybe it was just more life experience. Boots suddenly wondered if he looked as grown up as Diane did.
If Cathy had thought she felt nervous before when she was still making last minute changes and moving chairs, it was nothing compared to how she felt once it was too late to make any changes. As friends and family drifted through the side gates into the Grant backyard, Cathy’s vision narrowed and all she could see were the little imperfections. The chair just half a centimeter too far left. The flower with a half torn petal.
“Relax,” her father whispered.
Cathy wasn’t sure she had ever relaxed in her entire life, but she tried to smile. It felt very fake.
“Look,” her father said, “nothing’s ever perfect. You could keep on fixing things to the end of time, or you can take a deep breath and enjoy your big day.”
Cathy tried to take his advice. She took a deep breath and wiped the sweat off her palms on her pant leg. She hoped the white wouldn’t show any stains. Maybe wearing white was a mistake. She had gone for a white suit because it was traditional for a bride to wear white and to match Diane’s dress. Because of tradition she also hadn’t seen Diane’s dress yet. Cathy suddenly had a sinking feeling. What if it wasn’t white? Maybe she should have micromanaged more. No, she trusted Diane to dress herself. Cathy took another deep breath.
She had chosen to make the ceremony very traditional because she had wanted it to be perfect, and this was how she had envisioned a perfect wedding when she was little, but now she wondered if it was the right choice. She and Diane rarely did things traditionally, and there weren’t really any traditional Canadian lesbian weddings. Mostly, Cathy just wanted Diane with her then. She wanted Diane to hold her hand through this and keep her grounded. Soon, she reminded herself. And then the music started.
The first part of the ceremony was a blur in Cathy’s mind. Her mother had told her that the flower girl was a Burton cousin, but Cathy swore she had never met her before. From the altar she could see Mrs. Scrimmage already sobbing into a handkerchief. She recognised many old classmates and friends, but she was barely paying attention. She didn’t even notice when Bruno and Boots joined her at the front, because that was when Diane walked out of the back door.
She looked gorgeous. She had met Cathy half way on the tradition. She was wearing a white dress—so they did match, Cathy thought with relief—but it ended at her ankles and didn’t have a train for comfort. Diane had also forgone a veil, and her hair shone golden in the summer sunshine.
For a moment Cathy almost forgot to breathe, but then she relaxed more than she had been able to all day, because Diane was there.