2020-08-30 - Eight Minutes

It's been a hell of a few weeks, but here they are, in a quite side room in the Balsam Family Orchards. This is another of the Jewish wedding traditions August wanted to keep to: the bride and groom, fresh from the chuppah, rings and vows exchanged and glass broken, spend eight minutes, or a little more, alone in a room together. The beginning of their marriage is the two of them, and no one else.

August has been a pile of nerves. Not nervous so much as excited and relieved at the same time. They did it, they got married, despite the Veil's attempts to sabotage it (and what the hell was that even about?? but nevermind, they're married now). So when he and Eleanor come into the small, private room, with its love seat and coffee table bearing a spread of goat cheese, berry, fig, and pepper compote, crackers, biscuits, honey, butter, and grape juice, he feels a little wobbly on his feet and has to sit right the hell down.

His suit's a fine piece, made by his uncle's husband, who runs a men's clothing store in Chicago: black jacquard with a silver-lavender pattern of fig and wild rose, fading to simple paisley on the arms; matching vest, black velvet pants, and a crisp, white dress shirt with black pearl buttons and cufflinks. His boutonniere is wild ginger, white foxglove with a dark purple throat, and a chocolate lily; he's trying not to toy with it as he walks arm and arm with Eleanor to the love seat. Itzhak says something about warning them before he opens the door, in case they need to put their clothes on, then closes it.

And like that, they're alone. Wife and husband.

Eleanor's bouquet resembles the confectionary flowers around the base of their wedding cake. They are all white, and of bell-shaped varieties: Lily of the Valley, snowdrops, white mountain heather, and Angel's trumpet. A subtle nod to their first meeting, and taking what should have been a moment of terror in their lives, and making it something positive to remember. Her dress is very bohemian, with gauzy bishop's sleeves, delicately embroidered flowers, and flowing silk organza with tulle. Her hair is woven into a crown of vivid red, entwined with more white flowers, and her veil cascading from them.

She has been glowing and gliding through the entire day, like her feet are barely touching the earth below them, pure joy exuding from her in a place Gray Harbor cannot taint, in a moment it cannot ruin, in an act of love she never thought she'd experience. There was not a dry eye in the orchard during the ceremony, but her tears were happy ones. She was rapturous.

And now they are husband and wife. And finally left alone for those special moments of his traditions, which she has come to appreciate deeply. "We did it. We actually did it," she murmurs to him in a tone of awe and gratitude.

August's eyes were among those wet with tears, though like Eleanor they were only in happiness. He draws her down next to him on the loveseat, giddy. "We did." We did. He checks to make sure his kippah, black velvet embroidered with fig leaves and fruits, isn't going to fall off. He's been weirdly worried about that.

Assured it's still in place, he takes Eleanor's left hand on his, looking at their rings together. "We did it," he repeats. How many times had he wondered where his life would be by now? Here's his answer.

He shivers, dips his head to kiss Eleanor's neck. He'd rolled his eyes when Itzhak had said he'd give them fair warning to get dressed. Now he's thinking it might be necessary.

"God you look incredible," he murmurs. "How's that one go? 'Too dear for my possessing'. Something like that."

Eleanor gazes down at their joined hands and the rings with a gentle smile. As his head moves to her neck, her free hand slides into his hair at the nape of his neck, just holding him to her, reveling in this beautiful moment of peace and quiet and togetherness.

"Shakespeare? Are you trying to get this marriage consummated in eight minutes, AJ?" she murmurs with the glimmer of laughter in her voice.

Equally playful, August says, "Itzhak said he'd give us thirty," between kisses. He's tempted, he really is. On the other hand, he doesn't want his first time with her as her husband to be something they sneak in between ceremony and reception.

So he kisses her jaw, light and sweet, and sits up. "No way I'm rushing our wedding night, Ellie. I want you to make me yours good and proper." He smiles, runs a finger along her cheek. "Decided if you want to keep your name? It's easier to get spelled right." He tries it out. "Mrs Eleanor Lake."

"I decided I want to change my name... for a lot of reasons, but the biggest one is that I want to shed that tiny bit of hold Gray Harbor has on my birthname. I am not who I was before I met you. I want to be who I am now." She kisses his forehead, lips soft and warm on his skin, and she corrects him with, "Mrs. Eleanor Roen."

August blinks his eyes a bit, closes them at the forehead kiss. "You're trying to make me cry some more," he accuses her. He pulls her in for a hug, sighs and runs his hands down her back. His voice is low against her hair. "If you're sure. I know it's a pain in the ass to get it done, even with a marriage license." Another smile, and he shakes with laughter. "Sure you don't want me to take yours? Mr. August Lake." He can barely say it. "I dunno, it's got a certain something."

Eleanor chuckles and hugs him tightly to her. "Not a chance. Your family name has beautiful deep roots. My brother will carry on my family's name. If he ever settles down, which I'm thinking he might as he's been getting pretty serious with his high school ex." She sighs softly. An Addington. Hopefully she's of Hyacinth's caliber and not Margaret's.

"I don't mind the effort. It's worth it, August. You are worth it. This is the happiest day of my life."

August sniffles, clears his throat. He's going to need his handkerchief again.

Softly, he says, "Okay," and holds Eleanor tight. Fear flutters in his heart, sharp and cold; is he worth it? He desperately wants to be. He doesn't want to be a danger, a problem for her. He's not a safe choice, when it comes to the Art and Gray Harbor. Arguably, he's high-risk. Can he be a good husband, maybe a father, like that?

He takes in a deep breath, lets it out. He can trust her. She says he's worthy, and anyways, she'll set him straight if he starts being an idiot, that's for sure. "It's the happiest day of mine." He kisses her hair, sits back to look at her. "Eleanor Roen," he says, trying it out, and smiles, slow and smug. "Sounds pretty nice."

Ellie smiles and looks radiant beside him, basking in the love. "It does sound pretty regal, doesn't it?" She knows him. She knows even when he does take risks, it is for the best of reasons, trying to help and save and protect people. He's a hero, though he would likely deny it with every fiber of his being, and he has inspired her as well.

She curls against him and closes her eyes, not wanting this perfect moment to end. There is the tiniest bit of dread dwelling down deep inside her, of going back to Gray Harbor, going home, and dealing with all the things on their plate. But there is also a renewed determination in her. They will win this war, a war they didn't start and didn't volunteer for.

"I love you."

August gathers her up against him, runs a hand over her hair. That same dread is coiled up inside of him, a hard little seed of all the things they have to face back there. It's ready to sprout into doubt and difficulty, ugliness and anger. And face it they must; he knows any attempt to leave, to really drop everything and escape, would be fruitless. They're in too deep now. Even if they forgot their friends and loved ones, even if they could start new businesses elsewhere, there would be the place where all that's happened lurked. Where it had been smoothed away, like the hazy mess left on a sidewalk when the chalk's been cleared. You might not know what that picture was, but you knew it had been there. They would know, and the knowing would eat at them, hurt them, poison them.

For better or for worse, they have to go back. But they go back together, in more ways than one, now.

"I love you." He takes her hands in his, raises them to his lips to kiss the rings on her finger, then holds them over his heart. He rests his chin on the top of her head and lets out a long, slow breath. "We can stay like this, right? For the next fifty years?"

"Yes, yes we can. No matter what. Before we have to face the world, we need to take a moment, just like this one, and remind ourselves what it is we fight for, what we believe in, and what we cherish," Eleanor whispers back to him, leaning in to kiss his cheek tenderly.

August sighs, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. For how long--the last few weeks? Longer?

It doesn't matter. Here he is, now, with ith Eleanor, spending their first few minutes as a new family together. With his dear friends and family, who bore witness to them swearing to stand by one another through the good and the bad--and as people with Glimmer, there'd be a lot of the later. That was just how it went. They just had to make enough good to counter-balance it.

He caresses her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Mmmm, if I have to remind myself of that right now there's no way I'm gonna have my clothes back on by the time Itzhak's banging on that door." He chuckles, soft and low. "Want something to drink? There's grape juice, and," he cranes his neck to check the bucket's contents, "sparkling apple and cranberry cider."

"Yes please, some cider, and I want some biscuits and honey and some of that compote on crackers. We need to fuel up. I suspect there is about to be some serious dancing out there," Eleanor notes with a grin. "And save it for tonight, because Hyacinth helped me pick out my peignoir set and it's going to knock your socks off."

August (very reluctantly) unwinds enough from Eleanor to start preparing them some plates and pour out their drinks. He pauses as he's handing Eleanor her plate. "You got a peignoir set?" He blinks, eyes flicking over her as he imagines what it might look like. He swallows. Now he wants to just get to the hotel. How mad will Itzhak be if he skips dancing the hora? Pretty mad, he thinks, so he just huffs a laugh, eyes bright. "Okay. Now I have to get through this whole reception thinking of you in a teddy. That's going to be a problem." He goes for the grape juice; his blood sugar feels low, and he didn't even fast. ("Fast? Are you kidding me, Roen, you'll pass out. You're not fasting! Here. Eat this.")

He holds up his glass once they're both outfitted with snacks. "To us." He frowns, trying to think of something thoughtful to add to the end, but finds he can't. So he shrugs, leaves it at that.

Eleanor raises her glass, "In the words of the great Audrey Hepburn, The best thing to hold onto in life is each other. " She clinks her glass to his and sips, grinning at knowing his mind is going to be on what's waiting in the hotel for the rest of the night.

August clinks his glass to hers. "I begin here and there, finding you, the heart within you." He blinks, struck by inspiration. Bobbing his eyebrows, he says, "I think I've got the perfect poem to go with your peignoir set," around a sly smile. He sips daintily from his grape juice, has a cracker with cheese and compote. "We'll see how you like it."

Eleanor feeds him some biscuit and honey from her fingertips with a little girlish giggle. "I think we're going to have a very memorable night, husband."

August doesn't even remotely try to not nibble on her fingers. "One for the record books," he agrees. He kisses her palm, and is giving serious thought to continuing down her arm (glass of grape juice or no) when someone pounds on the door.

"WE'RE ON IN TEN! FINISH UP IN THERE, GET YOUR PANTS BACK ON."