"And All My Stars."
Mystic25
Summary: It has taken 7 years and two life times. The wedding of Bruce Van Exel and Amy Gray.
Rating: T for language and adult themes.
A/N: This is set a year after the events of series finale.
A/N #2: I know this show has been off the air for..wow, 10 years now. But catching it in reruns always makes me remember why I loved it so much. And one of those reasons was Amy and Bruce. So if you are still a fan, as I am, I kindly invite you to read.
xxxxXxxx
"I hope you know how much I care about you…"
~"Amy Gray"
"Judging Amy" Episode: "My Name is Amy Gray"
"Yours is the light by which my spirit's born: - you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars."
-E.E. Cummings
xxxxxXxxxx
Pearl ear fobs with delicate silver filigree shaped into flower petals and a matching pearl necklace suspended above a Brussels lace neckline.
This is what Amy remembered wearing on her wedding day, the very first one. The one where she was full of ambitions and dreams and a bit of princess like giddiness, though granted, with a feminist slant. Because she had been a idealistic Harvard Law graduate marrying her "true love," not Cinderella sleeping with mice in the ashes of a fire place.
Michael had smile at her so widely as she walked down the grass of her childhood home amidst friends and her brothers, her mother smiling with a lavender pillbox had perched just so on her head. The ceremony went off without a hitch. She became Amy Cassidy in the span of an hour. Congratulations and pleasantries were exchanged, Champaign drunk, and cake eaten. For the first five minutes anyway. Then Amy had sent the guests away, claiming exhaustion, and laid on her bed in her wedding gown like it was junior prom and Davy Cristorn had stood her up all over again, a churning in her stomach, her mother hovering over her. A doubt she didn't want to believe had crept in. Was she happy?
Lauren had been born a year later, and she was still asking that. Especially when Michael spent less time at home, and more time out with old friends from their Harvard days, coming home well into Laruen's third feeding at 3 am. She told herself he deserved to have friends, a night out, but that was the excuse.
Alisha came into their life when Lauren was six. A law clerk at Michael's firm, pretty , aspiring, motivated, all the things that Michael claimed Amy had "lost" since becoming a mom. Her name became more of the topic at dinner than anything else. Then came the phone bills with her number listed more times than any other, the late "meetings" the "conferences" But it was the way that Michael came more alive, more happy that made her more suspicious than anything else.
They had become roommates, not spouses by then. To see Michael genuinely laugh, smile more, it was more oppressive than the forced smiles and silence. Finally Amy called him out on it, had asked who "she" was. Michael didn't even deny it. He told the truth, offered an explanation worthy of his Harvard law education to explain his extramarital affair. A week later, Amy had come home from work to see Lauren playing with Michael and Alisha on the sofa. They were all laughing and smiling; Lauren excitedly telling Amy about how her 'Lisha and Daddy wanted to take her to the park tomorrow.' And finally Amy had finally had enough. She gave Michael an ultimatum: he loved her or he didn't, she would not be a 'kept woman.' He moved out two weeks later with Alicia, and Amy moved home to her mother's with Lauren.
She then started her first day as a Superior Court Judge at Hartford Judicial Court and had met her C.S.O. Bruce Van Exel. Amy couldn't pin point exactly when she had fallen for him. She had started to respect him long before she had felt anything else. Respect was something she had never really had in any relationship with a man she had been in previously. He was stoic, and closed lip at first, she had to chisel away at him in order to even be allowed into a hint of his world.
But once she had gotten through the barricade, he had become a touchstone in her life. Someone she could talk to about things she could never talk to anyone else about, not even her own family. It might have been then, that she had started to love him. But she pushed him away, because he did the same to her. Because it was unprofessional, embarrassingly called out once in a formal investigation, and by others. So she watched him date smart, at times overly opinionated women, all the while pretending that it didn't bother her. That she was content with watching one of her closet, dearest friends settle for women she knew were wrong for him (because they weren't her.)
But then Zola had accused Bruce of being in love with her. She had told Amy in code speak once when they had passed each other in the hallway. Saying that it wasn't 'right' for Bruce to be in love with his boss, a woman that would string him along because she wouldn't settle for someone beneath her. Basically that Bruce deserved someone better; it was all like some horrible high school moment. By then the bursts of sexual tension between them were so strong that the final decision to be "friends" was forced because anything else would be to real and painful to go back from.
So then came Stu, and David, and a failed wedding day, and a lost child, and a failed engagement.
She stared in the vanity's triple mirror, combing snarls out of her freshly flat ironed hair, shouting a fair share of obscenities as more than a healthy amount of strands decided to separate themselves from her head.
Granted it wasn't the comb's fault, but Amy wasn't about to let something as trivial as the non feelings and/or life of an inanimate object stop her from venting on said inanities object.
Finally in act of shear desperation, she threw comb across the room where it bounced off the bed frame and then slid under it as if in punishment for her detrimental behavior.
"Fine!" Amy stared at the place where the brush had gone, "But when yard sale day happens, you're outta here pal!"
"Who are you talking to?" the door to her bedroom creaked open and Amy's younger brother Vincent entered the room.
Amy's immediate reaction was to jump and, cinch her plaid robe around her, like she had been indecent, or had gone crazy and talked to a hair brush.
"Nothing." Amy was nearly 41, a grown woman with a teenage daughter, and she sounded all of 16 lying to her mom about the joint she had hidden in her physics book claiming that the "bus stop smelled that way."
She eyed the wooden tray Vincent was carrying, complete with eggs Benedict and melon balls and a cup of coffee black as oil aside one perfect June rose sitting in a glass bud vase. "What's all that?"
Vincent set the tray down on the edge of the Vanity sliding it towards Amy amidst all her spilled out cosmetics "That would be breakfast from the mother of the bride, to her beautiful daughter on her wedding day." Vincent unrolled the paper napkin from the silverware with a flourish worthy of a waiter in a five star snooty restaurant. "And you gotta tell mom I got the wording just right or she'll come up here and make me do it again if she catches even hint that it was too 'provincial'" He set the napkin in Amy's lap.
"Trust me, you were John Keats with a wooden tray," Amy reassured Vincent. She plucked the rose off the tray and shoved it against her array of scattered make up brushes and eye liners.
"How are you feeling?" Vincent asked. He watched his sister as she surveyed the food, passing on all the eggs landed with hollandaise sauce and grabbed the English muffin, breaking it in half with her fingers.
"I'm fine," Amy said, she set the muffin back down on the plate without taking a bite. "It's not like I haven't done this before right?" she laughed because the joke fell flat. And as a distraction she dabbed one of her biggest brushes into a container of pink blush and attacked her face with it. "I promise I won't bail on anyone this time either, so you can keep the drinks on ice."
"Come on Amy don't do that," Vincent said. "It's your wedding day, your real wedding day. Alright? Those other times didn't count. So could you just allow yourself to be more happy and less self detrimental?"
"Are you happy?" Amy stared at the reflection of Vincent in the mirror, the brush poised midway to her face.
Vincent stared back at her reflection. "It's not about me being happy Amy," Vincent hadn't written anything in ages, but he still had the tact of a writer. "But yeah, I am. Bruce is an amazing guy. He's more than worthy of you."
Even though Amy was an adult, that grown woman with a child nearly 14, she couldn't help the smile come to her face at her brother's approval. "That's the nicest thing you've said to me all morning." She hugged her brother round the neck one handed, and he returned her squeeze.
"Actually it's afternoon." Vincent said around his sister's hug.
This made Amy pull away from him like he had burned her. She stared at the glowing: '12:00' on her digital clock and adapted a look of wide eyed panic. "The wedding's at 2:00!" she said this like she was an outsider observing the events. "Vincent!" She grabbed a handful of her brother's shirt at the same time she jumped into the air so that Vincent was jerked forward and nearly toppled into her makeup. "I am getting married in two hours! Why aren't I dressed yet?"
"Because you procrastinated-" Vincent returned.
"My god!-"She let go, and Vincent proceeded to topple backwards onto the bed. She didn't seven stop to ask him if he was injured or maimed, and proceeded to throw everything she had just taken out of her makeup stand into a carry on suitcase.
"Amy," Vincent's hands were splayed out in front of him, like he was trying to calm a raging bull. "It's fine, you have plenty of time to get ready-"
"That's the kind of stupid thing a man says on someone's wedding day!" Amy retorted throwing plastic make up palettes into her bag with an audible 'bang'. "You don't have to put on eight pounds of makeup and squeeze into a corset that cinches you up like Fort Knox. You just throw on a suit and stand there listening to all the guests make awkward small talk about how late the bride was because she had the nerve to asphyxiate on her own wedding dress-"
"Amy," Vincent grabbed her shoulders, which stilled her movements, her arms full of lipstick tubes, mascara, various brushes, and one bottle of extra firm hairspray. "Look at me," he grabbed her face in his hands. "It's all going to be okay- Mom's in the car, she's waiting to take you to the church. She knew you were up late last night working on the campaign layouts and speeches and that you'd oversleep and be a little slow."
"She sent you up here to give the monologue because she knew I wouldn't murder you like everyone else-" Amy said, her mind working through the devious plots of her family.
"Yes, and it worked." Vincent returned. "Your dress was secreted away to the church last night by rogue cobbling elves," he stuck the English muffin in between her teeth. "let's go."
"Vincent," Amy's voice was muffled by the muffin. She pulled it from her mouth. "I'm not going out in my bathrobe!"
Vincent seemed not to hear her and started to pull her towards the door. She responded by digging her heels as much as she could with socks on her feet on hardwood floors. It was as successful as a dog trying to walk in shoes.
"That's what the tarp in the backseat is for." Vincent got her to the staircase, which thankfully she walked down on her own, because Amy was a small thing, but she could beat him up when she really wanted to.
Halfway down the staircase they met Lauren holding a zipped garment bag draped across her arms. "Mom! You're going to be late!-"
"I'll take that," Vincent grabbed the bag from Lauren's hands. Grab your mom's coat and meet us in the car."
" Vincent, I'm not wearing a coat!" Amy argued. "It's 81 degrees outside!"
"Amy, you're also not wearing clothes," Vincent argued back. "And the neighbors gossip of you already goes back 30 years-"
"Good point." Amy returned to her brother, admitting defeat over his logic. She walked the rest of the way down the stars and took her brown leather coat from her daughter when she held it out to her and slid it on over her robe. "Noodle, did you eat?"
"I had a Snickers bar from the pantry." Lauren returned. "Grandma used all the eggs up on your breakfast and Uncle Vincent's Frittata."
"Lauren, a candy bar isn't breakfast," Amy argued. She handed her half the broken piece of muffin. "Here was it down with this muffin."
"We're T-minus 1 hour and 55 minutes before Peter starts trying to sing "The Greatest Love of All." in falsetto Amy." Vincent started pushing Amy to the door.
Amy's level of 'haridness' went up several notches, along with her whiny annoyance. "Can I at least put on shoes?"
"Your shoes are in the car mom," Laruen said, "you can put them on once we get going-" she spoke like the roles were reversed and she was the mom, and Amy wasn't a former superior court judge and in line for the next Democratic Connecticut senate seat of 2007. "If you're late, it's like major bad luck-"
"Lauren, relax they're not gonna startwithout me," Amy insisted to her daughter as she walked, across the warm driveway towards the idling Volvo, half wondering about the date of her last tetanus vaccine as her bare feet scraped the concrete.
Vincent all but shoved Amy into the back seat where their mother Maxine immediately rounded on her daughter. "Amy Madison! You know that we promised aunt Ruth that Peter would never sing Whitney Huston at a wedding again. Her heart can't take it the shock."
Maxine shot her daughter an accusatory look and backed out of the driveway with a squeal of tires.
xxxxxXxxxxx
The first time Bruce had gotten married, he had been 20-years-old, and it hadn't been a real wedding. His girlfriend from Yale had shown up at his door one night in December, clutching a positive pregnancy test dotted with snow flecks in her hand.
And they had thoroughly and completely panicked. Bruce and Mia were both in their second year at law school. Simple things like staying up an extra hour to watch a late night movie was detrimental to their education. A baby was catastrophic.
But they both wanted to keep the baby, it wasn't the baby's fault that they had given it life. That one decision to become parents had also catapulted their other decision to live together. Mia wanted to get married, but could not bear her parents disappointment. So they had chosen to be together in every sense except legality.
They celebrated that first night in a small historic hotel, Mia wearing a white A line satin dress with a plunging neckline, Bruce could still smell the heady aroma of the lily bloom she had pinned in her hair as they shared a bottle of sparkling cider in lieu of a wedding reception.
Six months later Rebecca was born, Mia was in her third year of law school. Bruce had dropped out of Yale five months prior to support them. He had taken a job as a non glamorous records clerk at a injury law firm. The first year of life together hadn't been easy for either of them. Mia was consumed by both school and trying to raise Rebecca around it, and Bruce worked so many hours he barely saw either of them. This led to fights, and nights apart. But they always tried to make it work, to stay together for Rebecca's sake. Bruce became more like Mia's assistant than her partner, he ran the errands she was too tired to do after studying, took Rebecca to school events she couldn't make, accepted everything she said without question.
7 years of that kind of life left them barely speaking to one another, and only using curt, brief exact words when they did. Neither one of them wanted to admit that they just hadn't been ready to live together, and that led to an angry separation.
It had made him close off his emotions, hide them away rather than spend another decade of doing the "right thing." By then he had landed a steady and decent job as a Court Services Officer for the Hartford Judicial System and he and Mia had worked out an agreement where they buried their mistakes and tried to pretend it had been all a bad hazed dream, while agreeing to raise Rebecca with joint custody.
But then, came that day when his judge had retired after too long on the bench. And he had been reassigned to Judge Amy Gray, a first time judge, what they called a "baby judge." She was a tiny little woman who looked around the court room with the wide eyed look of kindergartners on their first day of school. He honestly had no idea what to make of her, or if she even had the stomach to sit and rule on cases involving childhood trauma, neglect, violence, and vicious custody hearings.
At first he tolerated her, he wasn't sexist, but she was one of those 'ideal, change the world feminist' types who tried to live in a better world to the defeat of living in real world. But slowly his tolerance turned to respect when he saw that her compassion made her damn good at her job.
When she had defended him against that small town racist dick of a cop on that lone rural road in the Mayberry town from hell – She had only known him for a few months, but had unblinkingly stuck her neck out for him. It was when he had first started to genuinely care for her, to see her as a friend.
It gradually tried to become more. He wasn't celibate, and she was a damn good looking woman. But he always was afraid to cross that professional boundary, and more importantly to lose her as a friend, because she had become one of the best ones he had ever had.
And he was starting to fall in love with her.
But then it made it harder to watch her date countless dead ends like Barry, Stu and David.
Stu especially, who had been a jerk, an a dick to her like a jock in high school, but a heart attack had thrown her to him and into a marriage that she was too good for. He could never watch her settle for Stu Collins and his rich wallet, and his perfect ties, and his fake smile, trying to dampen who she was because he couldn't handle what he tried to love. He had stayed away from their wedding, because he knew he would've objected, embarrassed her, made a dick of himself. It was only after she had returned from her solo honeymoon after the failed wedding that he had spoken to her, told her that he couldn't watch her marry Stu, for "something he couldn't name."
And David, David was decent, was good, had fathered a child with her. He was perfect. But he wasn't him. But she was happy, so he supported her, because he wanted her to be happy. But then she turned 40, and her baby died, and he saw her hurt and sad and it was . hard to not just love her the way he wanted to because she needed love more than ever.
Her focus began to wane then, to shift, she latched onto the kids she tried to fill a void. He wasn't stupid, he could see it. She took to an ex gang member like the baby she had miscarried, the fiancée she had lost because of it. Her cause began to become biased, slanted, it seeped into her rulings. Her impartiality, a part he had always admired about her, had dissolved in the face of a former street gang member with a dirty mouth.
He had called her out on it, had told her that she could not continue to act for blind justice when she was no longer blind to it. They had called each other awful things, hurtful things, and he had left. The look on her face bored into his brain as he sat in front of his TV pretending to watch something, to erase the hurt that he had placed there.
He had gotten her message late into the evening when he was studying for his psychology exam. He had already been privy to reports from Donna about Graciella Reyes being killed in prison, and of Amy's decision to go to Washington. And he didn't even think, he had grabbed the first clean suit he could find into a suitcase, and had taken an all night train, arriving in the Capital just as the sun was coming up. He had thrown on the suit in the tiny train bathroom and had made it to the Senate house just as the hearing was underway. He wanted to hold her as soon as he saw her, but it would be unprofessional, make her lose face to the passion she had just gotten back after such a long time away.
That was a year ago.
His tie was the same one he wore then. She had since said she liked the way it made him look, so it was there in place of a bow tie, tucked like a cravat into his gray vest. He had never been a fan of bowties. He always thought it made him look like a tool, or a waiter.
The pocket of his black pants vibrated and he pulled out his phone and flipped it open after a brief glance at the caller ID.
"Good afternoon Judge Gray." Bruce said with a smile on his face to his fiancée. It was kind of a joke/tease name with them since it had taken Bruce nearly 5 years to call her by her first name.
"Are you dressed?" Amy's voice came over the phone.
"I'm attiring as we speak," Bruce cradled the phone between his chin and his ear and slipped on his suit jacket. "Unless this is a double entendre question; in which case the clothes are coming off in a very sexy dance fashion."
"Don't be cute-"
"Amy, is everything alright?" Bruce buttoned his jacket. He smoothed down the collar by the reflection in the mahogany stained mirror in front of him.
"We're getting married in 90 minutes, Bruce, there's a traffic jam on the I-84, my hair is frizzed out from humidity, I'm not wearing shoes, and I'm in my bathrobe, so I'm going to go with no!-"
"Why aren't you wearing shoes?" Bruce interrupted, confused.
"Because Vincent is a Totalitarian!"
"Baby, maybe you should take some deep breaths." He had spent 7 years with this woman, he knew her panic voice when he heard it.
"I don't have time for breathing, Bruce-!"
There was a moment of scuffling, and a few protests and a different voice emerged back on the line.
"Hello Bruce," Maxine's voice sounded through all the muffled din in the background. "We'll be pulling up to the church in 8 minutes. Has anyone started to arrive?"
"My mother and Winnie, and my grandmother. Amy's Aunt Ruth," Bruce responded. "Also a couple dozen relatives that I didn't memorize from the cardex at the rehearsal dinner."
"That's okay, we don't know remember them all either. The Gray family tree has more forks than a silver set. If anyone seems unhappy just dose them with wine and they won't remember it in an hour."
"Thanks for the advice," Bruce returned.
"My pleasure. " there was a pause in the line. "And Bruce, if in the impending shenanigans that always results from these events, I forget to tell you – welcome to our family."
A smile came to his face at Maxine's words. Coming from someone like her, the welcome meant a lot. "Thank you. And would you mind passing along a communication to your daughter? Tell her that I love her."
"I most certainly will," Maxine returned. "And I will also forgive you for sleeping with my daughter before you entered into a marital contract with her-"
Bruce nearly choked. He was 35-years-old, but still that remark caught him off guard. And the only way was to reply was: "Yes Ma'am."
"I'll see you soon." Maxine's smile permeated through the phone.
The call ended.
Bruce closed the phone, making sure it was turned off before replacing it in his pocket. Something told him that it would be bad luck to get a call from an angry parent of one of his child counseling clients on his wedding day.
The room he was getting dressed in was one of the offices of the church. There were a lot of leather arm chairs in said office so that it almost resembled a smoking room, except for the prominent stained glass window behind the minister's desk.
There was a door to the right of the desk and it opened a moment later as Bruce's 13-year-old daughter Rebecca came inside. She was wearing a plum scooped neck sleeveless dress with a skirt that went just past her knees and patent 1 inch sandaled heels. Her dark hair had been braided into tight braids with small white flowers interwoven in between them.
Bruce smiled when he saw her, her hair, her dress, the white wrap that hung loosely in her arms. "You look beautiful baby." He thought briefly of Mia, and that first night after in the Duncan Hotel.
Rebecca smiled at the compliment. "Thanks dad." She came more into the room, the heels of her shoes clicking on the hardwood floor.
"I don't get the compliment back?" Bruce joked, gripping the folds of his suit jacket and striking something of a pose.
Rebecca rolled her eyes briefly, because she was 13, but she answered him: "Of course you look good dad. I mean, you're getting married today. You better look good."
Bruce smiled at her, ending it in a laugh. "I'm glad you're turning into an honest young woman."
Rebecca smiled at the complement the way all teenagers did when being referred to the first time as a 'young woman.'
"Becca," Bruce's voice carried across to where Rebecca was standing across the room from him. "This whole thing. Amy and I. How do you feel about it?"
"Dad," Becca interjected, a hand on her hip.
"I'm being serious," Bruce interjected back. "Comfortable, not comfortable? And you don't have to lie."
Becca was silent for a moment, but only a moment. "Dad I'm happy for you."
Bruce's smile returned. He closed the distance between him and his daughter and wrapped her up in a hug.
Through the opened doorway the figure of Donna Koslowski stopped, and the woman herself gave a wolf whistle. "Look who's wrapped up like a stone fox!" Donna said, appraising Bruce's suit. She came inside the office, dressed in the same style dress as Rebecca, a only with pointed toed black heels and a string of pearls around her neck.
She came in and circled Bruce with a pleased grin. "Damn Bruce, save some for the honeymoon." Donna playfully smacked Bruce in the shoulder and laughed her high spirited laugh.
"Donna," Bruce said softly, casting glances from her to Rebecca.
Donna's laugh sobered up. "Sorry. Is Judge Gray here yet?" Amy hadn't been a Judge since the prior year, but Donna couldn't comprehend calling her anything else.
"She's en route-"
"What?"
Bruce was interrupted by Peter Gray, Amy's oldest brother. He was dressed in a dark black tux with a silver toned vest that matched the one Bruce had on. He was followed by his wife Gillian, who was trying to keep a pinning of white flowers from slipping out of her hair.
"Amy's not here yet? The wedding's in an hour- and she's the bride. It's not like she can just blend into the crowd if she's not ready on time! God I hope she's not getting cold feet again-"
"Peter," Bruce said to his future brother-in-law, and when said man turned to him he added: "Stop talking."
Peter got eerily silent. With eyes still on Bruce he addressed his wife: "Gillian, please take Donna and Rebecca outside to wait for Amy-"
"Peter," Gillian said grabbing her husband's arm. "Please don't make a scene at your sister's wedding-" She took Rebecca by the shoulders and along with Donna, both women led the girl towards the door. All the while they threw glances at Peter and Bruce like there was an impending battle about to happen.
Bruce was a good two inches taller than Peter Gray. But the curly hair on the other man's head and his intimidating glare made up for the lack of height. "Are we about to throw down or something Peter, because this isn't junior high school-"
"You're marrying my sister-" Peter cut off Bruce again. His mouth was so tight lipped that it made his words sound curt.
"Yes I am," Bruce had been a CSO for so long that his words were always to the fact and exact. But then a moment later his face dissolved into understanding as to what Peter was getting at.
"Amy's my only sister," Peter went on, his words and the tone of his voice confirmed Bruce's suspicion. "And I love her, so I'm only going to say this once." He took a step closer to Bruce. "You make my little sister happy or I'm going to make you incredibly unhappy."
Bruce darted out a quick tongue to wet his lips to keep the laugh from coming out of his mouth at Peter's angry growl of a voice. Peter Gray was hardly intimidating, but Bruce wasn't about to start something with the man when he was in 'protective older brother mode'. He knew he would be the same way with Winnie, perhaps not as Godfatheresque as this, but almost the same.
"She makes me happy." Bruce said. "And I promise to do the same for her."
Peter seemed to appraise this statement; he planted a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "Good." His other hand found Bruce's other shoulder, and he roughed it up a little before giving it another, firmer pat.
Donna suddenly burst back through the open doorway, doing a slide-into-second-base effect, before landing in a pose with both hands on the door frame. "Good your both still alive, and bromanicing-"her face broke into a smile.
"Donna-" Bruce interjected. Donna was a good woman, she was just very over excitable. "Was there something-"
"Maxine and Vincent are here with Judge Gray-"
Bruce started to move forward, but Donna suddenly lunged forward in the door frame like she was about to attack. "Not you bucko! It's not kosher to see the bride before the ceremony!-" She turned her around like it was a tactical maneuver.
"We got a bride walking here!" Donna's shouted, making both Bruce and Peter jump at the noise.
A set of shapes blurred past the doorway. Two of them discernible as Maxine and Lauren. A third was a bit of a blob of brown hair and a leather over coat draped over said coat like they wanted to keep rain out of it.
"Amy-?" Bruce questioned the blur that was his fiancée.
"Ah!" Donna said, whipping her head around and turning to face Bruce with a pointed finger. "No peeking. Just say I love you."
Bruce gave a little sigh, but Donna was in full on 'hyper mode' so he just conceded: "I love you."
"Love you too!" Amy's retreating figure called out as she was shepherded away by her daughter and a herd of women.
Vincent broke away from the shapes that was the female members of his family and came into the office. He had a black garment bag tucked under his arm. "Is it okay if I change in here?"
"You're not ready yet?" Peter exclaimed to his younger brother like he had just caught him smoking weed behind the bleachers.
"I wasn't about to start stripping in the backseat of Amy's Volvo in front mom and Lauren-" Vincent argued, setting the garment bag on the mahogany and unzipping it to reveal a black tuxedo like Peter was wearing. He started to unbutton the blue shirt he had on.
Bruce didn't look affronted, but Peter did. He glanced at his watch. "I'm going to give organ woman my music-" he turned and walked out of the room.
"No wait," Vincent called after his brother. " Peter!" Vincent beat the wall in frustration when Peter didn't return. He shook his head. "Poor Aunt Ruth."
xxxxXxxxx
Amy normally didn't condone Donna doing her makeup. She tended to get a little over zealous with the whole routine and make Amy bare to mind phrases like: painted whore.
But today Donna's hand was magical. She brushed, and shalaqued and powdered Amy's face in under 20 minutes and the end result was flawless, Just a hint of rosiness at the cheekbones, light pink lips and eyes that smoldered but didn't look like a raccoon's.
"Donna," Amy didn't try to hide her amazement at the transformation she saw from this morning in the mirror. "This is amazing-"
"You're marrying Bruce Judge Gray," Donna dabbed the last bit of blush on Amy's face, a light pink sheen with just a hint of sparkle. "I wouldn't let you do it looking like anything but perfection."
Amy's smile stared back at her in the mirror. "Donna, you've known my family for a long time. you've had a baby in my mother's living room, you're sitting here applying my make up on my wedding day. You're like a sister to me; you're allowed to call me Amy."
Donna's face portrayed just a hint of shock, but then it melted into genuine emotion. She launched herself at Amy in a side hug."Oh Judge Gray-sorry I mean Amy-"
Amy laughed at this, a burst of real laughter, and Donna joined in a minute later.
"Everyone please," Maxine emerged from the recesses of the women's restroom the bridal party was holed up in. She was wearing a deep blue dress with a mandarin collar embroidered with willow branches and leaves all over it. "No crying now, or they're won't be anything left for the guests to aww and share antic dotes at."
Ariande, Donna's two-year-old daughter made a cooing noise from her seat on the floor. She hugged her brown stuffed bunny to her dress front.
"Good girl," Maxine praised the toddler.
The bathroom they were in wasn't a very large room, but it was fancy with a tan marbled vanity and three way mirror complete with matching cushioned bench.
Maxine held out a garment bag containing Amy's wedding dress. "Here's where running out of the house in only your bathrobe pays off."
Amy stood up from the vanity in her bathrobe and bare feet. She took the bag from her mother and walked to the middle of the bathroom where a conscious person had placed a dressing screen. The women in the room with her were all her family, but she still would like to keep dressing herself as something solo.
10 minutes later Amy came out from behind the screen. Her previous wedding dresses had all been lace, and duchess satin, things of very traditional beauty. Today she emerged in sleeveless cream white silk, that dropped to the floor like a waterfall. The neckline was a plunging 'V', and the whole combination was reminiscent of a 40's style ball gown.
Her hair was pinned up in a lose bun at the nape of her neck, and she held a pair of sling back white peep toed heels in her hand.
"So, what do you think?"
No one spoke for a long moment, but all the faces were gaping silently at her. Which started to make her feel self conscious. "Does it look alright?"
"Not yet," Maxine insisted. Several eyes shifted to her. Including Amy's. But she didn't acknowledge the stares and proceeded to a table beside a stripped couch where she had set an arrangement of white magnolia's arranged by her husband Ignacio. She pulled the thickest bloom free from its stem and walked towards her daughter with it.
"Something new," Maxine secured the blossom in Amy's hair with a bobby pin. She framed her face with her hands a moment later. "The something borrowed are your grandmother's heels, and the something old and something blue, are me and my veins."
Amy broke into a snorted laugh, and Maxine's followed a minute later. She kissed her daughter's forehead and pulled her towards her in a hug which Amy reciprocated.
"You're beautiful baby." Maxine said.
"Thank you," Amy pulled back from the hug, her smile wide. From the corner of her eye she could see Lauren watching her.
"Lauren?"
Amy had made a promise to her daughter after she had left the judicial system to pursue the senate seat that it was going to be both of them from then on in any decisions. When Amy had started dating Bruce Lauren was okay with it. When Amy had shown her daughter the engagement ring on her hand, Laruen hadn't objected.
But standing here, on the day of her wedding, Amy had to know, honestly, what Lauren's thought processes were about this.
"You've been so great through all of this noodle," Lately, Lauren would be annoyed by Amy calling her such a childish a nickname. But she didn't say anything this time.
Amy stepped over to her, holding the hem of her skirt up in one hand.
Lauren was dressed in the bridal party lavender bridesmaid dress, her brown hair sprinkled with tiny white flowers. Her makeup was light, barely there, but Amy could only think of how beautiful she looked.
She knelt down to her daughter's height. "But I meant what I said. This is still you and me kid. So I need to know- are you okay with today?"
"Bruce is a good person mom. He loves you," Lauren responded. "And you deserve love."
Amy pressed her lips together into a smile to keep herself from crying. She grabbed one of Lauren's arms and swung it for a moment before she leant over and wrapped her up in a hug.
A hitching weeping that sounded off in the corner signaled that they had lost Donna and Gillian who were both partial to sentimental moments.
"Oh for heaven's sake!" Maxine's voice commanded to the women who were trying to muffle very audible crying in their hands. "We are going to drown in a flood of mascara if things keep going this way!"
Maxine walked in her commanding way towards the marbled vanity. She picked up a gray velvet jewelry box and walked over to Amy with it. The lid made a thick 'squeak' of a noise when she opened it. Nestled inside the box was a set of steel blue pearl ear fobs. "I think these are a better something blue."
Amy stared at the tiny things; the backings were made of brass, and the pearls were suspended from it by a half moon cut of the same brass with a scattering of tiny brass leaves.
"Maxine, they're beautiful," Gillian said, peering over at the jewelry sitting on the cushion of velvet.
"These were my mother's," Maxine said to her daughter. "I wore them when I married your father."
Amy honestly didn't know what to say. "Ma-"
"Amy, your taste in men-" Maxine glanced over at her granddaughter, trying to word it so that it wouldn't sound like what it was, because Michael was still Lauren's father. "Bruce is more than worthy of you."
Amy's face crumpled for a moment, half wanting to cry, half not wanting to bleed her make up so Donna wouldn't have to go through her whole 'chisel and dab' routine again. It left her caught in the middle of an emotion that closed her throat up.
Maxine took both of Amy's hands and squeezed them, a smile damp with unsaid emotion on it. She removed one of the earrings from the box. "Okay-" She grasped Amy's earlobe in her fingers and secured the pearl to it, repeating the process on the other side.
xxxxxXxxxxx
The church sanctuary was somewhere in between medium and comfortably large. Not so big that one would feel swallowed up by it, or sitting on top of each other. Multicolored stained glass windows slanted the afternoon sunlight inside a warm honey gold.
Both sides of the pews were about equally full from both the groom's side and the brides side. Bruce's grandmother, dressed in dark blue and a matching pillbox hat with a tiny veil sat in the front row on the left side of the church.
A enormous smile pulled at her face when she saw her daughter in a stunning dark burgundy wrap dress and a wide brimmed straw floppy hat with a trailing blue ribbon be escorted down the aisle by her grandson.
Bruce helped his mother down into the pew, leaning over to give her a kiss on the side of her face. She returned the gesture, reaching up to touch the side of his face.
"I'm so proud of you baby. Amy is a good woman."
Bruce's response was to kiss her hand, offering a kiss to his grandmother before walking back up the aisle of the church to take his place next to Amy's brothers' Vincent and Peter.
Peter's face was still a little red from having been shushed by Aunt Ruth by a long burst of wails for her "frail constitution" when he hit the high note in the "Greatest Love of All" followed by her fanning herself with her smelling salts.
Beside Peter, Vincent was biting his lip, trying not to make jokes that all centered around phrases like: "Nice one Pavarotti."
On the right side of the church stage there was a large brass pipe organ, and the woman behind it began to play the Cannon In D Major.
The back door to the church opened and the bridal party began to make their way down the aisle. First was Gillian, who was leading her two sons, Ned 4, and Walt 1, in their ring bear suits with their pillows and pillows.
This produced an audible 'aww' from the wedding guests as well over a dozen camera flashes. Halfway down the aisle, Ned broke from his mother and tore down aisle towards Peter proclaiming: "Daddy, Walt bit me!"
This made the guests chuckle louder.
Gillian scooped up Walt and chased after Ned repeating: "No running sweetheart, no RUNNING!" She managed to catch up to him as he dodged by Bruce's legs and pounce on his father.
Peter caught the boy with an oomph.
By this time the guests were roaring with laughter, drowning out the sounds of the organ.
The laughter faded back into noises of wonderment as Lauren, then Becca proceeded down aisle, clutching small bouquets of white roses.
Next was Winnie, Bruce's older sister, her hair piled high on her head in loose chiffon, white flower petals dangling from it. Following her was Donna, Amy's maid-of-honor , her smile almost splitting her face as she spied Bruce and gave him a not so subtle 'thumbs up.' She was leading her two-year-old daughter Ariande by the hand, sprinkling flower petals from her tiny basket onto the ground.
More 'aww's chased each other light rain drops.
The organ music faded away as both bridal and groom parties reached their places at the front of the church.
The opening violin chord of 'At Last' by Etta James broke out over the sound system, and the collective of guests stood up.
Amy walked down the aisle, escorted by Maxine, her free hand grasping a bright red bouquet of teacup roses.
There were gasps and aww's in abundance now as she made her way down the aisle. She saw the smiles on the faces of her brothers, and everyone in her bridal party, from her daughter, from Rebecca.
Then she saw Bruce.
And her smile widened. The tie that he was wearing was the same one he had worn in the Senate House the day she had given her speech before a Senate subcommittee and a live CSPAN audience. She had caught him out of the corner of her eye as he slid into his seat. And, it was like the air had entered her lungs again the moment her hand touched his.
He had been so cryptic as to his attire for the ceremony. Something that, as a former judge, and as a woman Amy couldn't understand. Men wore suits to these events, basic staples rented out at mass warehouses. There wasn't enough about the whole deal to be mysterious about. But the moment she saw his tie, the one she had unconsciously memorized, and had loved because it had been the day he had come back to her, she knew he had had worn it for her.
Bruce had forgotten how to draw breath when he saw her walking towards him. She looked – there was a reminiscent of Mia, just for a moment, in the dress and the flower in her hair.
But then she smiled at him, that genuine crack-your-face open smile. And she was there as the singularity that she was. His closest, and best friend. And she looked completely, and irrevocably, so. damn. beautiful.
Neither one of them knew exactly when they reached the other one, because as Amy neared the end of the aisle, Bruce stepped away from his position to move towards her.
Both Maxine and Amy stopped their ascent. Maxine grasped the side of Amy's face and kissed her. She then reached up and did the same to Bruce, who reciprocated her action, before claiming a seat in the first row of pews on the bride's side of the church.
He then reached out his free hand to Amy, and she took it, feeling the warmth of his skin, and the warmth of his smile as he led her the rest of the way.
They stood in front of the minister, a middle aged man wearing all black and Woody Allan style black framed glasses. He clutched a worn brown leather bible in his hand. A moment later the music died down.
The minister waved his hands and the guests reclaimed their seats.
"Welcome," the minister, a Reverend Lambert smiled out over the faces of the guests.
Bruce was raised a Catholic, but because Amy was divorced, she could be married in the Catholic Church. But, it had been a mutual decision to be married elsewhere. Amy completely supported Bruce's religion, but she was not a religious person. Bruce knew her well enough to know that she would not want to convert to Catholicism. That if it came down to him asking, she would, even after all the arguments, and reasoning; because she would do it for him. But it would make her unhappy. So they instead decided to enter into their marriage as equals, coming in the with each of the qualities that brought them there to begin with, and not try to mold the other. They had never done it before, and weren't about to start now.
"It's a beautiful afternoon for an event such as this," the minister smiled at Amy, then at Bruce. "I met with the lovely couple earlier, and they both seemed the type who didn't cling much to moldy speeches, they wanted to get the show on the road if you will, so I didn't know whether to marry them or give them a pack of gold coins-" the minister chuckled.
There was a returning chuckle from the audience, the nervous forced kind when someone like a prime minister or any other figure head said something inappropriate but no one knew if shutting him up would invoke some sort of diplomatic immunity wrath.
But 'his diplomatic immunity laugh' was no match for Amy's Superior Court Judge head cocked glare, still effective even after a year retired from the bench. They didn't hand pick the minister. Half of the Parish of Connecticut seemed to be on vacation this week; and they finally found one that basically came with the church venue.
The minister's laugh folded in on itself as Amy's glare seemed to pierce through his eyes. He cleared his throat. "I understand Amy and Bruce have written their own vows; I ask that they read them now, to declare their love for each other." he turned to Bruce with a nod:
Bruce took Amy's other hand, and turned so that he was facing her:
"When I first met you; I knew you were strong. I could see it even the moments you couldn't see it in yourself. It is one of the many things that I admire about you. Amy," Bruce tightened his grasp on her hands. "I wasn't born to love you-you are the reason that I love you."
Amy felt her eyes mist over, a feeling she fought against, otherwise she would be a damn weepy mess.
"Bruce," She rubbed the top of Bruce's hand with the pad of her thumb. Her eyes found his. "I have never respected any man more than I do you. You have been one of the unfailing constants in my life. You're my best friend," her voice cracked audibly. "And I'm honored to stand up here with you." her words were half whispered like it was just the two of them.
Maxine clutched the handkerchief in her lap, willing herself not to use it. Because she was Maxine Gray, defender of the down trodden, tough as nails mother of three difficult at times children. But her husband Ignacio lifted her hand with the handkerchief up to her eyes and dabbed at them.
Maxine yanked her hand back from him with a look, but it only lasted half a second before she placed the cloth back under her eyes.
The minister made a signal and Amy turned to Walt who being held up by Gillian, and took the band from the pillow the boy was clutching.
And Bruce claimed the ring from Peter, who he had named as his best man. Peter gave him the ring and a slap on the shoulder.
Bruce reclaimed Amy's hand and slid the silver band underneath the diamond of her engagement ring.
"Bruce Van Excel," the minister stated. "Do you take this woman, Amy Madison Gray, to be your wife, in sickness and in health, for better or worse, and give yourself unto her for the rest of your days?"
"I do," Bruce returned, he watched Amy watching him back, her smile wide.
Amy slid the silver wedding band on Bruce's hand.
"Amy Madison Gray, do you take this man, Bruce Van Exel, to be your husband, in sickness and oppression, for better or worse, and do you give yourself unto him until the end of your days?"
"Yes," Amy said exuberantly. "I mean, I do." her smile widened. She didn't even care if a few of the guests were laughing at her. Let them all think her mentally incompetent, she didn't give a damn; this was a moment that was 7 years in the making.
"Then by the power vested in me by the state of Connecticut, " The minister didn't joke this time. "I pronounce you man and wife."
Amy started to laugh, her smile growing wide, and so very pleased.
You may kiss-"
Amy moved close to Bruce. She didn't realize that Ariande had a hold of her hair, until the bobby pins fell out and her bun came undone.
Bruce tried to catch the updo before it completely fell apart, but all he managed to grab was a handful of magnolia petals as the flower broke apart and smeared petals in Amy's roan colored hair.
"-The bride," the minister finished, voice stuttering out like a motor as Ariande began clapping her hands at what she had done.
Amy's laughter broke out fully then, a burst of noise like bubbles escaping from a Champaign bottle. She was very nearly close to snorting.
Bruce began to laugh with her, his shoulders shaking.
Both went on like this for a full 10 seconds before they finally met each other in the middle in a deep, sweet slow kiss that had her hands around his neck and his in her fallen hairdo.
The guests and the wedding party started to clap. Some like Gillian and Donna, and even Sean Potter sitting in the audience, were crying. Others like Maxine and Lucinda Van Exel, Bruce's mother were doing both.
And when Amy and Bruce broke their kiss for air, they were still laughing.
xxxxXxxx
"…for you are mine, at last."
xxxxXxxx
End
Review, please, and thank you.
Mystic