"Well gentleman, I understand you wish to be married."

Curt and I reach out and hold hands. It feels so official, and so real. I smile.

"Yes, very much so."

"In one of our churches."

"Yes."

"Of course, you both understand that marriage between two parties of the same sex is not legal, nor recognized by any church or government or any authorities, neither here in Spain, nor anywhere in the world?"

Details, details.

"Yes, we know."

"I want you gentleman to know that in my personal opinion, that is wrong. I believe God blesses loving, committed unions, whether heterosexual or homosexual. But you must understand that in my presiding over your wedding, if you would like me to do so, my involvement would be strictly of a personal nature, because you are friends of Maria's, and not in any official church capacity. I have no legal or church authority to bless your union."

"We understand."

"Good." He looks at us both. "I understand from Maria that you would be having rings and vows and would like a formal, traditional ceremony as much as possible, is that correct?"

Curt answers.

"Yes, definitely."

"Which is part of the reason you wish to marry inside of a church?"

"Yes."

"But you are not members of the church?"

"No."

"Please understand, you do not need to be, it's just that I'd like to know something about your backgrounds if I'm to be presiding over your wedding. These are just general questions. Are you members of any church, or did either of you grow up in the church?"

I jump in.

"I grew up Catholic and attended Catholic schools my whole childhood, up to age 16, but I don't practice it." To say the least.

"I went when I was really small, but I haven't been since. My family wasn't really religious."

"Well, considering the attitude of the church towards gays, I can understand your both being hesitant to participate in the institution as adults. But let me just say that you would both be most welcome in my church."

I don't doubt it.

Curt squeezes my hand.

"Thank you so much, father. You're very kind."

"Would you mind if I asked you a few more questions?"

"No, go right ahead, please."

"How long have you two known each other?"

We look at each other. I answer.

"Um, about 4 months."

He raises an eyebrow.

"Not long."

Curt responds.

"No, but we're very much in love. It's the real thing. Without question."

My heart soars. I squeeze his hand back.

"Why do you wish to marry? I'm just playing devil's advocate here, so to speak, as I would with any young couple wishing to marry, please understand."

We look at each other. Curt speaks.

"Um, we just feel really committed to each other, in a serious way, and we want to honor and celebrate that, I guess."

The pastor nods and smiles.

"Excellent answer, young man."

We all laugh.

"No, I'm serious. I can't tell you the answers I have received to that question over the years. A question you would think a couple would have pondered beforehand. In an instant, you know these people shouldn't marry."

More laughter.

"Why do you wish to marry now, may I ask?"

I field this one.

"We have really limited time in Ibiza. We're booked in a recording studio in London two days later."

"So why not marry in London?"

My mind pictures us trying to tie the knot there. The press, let alone Mandy, would be merciless, hounding us at every turn, round the bloody clock.

"Well, it's much more private here. And we've really come to love Ibiza." I look at Curt. "I think we'll be coming back here a lot. It will sort of be like our part time home."

His face colors a bit. He grins shyly. It's the first time he's hearing this. My heart swells with happiness at having brought him such unexpected, welcome news.

"Brian, that's wonderful! We will expect you boys to join us for dinner once a week, at least!", Maria bellows.

We laugh. "Thanks, Maria. We will," Curt responds. In my mind, of course, I have other ideas; I'm seeing us sneaking down here unannounced for weeks of non-stop lovemaking.

"So you are both musicians?", the father asks.

I tear my face away from Curt's.

"Er, yes. Curt's an artist, really- a purist." I clasp his hand with both of mine, and look him in the eye again. "He's amazing. I think he's a genius, actually."

"Ooh, Brian! Just to look at the two of you!", Maria cries. She turns to the pastor. "Father, they both sing beautifully. They played for us at the last dinner. Curt even worked Bella's name into the song lyric." She turns to him, smiling. "She has more than a little crush on you, I'm afraid."

More laughter.

Shit, I'm thinking, she's not the only one.

David pipes in, grinning. "Mama, I don't think Bella will be pleased that you have revealed her secret."

"Well, we'll have to keep it to ourselves then."

She reaches out and pats Curt's back.

"We just want you to know that we pretty much think of you boys as part of our extended family."

Curt is clearly moved. He grins shyly.

"Thank you so much Maria. That's incredibly sweet. We consider ourselves extremely lucky to have met you and your family. We feel incredibly blessed."

"Us too! I can't wait for this wedding! It's so romantic! Just seeing you boys sitting next to each other right now, holding hands- it makes me wanna swoon !"

Laughter.

The pastor sits up straighter.

"Now gentlemen, I wonder if you would be interested at all in a more formal pre-marital interview, as what is normally given to prospective couples who wish to marry in the church?"

Curt and I exchange glances.

"Interview?" Curt asks. I had heard of this, but never partook in it as Mandy and I were married by a justice of the peace.

"Yes. It is a way to gage a couple's compatibility, basically. If you are not a member of the church, this may seem odd to you, and intrusive, but it is merely a tool to help you decide if marriage is right for you, and truly what you want. Considering the unofficial capacity of your marriage, from the church's perspective, it is not required, but I did want to offer you the same things that are offered to heterosexual couples, as much as is possible."

Curt and I look at each other.

"I sort of like the idea of doing it straight all the way, so to speak. What do you think?" Curt asks me.

"If you wish to discuss this amongst yourselves, we can leave," the pastor pipes in.

I address him.

"No, that won't be necessary. I agree with Curt. We'll do it, if that's what the straight couples do. I have to ask, though, is there a problem with the fact that neither of us are members of the church, or of any church?"

"Well, Brian, that may be the only advantage that being gay will give you here, because if you were marrying a woman, the two of you would be required to join, but again, since the marriage and wedding are of an unofficial nature, that won't be necessary. This is all 'under the table', as I believe they say in America."

"Okay."

The pastor pulls out a leather bound folder and places it on the coffee table before him, and begins unzipping it.

"At this point, I will ask David and Maria to step outside during the interview."

Maria stands. "David honey, let's go for a walk on the beach." He stands, and they leave via the kitchen door.

The father takes out a notebook and clipboard, and places it in his lap. He removes his glasses and slips on a pair of reading ones.

I glance at Curt. He appears nervous. I'm feeling it a bit, as well.

"Now gentleman, please do not take offense at any of the questions, especially those of a more personal nature. They are the same questions put to all couples."

"Okay."

"Alright, first off, Brian, you are a part time resident of Ibiza, is that correct?"

"Yes. This is my home."

"You own it?"

"Yes."

"Will you be settling here?"

"I'm afraid not." I look at Curt. "Not right now, anyway. Our jobs require that we return to England."

He scribbles a few notes into the notebook, then asks the next question without raising his eyes.

"Have the two of you ever lived together?"

"Yes, these 2 weeks, we have."

"How has that gone? Have there been fights?"

We look at each other. And how, I want to say.

"Yes."

"What is the manner of your fighting, ie is there physical fighting, yelling, silent treatment, do one or both parties leave the house, etc."

I glance at Curt again.

"Um, a bit of everything, actually."

"Maybe not silent treatment though. We don't do that, do we?"

"No, I don't think so."

"What have you fought about?"

I stop and look at him.

"I'm sorry, father, that seems really … no offense, but why do you need to know that?"

"I understand your discomfort, Brian. Let me explain that in my counseling career, I have seen over and over that how a couple fight and what they fight about tends to determine the likely success or failure of their marriage. It is critical, actually." He looks back at his notebook.

"If you would like me to move on, I will."

I look at Curt. He nods.

"No, that's okay. Um … we've fought about … um, Curt, what would you say?" I'm flustered and my brain is a bit foggy as a result.

He looks at the pastor.

"I guess stuff like, miscommunications and shit." He immediately puts his hand to his mouth. "Oh, sorry."

The pastor smiles.

"That's quite alright. Go on, please."

"Um, misinterpretations. Misunderstandings."

"Can you be more specific?"

Now Curt's on the hot seat. He looks at me. My time to nod.

"Um, well …"

I step in.

"I tend to be jealous of people around Curt. He's so charismatic, people flock to him, and I get jealous and I sometimes get carried away and see things that aren't there."

The pastor continues shooting off questions while keeping his face in his notebook. It's a bit unnerving.

"Are women attracted to Curt, or just men?"

This one sets me back. Does he have ESP? Or maybe David told him we're both bi? But I somehow doubt that.

"Both."

"Curt, are you bisexual?" He asks, again, without looking up.

"Um, yes. We both are."

"Have you mostly been with men, or women?"

He fidgets.

"Um, well, women I'd say."

"Have there been almost as many women as men, or has there been a much greater percentage of women, than men?"

"Wow," Curt laughs. "Um, I'd say maybe 60/40 women to men."

"Any particular reason?"

He shrugs. "No."

"The only reason I ask is, in my experience counseling bisexual couples, the percentages are usually much more disparate, that's all. People tend to be more like 80/10 or even 90/10; either they are almost completely straight or almost completely gay."

"Oh."

"What about you, Brian?"

"For me it's mostly been men."

He scribbles.

"Okay, back to the fights. How long do they tend to last?"

Curt answers.

"I'd say no more than an afternoon, depending on the time of day the fight started, sometimes longer."

"Have you had fights that have been bad enough that you have discussed breaking up?"

We look at each other. It's eerie, really.

"Yes."

"How often?"

The images flash through my head. Curt packing his suitcase in my bedroom. Our discussion this morning.

"Um, twice."

"Twice in how long a time period?"

This is getting intensely uncomfortable. I resist the urge to lie.

"Two weeks." I slump back in my seat, wishing I could be anywhere but here. I'm sure we are failing whatever test this is, by bloody miles. Will he prevent us from marrying?

"And how are the fights resolved, generally? Why haven't you broken up?"

I pipe in.

"We each tend to do a bit of soul searching, and then we talk it out and realize how much we love each other, and that resolves it."

There! I want to shout. See? We're not so bad!

I'm wanting him to smile and nod, just a smidgen of reassurance would be nice, but the bloody man just keeps scribbling, stone-faced.

He takes a breath, casual as can be, like he's done this five hundred times. He probably has.

"Are either of you committed to any others at the present time, in any way, officially, or otherwise?"

Great! We glance at each other.

"Um, well, yes. I'm afraid I'm uh … married, actually."

He looks at me. He seems surprised. "You are married at present?"

"Yes."

"To a woman?"

"Yes, but," I feel myself fumbling. "I have intentions of filing for divorce as soon as we get back."

"How long have you been married?"

"Five years."

"Do you have children?"

"No."

"How long have you been thinking of divorce?"

"Um, well our marriage has been pretty much non-existent for a long time now."

"Does your wife live with you?"

"No. She keeps a separate flat." Phew. Off the hook there.

"For how long has this been the arrangement?"

"8 or 9 months."

"Is she aware that you intend to file divorce papers?"

"No."

"Were you in love with her when you married?"

God, this is excruciating. How about firing off a few questions at Curt?

"Yes, but at the same time, we wouldn't have married had we not believed that she was pregnant at the time. It turned out she wasn't."

"Do you believe that your wife would have the same view? That you wouldn't have married were it not for the pregnancy scare?"

"Yes, I do. Because we literally married the same afternoon she told me. I wasn't planning to marry her at all. We never discussed it before that day."

Phew again, I think to myself. He can't exactly argue with me there.

"I see."

"And you are no longer in love with her?"

"Correct."

"When is the last time you had relations with her?"

I'm stunned. I blink and look at him.

"Um, a long time ago. Several months."

"Was it before she moved out, or after?"

"Um, after." These aren't exactly things I wanted Curt to hear.

"So you have slept with your wife within the last 8 or 9 months?"

"Yes."

He continues his incessant looking down and scribbling.

"Was this before, or after you met Curt?"

"Before, long before."

"How often in the last 8 or 9 months?"

I'm fidgeting. I'm sorry we're doing this after all. He looks up at last.

"I'm sorry, Brian. These are the exact sort of questions we ask all couples. It's not fun for me, I promise you. As a pastor and also a marital counselor, I deal with these issues all the time. I want to assure you there is a point to this, even if it doesn't seem like it right now. Please just answer as honestly as you can, but if you can't answer, I'll move onto the next question."

"No, I'm okay. Um, we had sex maybe twice in the last 9 months."

He resumes his scribbling.

"I need to ask, if you were living separately and thinking of divorce, how was it that you slept together at all?"

I'm nearly breaking out into a sweat now. I don't dare look at Curt.

"Um … she … we, it was a … party." I resist using the real word: orgy. "She had been drinking- she was drunk." I resist the word 'stoned'- off her ass- we both were. "And we found ourselves alone together. It just happened. She instigated it."

"Even though she was drunk?"

"She initiated it because she was drunk. That's her way."

"Is there any chance your wife might be pregnant by you?"

"Not as far as I know. It's doubtful. She has no interest in children. She's on the pill."

"Was your marriage a faithful one until you met Curt?"

Oh man.

"No."

"Were you both unfaithful?"

Fuck, I want to answer, are you kidding? We had regular orgies in my living room!

"Yes."

"Was it a one time thing, or was there much unfaithfulness?"

I clear my throat. My face colors.

"Um, it wasn't a one-time thing."

"Meaning multiple extra marital affairs?"

"Yes."

"The both of you?"

"Yes."

"Were they affairs or more of a single night's event?"

My face flushes further. How glad I am that he's buried in his notebook.

"Single night events." Nicer way of saying 'one night stand', I suppose.

"Is your wife aware of your relationship with Curt?"

Fucken A. Is this entire thing going to be about Mandy?

"She is aware of it."

"Is she aware you intend to marry Curt?"

"No."

"What does she think about your relationship with Curt?"

Curt pipes in.

"She doesn't like me very much."

"Why is that?"

Curt and I look at each other. I answer.

"She knows we're in love."

"Is she in love with you still, Brian?"

"No."

"Then why would it matter to her that you were now in love with Curt?"

I take a breath.

"It's complicated. I've been very successful in my career, and have become famous, and Mandy has, as well, but only by virtue of being the wife of a famous man and putting herself in the spotlight. I believe she sees Curt as a threat to her little bit of fame."

"Is your wife likely to try to interfere in your relationship with Curt?"

"Well, yes."

"In what way?"

I sigh. "I don't know. She's fairly vindictive. She will badmouth him, probably." She already has, I think to myself.

"What impact is that likely to have?"

"None. She thinks she has power, but she doesn't, really."

"Okay, next question. What will the divorce do to your financial situation?" He looks up at me. "Brian, I ask this because by far the number one cause of marital discourse is money problems."

I look down. I take a breath and soften it as much as I can.

"My wife's brother is a lawyer, but I have lawyers as well, good ones, so it's hard to predict."

"Is your wife likely to try to take much of your estate?"

"Well, she can try, but … we'll see."

He looks up at me.

"Do you expect that she will?"

Bastard won't let me get away with anything.

"Yes."

He turns and looks at Curt.

"What about yourself? How is your financial situation?"

He gulps.

"Um, I don't have much money." Or any, actually.

"Are you employed?"

"Um, I'm … I'm scheduled to start my record the day after we get back."

"Do you expect to make money off of your record?"

"Um, well, Brian's producing, and he's got a big name, so I think it's likely."

"Do you own a home of your own?"

"No."

"Are you married or promised to anyone else?"

"No."

"Have you ever been married?"

"No."

"Have you ever lived with anyone?"

"Yes. Once."

"You were in love with the person?"

"Yes."

"When was this?"

"A long time ago."

"How old were you?"

"17."

"How long did it last?"

"Six months."

"Were you faithful to each other?"

"Yes."

"But the two of you broke up?"

"Er, yes."

"Why?"

Curt shifts uncomfortably and glances at me. I take his hand.

"He um, he died."

"I see. I'm sorry."

"S'okay."

He continues his scribbling.

"What do you and Brian have in common?"

We look at each other.

"Well, we love music, of course."

"The same kind of music?"

"Um, not exactly. Rock music, but different types of rock."

"Do you each have your own bands?"

"Yes."

"Why is that? Why not play in the same band together?"

Fuck, he leaves no stone unturned.

Curt fidgets.

"My band's a bit … loud, and raw, I guess you could say."

"Mine is more poppy." Ha! I've got him on this one: "But, just the same, even if our musical tastes were completely similar, I don't think it's ever a good idea for a couple to work together, do you?"

He ignores the question and instead, floors me with one of his own.

"You are producing Curt's record, though?"

Bastard!

"Yes, but …" I stammer. "That should only take a few weeks."

"And then what?"

"Then we go on tour," Curt offers.

"Together?"

"Um, my band is opening for his band."

"So you'll be on the road together traveling around?"

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"Eight months."

"Do you consider your band your job? Your work?"

"I consider it my art, actually," Curt offers. "Not to sound too frilly or anything."

The pastor smiles.

"You consider yourself an artist?"

"Yes."

"Brian, do you feel the same way about your music?"

I lie. We've scored few enough points with the man as it is. "Yes."

"What other things do you two have in common?"

We look at each other. There's an awkward pause.

The pastor pipes in.

"Life outlook? Values? Family backgrounds or upbringings?"

Curt scrambles.

"We, we just … Brian and I just click in real ways, I don't know how else to put it. In the ways that matter. We care deeply about each other and we know we want to be together."

The pastor nods, and scribbles.

Curt continues.

"Neither of us have ever been in love like this before."

It's an incredibly sweet moment. I feel a surge of warmth in my belly.

The pastor continues, oblivious.

"Educational backgrounds?"

Curt answers.

"Um, I dropped out of school when I was 17."

"Do you have a high school diploma or an equivalency degree?"

"No."

"Any college, technical training, apprenticeships or special skills that could earn you money?"

I stifle the thought that Curt earned money hooking. That, I suppose, is a special skill.

"Aside from music, no."

"What jobs have you held in your life?"

"Um I once worked at a car wash."

"Brian? Education?"

"I finished high school, that's it. No other training."

"Jobs?"

"I've never really had to work. My family has money."

"Do you have any sort of inheritance coming to you?"

"No."

"None at all? You're not in anyone's will?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"A bit more about background. Were either your parents ever divorced?"

"No."

"No."

"Oh well, that's good."

Hooray! We get one tiny gold star in a notebook full of large red X's. Please, don't ask Curt about his family.

"Would you consider that you had a happy family life growing up?"

Christ!

"Yes. Mine was ideal," Curt responds quickly.

I shoot him a look.

"Very happy family life. Very close family. I still see my brother all the time."

The pastor nods.

"Oh, good, good."

"I really admire him."

"Splendid. What does he do?"

"He ah, he's a counselor. He counsels troubled youth."

I stare straight ahead. Okay, totally lying to a pastor here. Surely this is bad.

"Um, mine was happy," I offer, "My father and I were very close, but then he died when I was 10."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

He reviews some of his writings a moment.

"Do either of you want children?"

Great. Fantastic. How do we get around this one?

"Yes," Curt offers.

I squirm.

"I'm open to the idea, even though I never considered it before I met Curt. But I don't see how we could, to be honest."

"Curt, do you consider the fact that you want children but would not be able to have them with Brian to be a potential problem?"

"Um, well, Brian and I have discussed this actually. I really think even if I was with a woman, that it would be unlikely that we'd have kids, because … I'm not stable enough financially."

"But you could be some day. Or your wife could work."

"Well, ya, but Brian and I could also, I mean, there are women who do surrogate mothering, I've heard, and millions of unwed teenage girls who give up their babies."

"But you would not be able to legally adopt."

He squirms. "Well … no. At any rate, it's not a burning issue right now for me. I believe that things will take care of themselves to some degree. The bottom line is, I love Brian too much to allow some future thing that might never come to pass ruin our relationship, or put an end to it. Besides, other than maybe one girl, the women I've been with, the women I attract have not been of the best quality, I guess you could say."

"Oh? Why?"

He fidgets. "Um, how do I put this delicately? Because of my job … I mean, I'm in a rock band. The women I meet tend to be a bit … trashy. We call them groupies. They aren't terribly discriminating. Definitely not wife material."

"I see. Okay, thank you for being honest. I appreciate that."

He looks up from his notebook.

"Just two more sets of questions. I'll make this as brief as possible."

He looks back down and readies his pen.

"Do either of you drink?"

"Not really. Just the occasional glass of wine, with dinner."

"Have either of you ever taken drugs?"

We glance at each other.

"No."

"No."

"Never? Not even once? I have to say, it seems odd, given your occupations."

Curt steps in.

"Well, to be perfectly honest …"

I shoot him a look. What on earth is he going to say? I was a full time heroin addict for six years? I'm fresh off methadone in fact?

"… I did smoke marijuana for a short while, but I didn't really care for it. It messed with my ability to play guitar, so I stopped, plus it's bad for the lungs, and I need 'em to sing."

"Do either of you smoke?"

"Um, okay, ya got me there. I do." He grins. "Like a chimney."

We, all three, laugh. It's the first time the tension's been broken.

"That's okay, Curt. I confess, so do I!"

More laughter.

"Wow, I didn't know priests …"

"Yes, we do!"

Yet more laughter. It feels good.

"Alright, last set of questions. Sorry about these. I have no idea why they put these last. It seems especially awkward to me, but we are supposed to ask them in order."

"It's okay." I'm feeling so much more relaxed after having laughed. I squeeze Curt's hand. "Go ahead."

"I'm afraid they will seem especially intrusive, but this topic is also a big predictor of marital success. Perhaps the second only to money." He clears his throat and buries his face in the notebook. "How often do you have sex?"

We look at each other, a bit stunned.

"Um …," I stammer.

His nose remains firmly in the notebook. "Just … if you just want to tell me how many times a week or a month or whatever, that's fine."

"Well, I'd say, it's more like … several times a week."

"I'm sorry, I really am. I'm supposed to write down a number."

"Okay, well, I'd say maybe–"

Curt pipes in. "To be honest, we do it about every day. Often more than once."

The pastor laughs shyly. "Oh my, okay."

I can't help myself, I have to ask. "Is that good, or bad?"

He laughs again. "No, that's good! Very good!" He scribbles away. "Even for a couple of only four months- that's … extraordinary!"

We all laugh again.

I want to say it. I want to tell him. I'm proud of it.

"Well actually," I add, "at the moment we're actually …" I look at Curt, who finishes my thought.

"We're saving ourselves for the wedding night."

The pastor is clearly surprised.

"Oh. I see." He laughs softly. "Not something I hear much, these days, I must say."

Curt grins. "We like tradition."

I smile. We squeeze hands.

"So you are both healthy and fit, I take it? That's one question I had left out."

"Yes."

His face is intensely buried in the notebook.

"And when you do have relations, do each of you find your lovemaking satisfying?"

We glance at eachother quickly.

"Yes, definitely."

"Yes, very much so."

"So I take it that sex is not one of the things you argue or fight about? That is another common marital problem."

"No," I offer. "Sex is the thing that helps resolve our arguments, in fact." I look at Curt lovingly, longingly. "Or at least, it's how we make up." He returns the loving, longing look. If the bloody pastor weren't here, I'd lean over and french him a good one.

"Excellent, excellent."

He shuts his notebook finally, takes a breath, and looks at us.

"Okay, gentleman, that is it. I'm truly sorry for any pain it caused you to go through that." He stands. "I will call in our friends from outside. They are probably sunburnt by now."

"Um, but … can you tell us how we did?"

"Well, I'd have to review my notes."

"What are you first impressions, though?"

"Did we completely flunk out?" Curt asks.

He sighs. "It's really designed to be something to help the couple decide. I don't make the decision. Only you two can decide."

"But, in your experience with interviewing prospective couples and then … probably counseling them later, you must see some patterns," I inquire.

"Yes, of course. The same ones, over and over, I'm afraid."

"Can you possibly tell us how we compare? What chance we have of lasting or being happy?"

"Well, there are no crystal balls."

"But, you must have some idea," I plead.

He sits and looks at us. He takes a breath and exhales.

"Well, frankly, you appear to have little in common, and you have known each other only a very short time, during which you have almost broken up twice. Obviously, these are not good signs.

It sounds, Brian, like your wife is likely to take much of your money in the divorce, but then, you can still make music, presumably, and continue making your living that way, and being successful at it. I see no reason why that shouldn't continue. But it also sounds like she is likely to try to obstruct your relationship with Curt. A bitter, spurned, vindictive ex-spouse is not usually a good thing, as I'm sure you can imagine. Of course, and, I should not say this, but, I suppose you could remain married to her, since she already knows about Curt. That way, you keep your money, and she keeps her fame, and you can continue living separate lives in separate flats, as you are at present.

The child thing does have me worried, because this is certainly a well known, common source of marital friction, but at the same time, it seems to me that a sympathetic female friend could possibly help, there. Still, that can be rather sticky- a child having not two, but 3 parents, let alone the legal questions. It would depend on how sympathetic your friend was. The best situation I suppose would be a girl who becomes pregnant without intending to, who has little interest in rearing the child. That way she would be more likely to allow the two of you to parent the child, and yet the child would still have his or her mother around. But as you said, perhaps it's too early to worry about these things. Time may bring better answers."

Christ. I feel completely depressed and deflated. I look over at Curt, who is looking off, clearly feeling the same way. To boot I can tell that all the baby talk and the sorry, half-baked solutions to same are hitting him especially hard. He speaks absently.

"Ya, I guess."

The pastor reaches out a hand to him.

"Curt, please remember that I am an outsider to the situation here. I am not inside your heart, nor Brian's- that is extremely important to keep in mind. In my professional capacity, I am required to make judgments about a couple's potential success, but I, and we, the church, have certainly been proven wrong a number of times over the years."

Curt looks down. He doesn't respond. Oh god, why did we do the bloody test? Why?

"I can see that clouds of doubt have entered your mind. Let me just say something to you, Curt, if I may, outside of my professional capacity."

Curt looks up at him.

"Okay."

"In my heart, and I'm speaking quite honestly here, I can see that your love for each other is very real, very genuine, and that it means the entire world to you both- it couldn't be more obvious." He looks at me, then back at Curt. "Gentlemen, the very fact that you wish to engage in a marriage ceremony, particularly a traditional one, in a church, with a priest and multiple witnesses, and then live as a married couple, despite the fact that neither the world, the law, the community where you will live, nor the very church where you will be married will permit or recognize or respect or even consider such a thing, despite the fact that the world would be quite hostile to and scoff at and try in fact to stop it, is testimony to the strength and depth of your bond. Surely you must see that."

Curt looks at me and re-grips my hand.

"We do."

"Well then, you must understand that that is the real test, if there is to be any test- that is a real predictor of marital success, in my opinion, and I've been a counselor for 17 years and have counseled hundreds of couples. You and Brian have already had so much more to overcome than any straight couple, and yet your love has persevered and your desire to be married hasn't wavered."

Curt is softening, somewhat. He looks off.

"Ya, true."

"And I will also mention something here, something I wouldn't normally ever do, but I know that Maria and Manuel would approve."

We wait, looking at him.

"As a young couple, they were given the test by my predecessor …" He smiles at us. "And … they failed it miserably."

Curt's and my mouth drop open simultaneously.

The pastor nods and laughs softly.

"Hard to believe, yes, but completely true. And yet they are as happy and close as a couple can be."

My heart sings, but … next to me I can feel Curt stiffen again.

"They've had a bunch of kids, though."

My heart plummets.

The pastor touches Curt's hand.

"Curt, it's quite sad to say, but the reality is, children do not make a marriage happy or not happy. In fact most of the couples I counsel, people who come to me who are quite miserable in their relationships and have been for years, 98% of them have children, so please bear that in mind. But … I can see that this is an issue for you and that you would like children. Let me just say that there are solutions, even if it seems right now like they aren't possible or realistic."

Curt looks at him hopefully.

"Well, what do you mean?"

He pauses a moment before answering.

"It's not something I'm really supposed to discuss, but as you both seem trustworthy, and are friends of Maria's, I will just say that I have counseled gay couples before, about adoption, and have in fact, through my channels and contacts, been able to help some of them with it."

Curt brightens. We both do.

"You have?"

"Yes. I cannot go into details, except to say that it involves couples like you, only female, who birth the child and allow another couple like themselves- gay, to adopt, unofficially, of course."

Curt smiles.

"Wow, that's … heavy."

"Of course, there are no guarantees, but I just wanted you to know, sometimes in life, god finds a way, even if man tries to put a stop to him."

We laugh. Shit, he is amazing.

He stands. We stand with him.

"Okay, I think that is all I have time for, gentleman." He touches his hand to his head and shuts his eyes momentarily. "Oh, no, wait. Of course. I nearly forgot. Which church do you have in mind? I'm going to check availability right after this."

"St Tomas'. It's a small old church on the other side of the island," Curt answers.

He looks at us oddly.

"Well I can tell you gentleman, there won't be any availability problems. It's basically an inactive building. Why there? It's a bit worn, from what I recall. Sort of in the middle of nowhere. Rarely used. The island has much more beautiful churches than St Tomas'. More grand. More festive."

We look at each other.

"Um, well, that's sort of why we fell in love with it; it's small and intimate. It's off the beaten path. Traditional."

"It has a wonderful feeling to it, inside. The light from the windows, the old pews, everything. It has a beautiful spirit to it," I offer.

He smiles warmly at us.

"You are both very interesting young men. I have not met many your age who care a great deal for such things, or who are so obviously interested in commitment to another. How old are you?"

"Twenty five, both of us."

"You make me feel quite old! This is exactly how long I've been practicing in Ibiza!"

Laughter.

I feel my stomach unclench. Then it hits me. The most important question of all.

"Oh, father! I almost forgot to ask. Do you know when we will know for sure if we can actually go ahead and do this? In the church, I mean? We're afraid someone will try to put a stop to it."

He puts his hand on my shoulder. "Brian, let your mind rest. There will be no one stopping it."

I hesitate. "But … don't you have to ask permission to use that church? And won't they ask why?"

He smiles warmly.

"I see that I have not fully explained my position. I am actually the bishop of this entire parish. I am the one who would grant any such permission, and believe me, for you boys, it is granted."

Curt and I look at each other and at the bishop, beaming. We shake hands and hug him, offering our sincerest, most heartfelt thanks.

We head towards the door and call to Maria and David, who both hug and congratulate us. They then walk out and Maria stops to turn and shout back the names of the baker and jeweler in town.

"Sorry, I should have written them down!"

"It's okay, I won't forget," I respond.

We wave to our guests as they leave.

We shut the door. We turn and wrap our arms around each other. I lay my head plain as day across his shoulder. We stand there like statues for the longest time.

"I love you so much."

"I love you too, my baby."

I wriggle with delight in his arms.

"Still?" he laughs.

"Yes!"

He kisses the side of my head.

"We're getting married, Brian. We really fucking are."

I squeeze him tighter and sigh. "There's a part of me that can't quite believe it."

"I know. It's so fucked up."

It comes right out of my mouth.

"We might have a baby, too."

Despite how I've previously felt, I'm astonished to find a genuine feeling of joy inside of me, at the notion.

Curt exhales a huge shy smile into my neck.

"Well … we'll see … "

"It's possible, though."

We move together in a slow sway. He speaks softly.

"I … I don't wanna get too excited about it." He laughs. "I got enough friggin excitement in my life right now."

We laugh.

I kiss his shoulder.

"I wouldn't say no, my angel, just so you know. I wouldn't dream of denying you that, and honestly …, I'm even beginning to genuinely like the idea."

We sway further. He tucks his face sideways, sweetly, shyly, burying it further into my neck, and holds it there a minute before responding.

"Stop it. I'm gonna burst wide open from happiness."

We laugh. I kiss his cheek. It's absolutely gorgeous, this moment. My soul is singing from high atop a mountain. I'm convinced I've never been happier, or felt closer to him.

I pull my head back.

"We'll need to practice the dance."

"I know."

I smile. "You know- the one for our wedding."

He laughs shyly.

"Yes, that one."

A huge yawn then suddenly bursts out him.

"Oh my god. Sorry. Not now, though. Too much excitement. I'm absolutely wasted, Brian."

He takes my hand and slowly leads me toward the kitchen.

"Where are we going?"

"To bed."

I laugh. "Curt, we can't."

"Oh, I know. I'm completely fried anyway. I just …, the last day has been so fucking stressful, in good and bad ways; I think it's just all catching up with me. I need to lie down and be quiet with you for a while; just hold hands and stare at the ceiling."

I lean forward and kiss him softly.

"You're ridiculously romantic, do you know that? Go and take a nice long nap. I'll stay down here and do some wedding business. I'm gonna hit the bakery. We have very little time."

He yawns again and rubs his eye.

"I know. Sorry. I'm not much help."

"It's okay." I run my hand up into his hair. I kiss him quickly. "Go to bed."

"I will. Come up with me, though. Just for a minute."

In the bedroom he stands by, jamming his fist into his eye to rub it as I pull the curtains closed.

"You'll go blind doing that."

"It's raw; it itches."

"Let me put some drops in it, then."

He reaches down and fidgets unsuccessfully with the belt of his robe. He's made the knot too tight.

I take it and work it until it loosens, and then slip it from his shoulders, laying it on the nearby chair. He pushes down on the waistband. He sits on the edge of the bed and I pull the material past his ankles.

He speaks absently, in a worn whisper.

"I'm too tired right now to even want sex."

He slips under the sheets and I cover him. I sit on the edge and take his hand. I lean over for a quick kiss. I brush my hand along his temple.

"Oh Curt, your eye's completely red. I'll get my drops."

I find it in the cabinet and return. I sit by him and lean over his face, holding the dropper close.

"Look away. You're looking right at the bottle."

"Oh."

He complies.

"Haven't you ever done this before?"

"No."

I squeeze until the solution drips. I dab at the water that's leaked out around his eye.

"Blink."

He complies.

"Better?"

"Ya."

"I'll do the other one, too. It'll feel good."

I do so, he blinks, I dab, he blinks again.

"Okay?"

"Mm hmm."

It's so fucking weird, the feelings being elicited in me; this sort of doting rush that I'm getting, this surge of endorphins, from … mothering him! It's embarrassing. I feel a bit guilty- am I going overboard? And if so is it because I'm enjoying it so bloody much or because he needs it? Not that he seems to mind. It strikes me that no one's probably ever really fussed over him before, in a non-sexual manner. Here we are in my bedroom with curtains drawn. He's lying naked and prone, with only a thin sheet separating us. I should be creaming my jeans, and yet all I wanna do is baby him.

I whisper.

"Go to sleep."

I stand and turn to leave. I'm almost at the door when he calls to me.

I turn.

"Lay here for a minute with me. Just til I fall asleep."

Really, how can one think of sex when the sweet, needy boy in him is so evident? I return and slip in next to him. We clasp hands under the sheet. For a minute we say nothing. I turn my head quietly to see if he's drifted off. He hasn't. I turn back.

"Curt?"

He doesn't answer right away. When he does, it's in a soft whisper.

"Ya?

"How did you find me last night? I mean, was it a fluke or were you actually looking?"

"Of course I was looking. I rode around for an hour. Went up and down every street."

I ponder this, feeling terribly guilty.

"Why did you run the other way?", he asks.

"I was scared. I didn't know it was you."

We stare up at the ceiling.

"Why were your shoes all muddy?"

"I went to that place we hiked in case you were there."

"You didn't go up the mountain?"

"Only part way."

"But it was pitch black out."

"I brought a flashlight. I still tripped over a root, though."

Which answers my next question; why his clothes were dirty.

"You didn't hurt yourself?"

"Just a bruise."

I want to strangle myself. He fell, alone, in the darkness, he could have broken his fucking leg, and why? Because I'm a selfish motherfucking arsehole.

"I'm sorry."

He doesn't respond. I look over. He's out.

I lay there another minute before slowly and carefully sliding from the bed. I turn. In the small streams of light allowed by the curtains, I can't help but look.

His hair is splayed and twisted about, mashed against the clean white pillowcase. His lips are parted. From between them comes the loveliest, most hypnotic rhythmic breathing, like a song. Even his eye sockets, I find arrestingly beautiful.

Enough.

You have shit to do; get moving!

I turn, undress, carefully open the drawers, change clothes, and leave.