June 3, 1995

"Oh, I do wish you hadn't cut your hair, darling," Serena sighed, and Olivia held her jaw tight, trying to bite back the cutting remark she longed to make. Serena had been lamenting over her daughter's hair for years, and Olivia figured she should have learned by now that Serena would find some way to work her favorite complaint into the conversation, no matter the occasion.

"I think it looks nice," Sarah said, shyly, uneasily, catching Olivia's eye in the mirror, and Olivia managed a little smile for her friend then, grateful, as always, for Sarah's sweet spirit, even in the face of her mother's endless bitterness.

"We will do the best we can with it," Serena allowed.

Not today, Olivia told herself sternly. Don't let her get to you today.

Today, as it happened, was the day of Olivia's wedding. The moment she and Elliot had been dreaming of, planning for, and fighting over for years now was finally upon them, and she was filled with a certain sense of anxiety. Not about marrying Elliot, exactly; she knew she loved him, and she knew she wanted him, wanted him to be her husband, wanted him by her side, always. It was the wedding itself that was giving her jitters, at present.

The only request he'd made, as far as the wedding, was that he wanted to be married in the church. It mattered to him; his faith was a part of him she had learned to accept, over the years, the way she accepted his snoring and his affinity for the Mets, something she had grown fond of, though she did not share it herself. He prayed, and he believed, and he'd had an image of the crucifixion inked on his arm, a constant reminder of the faith that carried him through when all else failed. It must have been nice, Olivia always thought, to have that kind of faith in something. To believe that somewhere out there was a force greater than mankind's own reckoning, keeping an eye on them and their petty disasters, guiding them through when they needed it. It must have been nice, and so she did not try to disabuse him of it, and when he asked, hesitantly, if she would be all right with a church wedding she'd agreed at once, for his sake.

His childhood priest had agreed to officiate the ceremony, in his childhood church. There had been some hubbub, initially, when Olivia made it plain she had no intention of converting, but the priest had gone on and on about dispensations and mixed marriages - a phrase that had disturbed her, truth be told - and said that while their marriage would not be a sacrament, so long as Elliot agreed to uphold his faith and raise his children in the church the priest would bless the happy couple. The question of children had given her pause; she was still young, and not yet ready to take on the mantle of motherhood, but the priest spoke about children as if they were a given, as if there was no question. And when she laid awake that night, with Elliot's arms around her, staring at the ceiling in the dark, she thought about what it might be like, to have children of her own. Of their own. How she and Elliot would love them as they themselves had never felt loved, how they would give their children a home where they would be, always, safe and warm and never afraid, and she found that she wanted it. A family of her own, a home of her own, a future that was bright and full of joy. It wouldn't be much of a sacrifice, she told herself, raising any child of theirs in the church the way Elliot had been, the way she had not. Church would give them a community, she thought. It might give them faith, like Elliot's faith, something to sustain them when the world grew dark and grim. It might be kind of nice.

So Olivia had agreed and the priest had beamed at them and the invitations had been sent. To Elliot's family, to his parents, his brothers and sisters, to his aunts and uncles and not the vast behemoth of second, third, fourth cousins one, two, three times removed. To his friends from the Corps, and one or two boys from high school he still kept up with. To Olivia's sorority sisters, and other friends from college, to her friends from work, to her mother. Shanks would be Elliot's best man, and Sarah would be Olivia's maid of honor, and Shelley would walk down the aisle with her little girl holding her hand, spreading flower petals to herald Olivia's arrival. There would be a party, after, and they would see all the people they loved, and they would be married, and everything would be perfect so long as Serena kept a civil tongue, so long as Bernie didn't cause a scene. Those were two pretty big caveats, and they worried Olivia, somewhat.

There was nothing she could do about it now, though. She was sitting at a dressing table in a little room off the sanctuary in Elliot's church, and her mother was putting the finishing touches on her hair, securing a long white veil in place at the crown of her head. Serena had chosen to wear a very elegant, very expensive, very black dress for the occasion, and Olivia was trying to ignore the insult in it, trying to assure herself that her mother had chosen the dress only because it looked nice, and not because she was trying to make a statement about her feelings on the matter of the wedding.

"There we are," Serena said. "Stand up, darling, let's see how it looks."

Olivia did as she was told, rose slowly to her feet, and turned to face her mother. The dress she'd chosen for the day was simple; white satin, a sweetheart neck showing off just a bit of her decolletage, fitted through the waist and then filling out into a softly swishing skirt. Soft lace sleeves ran all the way down to her wrists, an added bit of decorum since this was, after all, a church wedding. That long white veil cascading down her back, and a small pair of sparkling diamond earrings completed the outfit, and there was a bouquet of pink carnations in a vase on the table, just waiting for Olivia to pick it up and carry it down the aisle. Altogether it made her feel beautiful, special, the way she'd always thought she ought to feel on her wedding day, but she looked at her mother with some trepidation, knowing Serena's talent for ruining anything that made Olivia happy.

"Oh, sweetheart," Serena sighed. "You look…just perfect."

The unexpected kindness drew tears to Olivia's eyes, but she blinked them away quickly, not wanting to ruin her carefully applied makeup.

"You know I don't understand what you see in him," Serena said then. There it is, Olivia thought glumly, while Sarah paled, unaccustomed to her best friend's caustic mother. "I think you could do so much better. You could do so much more. But as you've been telling me for years now, it's your life. And any fool could see he makes you happy. Maybe that's enough."

"It's enough for me," Olivia said softly. It was enough; it was more than enough. It was everything she'd ever wanted.

"That's that, then," Serena said.

It was the closest Olivia would ever come to receiving her mother's blessing, and so she took it, and held it in her heart, a reminder that her mother did love her, in her own small, painful way.

"Shit," Shanks swore, very softly, when Olivia appeared at the other end of the aisle, and maybe Elliot should have kicked him, for cursing in church, but as it was Elliot was frozen in place, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to do anything but look at her, watch as that beautiful girl he loved more than his own life came walking, very slowly, down the aisle towards him.

Most of the details of the day escaped his notice; that Sarah's dress was the same shade of pink as the flowers in Olivia's bouquet, for example, was not something he'd ever remember. The decorations in the sanctuary, and in the reception hall where they'd gather after, never even registered in his mind. His mother's giant floppy hat and the way her blouse clashed outrageously with her skirt did not occur to him as worthy of his attention. All he saw, that day, all he'd remember, was Olivia.

Olivia as she was in that moment, walking gracefully down an aisle strewn with rose petals, a bouquet of flowers in one hand and the other curled round her mother's elbow. Olivia's beautiful face, gentled by a lacy white veil. The curve of Olivia's hip in that dress, the stark contrast of her dark hair, her dark eyes, her smooth, tanned skin, against all that white like a painting come to life. Olivia, who would in the next hour become his wife, and remain so for all the rest of his days.

As they reached the end of the aisle, Olivia turned to her mother, and Elliot held his breath, watching. Doctor Benson very carefully reached up and lifted Olivia's veil, let it rain like water down her back, and then she caught her daughter's face in her hands, raised herself up onto her toes, and kissed Olivia's forehead once in a gesture of such tenderness he would not have believed, before now, she was capable of. It surprised Olivia, too, he knew, because when he stepped forward, held out his hand and felt Olivia grab hold of him the way the priest had told them to, he could see tears shining in the corners of her eyes. Doctor Benson drifted away, to the sparsely populated right side of the church where Olivia's friends were gathered, and Elliot and Olivia were left alone at the altar, holding hands.

"You look so beautiful," he told her in a harsh whisper, and she smiled at him, a smile brighter than the sun.

"You clean up pretty good yourself," she whispered back, her voice just a little unsteady.

The ceremony passed by in a blur, for Elliot. He did everything the priest told him to do, and said all the words just exactly the way they had rehearsed, but every cell in his body was focused on her, and nothing else.

This was it. This was what he'd always wanted, what he'd always hoped for. A girl he loved, who loved him, a love that would carry them both through all the years to come, a wife to make a home with. A family, him and her and kids, maybe, hopefully, if God was kind to them. Kids they'd baptize in this church, the same way he had been, kids they would love, and raise together. A lifetime of hope, of joy, of love stretched out in front of him, a gentler path than the darkness he had walked in his own early years, and he could not wait for that lifetime to begin.

When the priest told him he could kiss his bride Elliot threw caution to the wind, wound his arm around her waist and dipped her back like a princess at a ball while he kissed her hard, while Shanks let out a wolf whistle and Sarah laughed and their mothers frowned, disapproving. They'd dug deep into their savings for this wedding, and hired a photographer, and later he would think that the picture of this moment, Olivia's arms around his neck, that bouquet caught just behind his head, his arms strong and steady around her, was his favorite picture in the entire world.

Well, second favorite. The Polaroid of Olivia wearing nothing but his jacket would always be his favorite.

The DJ was a mess, Olivia thought. Maybe it had been a bad idea, hiring one, but they'd wanted music, and dancing, even if there were less than a hundred people in attendance. They'd wanted a party and by god they were gonna get one. They'd taken pictures, after the ceremony, while the guests lit into the bar and nibbled on appetizers that had cost a small fortune, and the music was bad, but maybe, she told herself, maybe after they'd all had a bit more to drink it wouldn't matter so much.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" the DJ called, slurring a little like he'd been getting into the bar himself. "Let's get this party started right! For the first dance, let's have the bride and her father come down to the floor."

Olivia's heart sank, then. Had they discussed it with the DJ? She asked herself as she looked around nervously at the crowd, less than half of whom she actually knew. Surely, she thought, surely they'd told him such a thing wasn't necessary. But he'd gone and done it anyway and now what was she supposed to do? Olivia had no father for a father-daughter dance, and she didn't feel like announcing it to the crowd, and her mother was frowning. Anxiety nipped at her, and anger, too, because really, the guy should have known better than to just spring this on her. The seconds were passing so slowly, but she'd have to do something-

"Dance with me," Elliot said, taking her hand and offering to save her from this unpleasantness, but then a strange thing happened.

Their parents were standing behind them, Joe and Bernie and Serena, and when Olivia cast one last, helpless look at her mother she found Bernie leaning over, whispering in her mother's ear. What she was saying Olivia wasn't sure, but then Bernie gave Serena a little push, and she sighed, defeated.

"Come on then, darling," Serena said, stepping forward and batting Elliot's hand away. "You never needed a father before, and you certainly don't need one now."

There was nothing Olivia could do, no way she could protest without coming off like a grade A bitch, and so she allowed herself to be led to the dance floor, her cheeks flushing red with shame, thinking she'd fire the DJ right then, if she could.

"All right, that works, too!" the DJ said, and then he started up a song, and Serena took hold of Olivia's hands, pulled them both into some semblance of a dance hold, and began to sway, very slightly, in the middle of the dance floor, while every eye in the place settled on their shoulders.

"It's hardly dignified," Serena sniffed, "and I've no idea which one of us is supposed to lead."

Olivia laughed, a strangled, half-hysterical sound. "You can lead, mother," she said.

"All right."

And so they danced. Olivia followed her mother in the steps of a very small but surprisingly graceful waltz, and felt some of her distress slowly leave her. Oh, they must have made quite a pair, Serena delicate and blonde and dressed in black, Olivia tall and dark everywhere her mother wasn't, her white dress swirling around them as they went, but it was kind of nice. All her life it had just been the two of them, and Olivia had just been inducted into a brand new family, gained a whole host of in-laws, but she couldn't help wondering if she wasn't losing something, too. It wasn't Serena and Olivia against the world, anymore.

"I know it wasn't always perfect," Serena said as they danced together. "But we did all right, didn't we?"

In that moment Olivia didn't think about screaming fights, or long nights spent at her mother's bedside, just praying she'd wake up. She didn't think about I'll never let anyone else have you, or overhearing her mother speaking to a friend, wondering if she could ever love the offspring of a monster. Instead she thought of evenings when she was little, when Serena braided her daughter's long dark hair, and read to her from storybooks. She thought of poorly wrapped Christmas presents, and her mother standing small and forlorn by the bus stop while the bus carried Olivia away. Maybe she could never say they'd done good, the two of them on their own, but maybe they had done all right, in the end.

"Yeah," Olivia said. "We did."

They only danced for a minute or two, and then the DJ called for the groom, and Elliot came to take her off her mother's hands. Olivia kissed Serena's cheek as they parted, and smiled when she heard her mother hiss you be good to my baby at Elliot when he took Olivia's hand.

"You all right, princess?" he asked her nervously as he wound his arms around her, a worried expression on his face because he knew as well as he did how difficult Serena could be, like he worried about how Olivia might be feeling, after their dance. There was no need to worry, though, because her mother had been the best that Olivia could possibly have expected her to be. Serena was a better dancer than Elliot, but he managed not to step on her dress as they moved slowly together, as he waited to hear how she was feeling, as she thought about the answer. Over his shoulder Olivia could see her mother, talking to Bernie, could see Shanks and Shelley and their daughter, could see her friends, and his, could see the flowers and all the smiling faces, and she relaxed, just a little. They'd made it through the hardest part of the day, she thought, and this man was her husband, now.

"Perfect," she told him.

And it was.