The invitations have been sent out. The flowers have been ordered. We've picked out a caterer and a cake, and we've reserved our tuxes. The gallery is booked for the ceremony and we've got someone to perform it, one of the artists we feature often at the gallery, and we've hired a photographer who's a close friend of mine. We've made hotel and plane reservations for a honeymoon in Paris. Everyone has R.S.V.P.'d, even Racetrack, who, it turns out, really is a teacher at J.P.'s now.

Everything is in order and the ceremony is three days away.

So why am I so nervous?

It's not like I'm making a big, sudden commitment, not like I'm making promises I can't or don't intend to keep.

But all I can think about is, what if I disappoint him? What if this isn't everything he's always wanted, isn't the perfect wedding? What if something happens, like with the food or the flowers, or what if we miss our flight?

I haven't slept for more than maybe ten hours at the most in the past three or four days because of this. And laying here in bed, with Specs pressed close up against me, constantly reminding me that it's coming up, isn't really helping much.

I reach over and grab my glasses off of the nightstand, then quietly get out of bed, trying my hardest not to wake Specs, and I head into the kitchen, flipping on the light. The clock on the microwave reads one-thirty in the morning. Jesus Christ. I sigh and open the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water and hoisting myself up onto the counter.

It's cold in the kitchen, especially since I'm sitting right next to the window. I figure I should maybe put a shirt on, but the bedroom is so far away and it's just not worth it. I open my bottle of water and drink.

And then the thoughts come.

I've only really screwed up with Specs once in my life, and while that ended up favorably, it was still the worst time of my life and I really don't care to repeat it. I know that even if this turns into the wedding from hell, he'll still love me, but I still want everything to be absolutely perfect. I want everything to be at a higher standard than it usually is, from my looks to the food to the music, all for him. I want this to be the thing that he'll look back on with the biggest smile. Out of all his memories, I want this one to be above all the rest.

Is that wrong?

"Dutch?" Specs shuffles into the kitchen, squinting at the overhead light. "What're you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep."

He yawns. "What time is it?"

"Quarter to two." I sigh and take another drink of my water.

"So why can't you sleep?" Specs positions himself between my legs and wraps his arms around my waist.

"Dunno. Just can't, I guess."

He smiles a little. "Don't bullshit me, Dutchy." He rubs my back a little bit and looks me in the eye. "What's going on?"

I bury my head in his shoulder and sigh. "I'm nervous."

He smiles and kisses my temple. "Why?"

I sit up and look at him, then go on to explain everything. When I'm done, Specs just smiles.

"What?"

He chuckles. "You're so cute." Cupping my face in his hands, he kisses my forehead and then presses his own head to it. "Look, Dutchy, everything'll turn out just fine. This ceremony could all go to hell in a hand basket, be the worst wedding ever, the gallery could burn down, but I'd still love you. Okay?"

I nod. "Okay."

He kisses me and then he takes my hands. "Now let's get back to bed. We oughta put a blanket over your feet if they're so cold."

I roll my eyes at him and hop off of the counter. "Come on, smart-ass."