I wiped the tears from my face. “Maybe we shouldn’t have this wedding at all. We should get our marriage license, celebrate at home with a few friends, and call it a day.”

“What? After you’ve spent all this time planning and preparing?”

“Well, what’s the point if some bigot with an assault rifle and a homemade bomb can waltz in and destroy everything? What if Brent shows up with a shotgun and --”

“Whoa, wait, Brent? I thought you said he declined your invitation?”

I scowled. “Of course he did.” My cousin hadn’t invited me to his wedding, and even though he had landed me in the hospital I made an effort to be polite, mostly at my mom’s behest. “But that doesn’t stop impulsive murderers. That guy was such a violent homophobic powder-keg that when he saw two men kissing in public it snapped something inside him and he decided the best way to deal with it was to shoot over a hundred people. I’ve been planning the gayest Pagan-est wedding the West Coast has ever seen. If some whackjob NRA Christian decided that was too much, he could -- he could --” I wanted to barf. Caleb took me in his arms and rubbed my back soothingly. “I just want it to be over,” I whimpered. “I want this hate and violence to be fucking over.”

Caleb held me close. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”

It took me a few days to get back to my old self. By then I had new fuel for my fire. This would be the gayest Pagan-est wedding the West Coast had ever seen. I would put up both middle fingers and tell all those homophobes and psychopaths that there was no stopping us. I became Groom’thulu once more. Nothing would stop me from making this day perfect.