100 Yellow Doors

june 6th, 2020, 2:12 p.m.

Normally Julien hated sunny days, but this was the one day he would allow it.

    The last few weeks, after all, had been suffused with rain. More than once Beck and Iman spent the afternoon at Julien's townhouse, Beck giving copious head pats to a sleepy Ringo—returned safely from the dungeon that was Fritz's Baltimore residence—while Iman paced at the living room window. "I hope it doesn't rain like this all month," she kept saying, impervious to the efforts Beck and Julien took to calm her down. "It can't rain like this all month. If we have to move the wedding date—"

    But Beck had only grinned. "So what. We can elope, for God's sake."

    Iman shuddered as if he'd suggested murder. "Never."

    Now, Iman was down the hallway somewhere, shut behind another door of this quaint bed-and-breakfast in Virginia Beach. Julien had tried to sneak a peek, but Hana and Cam and the others had all shoved him out of the room with a gasp, ordering him to make himself busy elsewhere. Julien didn't quite understand the upheaval, especially as he was the one walking her down the aisle in the first place, but an old oak door slammed shut in his face was all the explanation he got.

    Julien lounged now on the window seat, watching the waves roll in and out, cerulean blue against pure white, the beach speckled with the colorful hats and dresses of the wedding attendees. The gazebo was strewn with rose petals, gentle red ribbons floating on the wind. In less than an hour, he would be down there, watching Iman and Beck move on without him. He had always known it would happen—it always did—but for whatever reason, it still hurt like a tiny paper cut in his chest.

    Sighing, Julien straightened his tie and turned to grab the glass of water on the nightstand beside him. As the ocean whooshed in the background, the voices of Lemmy and Beck grew nearer and nearer; soon, they stepped from out of the dressing room and into the main suite.

    "He should be good," said Lemmy, giving his son a playful punch in the shoulder, "but then again, I am terrible at tying bowties. Can you double check that? I'm gonna go make sure Wendy's okay."

    "Good luck with that," said Julien as Lemmy made for the door. "The girls wouldn't even let me get a foot in the door."

    Lemmy laughed, waving a genial hand above his head before he vanished out into the hall.

    When the door had clicked shut, Beck spread his arms wide, doing a small twirl. "Well?" he said, expectant. "How do I look?"

    Julien finished his water, then got to his feet, eyeing Beck critically. "Pretty as a princess," he said, ignoring Beck's scoff, "but your dad's right. He's shit at tying bowties."

    "Hey, now. Leave my dad out of this."

    "Let me fix it," Julien said, as if Beck had any other choice. Julien stepped forward, yanking the shirt sleeves straight, pressing any wrinkles out of the coat with his hands. It was a neat tuxedo, a cool blue against Beck's dark skin. It was a group effort; Lemmy, Fritz, and Julien had all picked it out for him, despite Beck's vocal concern that they could dress him up like a clown and he wouldn't know.

    "But that," Julien had told him then, "would be a terribly petty thing to do, don't you think? I'm astonished you'd think I'd stoop so low."

    "Jules, you're the most petty person I know," had been Fritz's very unhelpful reply.

    With deft fingers, Julien undid the bowtie entirely—he would work better from scratch—and began to tie it again, the silk gliding underneath his hands. Somewhere down the hall there was a chorus of laughter; from outside came the persistent merriment of several mingling voices. Yes, normally Julien hated sunny days. But so far he loved everything about this one.