(A/N: The following original fiction contains themes of homosexuality, marriage between homosexuals, and conflicting themes of Christianity and homosexuality. If you feel uncomfortable with such subject matters, it is advised you read something else. I DO NOT condemn any Bible Quote or any Homosexual act. This work is merely a work of fiction, not intended to cause harm in any physical, mental or spiritual manner.)

My Catholic Mother

Joan Swanson wiped away the gain of nocturnal sand from her eyes, and breathed in the wonderful smell of strawberry. Well, Strawberry scented shampoo, anyway. She opened her viridian eyes to see the curly, entangled locks of her lover. She took her ivory index finger and began twirling around one of these locks until she heard a childish giggle from the woman opposite to her. Joan pursed her lips and began napping on the back of the neck, as sweet as any chocolate with a hue twice as dark. Even with the increasingly loud favors asking Joan to stop, the blonde knew better than to relent in her attack. Finally, the woefully submissive Michelle turned around and paralyzed Joan with her deep tawny eyes as she smiled with her thick beautiful lips. The two giggled and brushed lips together and tossed their comforter to the side.

"Morning, love." She said, entwining her thin ivory fingers with Michelle's chocolate digits.

"Morning, lover." She said, lifting her head to give a small peck on the top of her forehead. "You sleep well?

For cliché as the notion of love was, it was worth the experience. Joan's heart fluttered at the mere sight of Michelle and on that fateful day meeting on the campus of ESU, she was struck by the mere prescene of her. To recapture that moment would be like catching actual lightning in a bottle. The reach for Steinbeck only to be blocked by another's hand, the awkward exchange of smiles, giggles and laughter, the continued meetings, the kisses on the cheeks that quickly became kisses on the lips and then simply kisses. The fights about whether to keep it secret, the break, the reunion, until eventually an apartment together.

There were fights; what relationship didn't have them? But for every petty dispute about what to show, what not to show, the rent, living under someone or just the awkward glance at a passer-by, there would always be a passionate return to form. After the last fight, Joan managed not only to sneak in a kiss, but a little extra surprise too.

Joan waited until Michelle got out of bed and continued to spread herself against the queen-sized mattress and looked around at their apartment. She was lucky to get an apartment bigger than a shoebox considering her direct view of Central Park right below her. But as she gazed around, seeing the rich, white carpeting on the floor, the various paintings Michelle had commissioned scattered all around the wall, the 16-inch flat-screen Joan insisted on getting just so that she didn't feel to out of place right across their bed, there was little incentive for Joan to get out of bed.

"Honey," Michelle called in from her office. Joan groaned and dragged herself out of bed with a ridiculous smile planted on her face. She had to pause, forgetting the milky silk nightgown. The way it still clung to her thin waist, while showing off her perky but noticeable mounds for breasts and that spectacular ample ass, the blonde had to resist tackling her then and there. So, she simply settled for crossing her forearms around her neck and leaning forward to kiss a cheek.

"What do you think about these invitations?"

"Again? I told you just to invite everyone using… what do the kids use these days? Twitter?"

"You know my father can't work his way on a computer to save his life. Besides, if we're going to do this, we're doing it old-fashioned. Now, come see the invitations!"

Joan gave a playful pout and leaned over to see a white card, adorned with, ribbons, bright, golden text and gazed at it.

Because you have shared in

our lives by your friendship and love, we

Joan Elizabeth Swanson

and

Michelle Watts

together with our parents

invite you to share

the beginning of our new life together when we exchange marriage vows

on Friday, the eleventh of May

two thousand eighteen at half after four o'clock

Ascension Catholic Church

Manhattan Valley, New York

"I dunno." Joan shrugged and gazed at them. "I like the ones that open up and sing better."

"Joan…"

"For the last time, they're perfect." She gave another loving peck on the cheek. She had heard the expression, 'my life would be empty without you'. Only recently did she really understand the full weight of those words. For the longest time Joan felt an emptiness that was unnatural. Not sadness, mind you, but rather a piece of herself that was missing. She dated boys in high school and it did nothing for her, giving her plenty of time to study. But with Michelle, she was whole. Complete. Not the false emptiness her friends told her about and then dumped a week later, but truly, soul-fulfilling wholeness.

However, she looked at the one envelope that sat alone on the counter. Joan sighed, picked it up and closed her eyes, silently praying that it wasn't for who she thought it was.

Sally Swanson.

Sadly, it was. She tapped the envelope on the marble desk and sighed. For so long she dreaded the idea of an arranged ceremony and would've rather gotten over and done with. However, she looked at the envelope and thought about the one person who might lose this in the mail. Joan gave out an audible four letter word and just starred at the envelope, so beautiful and so damning at the same time.

"We can always mail it. Just like the others." Michelle replied.

"No, this one I have to give personally." Joan said, looking at Michelle as one would look at an angel.

"Well, it is Austin. Maybe, things are different."

"Austin's still in Texas baby. Nothing's different."

There was a silence so tense that when the coffee machine whistled, the two jumped back with a fright only to breathe a sigh of relief. Michelle, thankfully poured the two of them a cup of French Vanilla (Joan's favorite much to Michelle's protest). The two sighed as Michelle finally broke the silence.

"I can book us for a round trip."

"Just one ticket."

"Joan…."

The blonde put her mug down gently, walked over to her lover, cupper her face and planted the biggest kiss she had on her future wife.

"I don't want you there at my ugliest. I want you there at my best. But I have to look my mother in the eye when she tells me she's not coming to my wedding. 'Kay?"

"Kay."

The first thing Joan thought was when she landed in Austin wasn't the fear of rejection or the headache of having to debate her own mother into attending her wedding. No, the real thought that ran through Joan's mind as she drove the rental car down familiar streets was how ungodly the heat was.

New York was thankfully blessed with snow and the occasional shower. Texas, however, drove Joan to turn the air-conditioning at high power just to tolerate the heat that was being projected. She signed and looked at the empty seat next to her, only to see the envelope she had held so dear as if a child. She breathed a heavy sigh through her nostrils, made an all too familiar left onto her home street. Nostalgia flooded her memories as she saw familiar grassy front lawns, the overhanging flags of these United States and of course, the Jesus figurine hanging outside nearly every doorstep.

Almost all of her friends in the community asked why believe in a man that damns your love. Joan tried her best to explain. Most likely, it came from being raised in Austin with one of the more 'traditional' parents. She loved Jesus, his message, his life and his story. She loved Michelle. She didn't understand why she had to pick between the two of them. She heard the arguments: Leviticus, Romans, etc. She didn't care. Joan knew there were righteous instincts in this world and choosing to love Michelle was the most positive choice she could've picked. To be fair, Joan didn't blame Jesus for her predicament.

She blamed the millions of his followers that took his word of love and made it an excuse of bigotry.

She sighed, seeing an all-too-familiar concrete drive-way with an old Ford Buick parked in the front. Joan directed the rental car on the street (in case her meeting ended more abruptly than expected), put it into parking. Hesitant, she looked in the car window to check her current attire. Her body-length hair which reached to her hip had nary a strand all while being held by a single sun-bright yellow hair band. Wearing a mini-skirt and business coat over her white blouse, she nodded her head and walked toward the shallow stoop. She looked in the window to see if anyone was home, only to see a sticker promoting the latest candidate of the GOP. She rolled her eyes, rang the doorbell and waited. What was 5 seconds felt like an eternity. She began pacing, swearing, asking forgiveness for swearing and then finally, with damning shock, heard the door creek open.

It was amazing how time had changed since High School. When Joan last saw her mother, she knew she was at least her height. Now, there was a shrunken woman with the biggest grin on her face. Her thick glasses suited her well with her red lipstick and bobbed, blonde hair.

How could someone so scary be so small?

At first, Joan didn't know how to react. She had phoned ahead to be sure, but all the messages were left on the machine. She had made her intention clear from the beginning. Yet, right now, her greatest fear was to be immediately turned away or have the cops called on her. She bit her lower lip. Perhaps it was as true as they said: you were always a child in front of your parents. She waited a damning minute before a good, clear response came from the 55-year old.

"Well don't just stand there. You'll shrivel up in this heat!" Sally said, spreading her arms wide open.

"Hi, Mom!" Joan smiled giving the small woman a great hug and sighed. Perhaps, things would go swimmingly after all.

"Come in, come in. I keep telling you to call more, but you don't. Now, my machine's all flooded with these messages telling me you're going to visit and I haven't have time to prepare at all. You shouldn't be so selfish!"

Home felt different when Joan came back. She certainly remembered the familiar trappings of this place. The small box that substituted for the television still sat in the living area with the world's ugliest couch. The small table sat comfortably on the dirty textile floor, sticky from the time Joan spilled juice on it. As she looked beneath the stairs, she saw the trophies she'd won as a child. Of course, the soccer trophy, the MVP awards and the medals for decathlon were all very impressive, but Joan always had a small bit of pride for the spelling-bee contest she placed 2nd on during the third grade. (She went on record for saying "who uses a stupid word like 'onomatopoeia' anyway?") She sat down, seeing how her mother had already boiled water and began pouring it.

"You know, Bill Henderson, the sheriff's son, is quite the catch these days."

Joan sighed. Again with the blind dates.

Joan had told her mother about Michelle the Thanksgiving before. For some reason, her mother had not registered this and thought that Joan was very much in denial. What had started out as a pleasant dinner soon became a dispute so loud, the neighbors filed a noise complaint. Sally was mortified. She abhorred the idea of homosexuality. She felt it were a disease to be purged and whenever Joan brought up said conversation, the small woman would've deflected it by some obscure manner. (One time, Sally went on record for calling Dick Cheny a "bloody hypocrite who should be ashamed for showing his face in the GOP.")

What bothered Joan the most was why this reaction was so startling for her mother. Sally Swanson was a single parent who raised Joan all by herself. If there was a man telling her that sort of thing was perverted or disgusting, at least Joan could put the blame on him. But there wasn't. The place she expected to receive the most sympathy was instead met with fear, ignorance and denial. Joan wondered if her mother blamed herself for how Joan turned out. Yet, when Joan thought about it, how she not only managed to graduate high school and was a few classes away from getting her bachelor's, she wondered why Sally felt shame to mention her rather than pride.

"Mom, no."

"I'm telling you to give him a chance. Once you get past the smell, Bill can be a very charming-"

"Mom!" Joan said, slamming her mug on the wooden table.

Sally turned around, starring, attempting to look innocent.

"I love Michelle."

The older woman sighed, shut off the heat to stop the whistling tea kettle and poured out her hot water.

"Why do you have to say things like that? You know it breaks my heart."

Sally Swanson sat down and took a sip from her mug.

"Mom, Michelle and I love each other! We're getting married!"

The older woman chuckled, "Call it whatever you want, but it is not marriage."

"Well, that's something you and the state of New York will have to disagree on."

Sally was about to take a sip, but slowly set her mug down.

"Try the rest of the world and the State of New York."

"Mom-"

"I will not bend over while you chase some…" The older woman hesitated to find the right words "fling when you could be having a real family."

Joan stood up and began yelling. Clearly, things had not gone in her favor.

"Michelle is not a fling. She's not a fad. And believe or not, there are some sects of Christ that accept same-sex love."

"And there are some sects that accept polygamy, bestiality, and molestation. I know the word of Christ by heart. And those 'sects' are not the gospel of Christ."

"So, you're calling Michelle a pervert?"

Sally began to open her mouth but slowly shut her mouth, and took in a deep breath before continuing.

"I think Michelle Is a fine girl. But I believe she is seriously ill. Ill in terms of sexuality. I will pray for her and you."

"I don't need your prayers, Mom!"

She bent down, facing the older woman at eye level while she sat on one knee.

"All my life, I've done everything you've asked. I want to make you proud, I want you to be there. And you've always been there, and that's what I love most about you. Can't you be there when I'm with Michelle?"

A silence filled the room.

"You are my only child and you always will be."

Joan smiled. Perhaps she had done it. Perhaps she had finally convinced her mother to accept her for who she was.

"…But I cannot accept the lifestyle you've chosen."

Joan sighed. She bent down, bit her lip and raised her head to prevent the tears from spilling out. She stood up, reached deep into her pocket and handed her mother the invitation. Sally pushed it away, to which Joan threw the thin piece of paper on the table.

"You know the time and date. I wish you were there."

The small woman shook her head. "Give it someone else."

Joan said nothing, and simply left. She dried the tears from her eyes and reached for the car keys. She prayed that thing had not turned as sour as she saw them.

On the Swanson side of the isle, second seat from the aisle there would be a metallic folding chair, sitting on the grass, specifically reserved for Sally Swanson. That chair would always be empty for the guest that never came.

Never had an outdoor wedding been such a smashing success. The grass was a perfect green with the pastor a light-hearted yet passionate man. The audience was fully receptive with both sides of the aisle cheering and applauding throughout. The vows were even said to had brought on tears from Michelle's father. Yet, despite the lengthy buffet of food, despite the wedding party that even the most wild of party-goers enjoyed, despite the live band that somehow knew, acknowledged and caved to playing Lenord Skynard's "Freebird", there was one thing missing.

The bride (Joan, that is) stood in front of the chair, and sighed. Despite wearing a sleeve-less white (well, 'off-white') gown, with her straw-blonde hair in golden locks, she starred at the chair for a good five minutes. Throughout the ceremony, she was seen on her cellphone, attempting to contact someone that apparently wasn't picking up. The reception was one person short of being perfect. The cake was exquisite, the catering was first-class and the guests had all complimented on how great spectacular the party was. And yet, it was one person away from being absolutely perfect.

A gentle hand was placed on Joan's shoulder as she turned around to see her bride, wearing her sleeveless white gown. She turned to hug her and gave a few mucus-filled sniffs to show her gratitude.

"I'm sorry." Michelle said, squeezing her tightly as she Joan sniffled.

"It's okay. I knew this would happen. It's no big deal."

"It is a big deal; she's your family."

Joan looked up at the beautiful New York sky and gazed up at whatever lights she saw. She smiled, and looked back at the person she loved.

"No. Everyone who was here is my family now. You're my family now. And nothing's going to change that. And if someone's too stubborn to see how perfect and wonderful and sweet you are, then… forget them."

Michelle smiled and hugged her partner lovingly and as long as she could.

She broke contact and smiled.

"C'mon. There's still a piece of coconut cake with your name on it."

Joan giggled and tilted her head to the side. "You always know how to cheer me up."

"Of course I do; I'm your wife, remember?"