Over Swedish Meatballs
by Kate

A fuckin' ten hour flight, and the only movie they were showing was a goddamned Will Farrell movie, and no goddamned way was I watching that. I got some sleep, but they don't even let you smoke cigarettes on the plane, much less any fantastic weed.

So I'm already stressing out — and let's not even get into the whole immigration thing — and I'm trying to work out the fucking suitcase cart thing, when, thankfully, I see Oz standing there, waiting for me. He's with that old dude that was the librarian back at Sunnydale High, but that's cool, 'cause Oz said he was living with him, and, hey, free hotel while I figure out what I'm gonna be doin' here.

Man, I forgot how great Oz is. I just grabbed him and gave him the biggest hug, 'cause he's Oz, y'know? It's what you do. And he looked the same — pretty much. Skinny little fucker with raggedy t-shirts and jeans and scruffy dyed hair. Librarian Guy is a little more casual that I remembered — but, then again, I never spent any time in the library anyway, so what do I know?

We head out to the car, and, on the way, Oz turns to me and says, "We're gonna need to stop by Ikea on the way home."

"What the fuck for?" I said. I mean, Jesus, I'm all tired and grumpy and fed up with everything. And now we're going to Ikea?

"Spare room needs curtains," Oz said.

I blinked a few times. "What?"

"The spare room, we tend to use it as a library, but, what with it facing the back garden, we, um, preferred the sunlight," Librarian Guy said.

"Hence, curtains," Oz continued. He looked back at me and smiled. "Don't worry — couple of minutes, in and out, and we'll even pick up Swedish meatballs."

That I'm not too certain about, but shit, man, Swedish meatballs, and I'm in.


And, y'know what? I was fuckin' right.

They start at the beginning, and wind their way through the entire fuckin' store, commenting on bookcases and shelving units and even fucking dining tables, and then they finally get to the curtains and it's all "Oh, I don't know, blue, maybe", "Oh, what about the green", "That pattern's nice"...I mean, Jesus Christ! What the fuck's going on here?

They finally pick up these fucking curtains, and then it's through all the other shit, like plants and clocks and fucking...I don't know...stick people, and I'm just getting more and more fed up. The check-out's a mile long and God, I'm just going insane.

Curtains, dude! Curtains!

We're in, we're out, and finally we're in the restaurant and getting the damn Swedish meatballs, when that Librarian Guy goes to grab one of those ligonberry mousses or whatever, and, finally, I get to talk to Oz.

"Oz, man," I said. "What the hell is going on?"

Oz frowns. "Huh?"

"Curtains, man! We just spent a goddamned hour and half looking at curtains! Since when do you care about curtains?"

Oz frowned. "Huh."

"It's like...you're an old married couple or somethin'!"

Oz raised an eyebrow, tilted his head a little, and looked at me in that way he used to back when we were in school, always right before he dropped some big news, like "I'm dating this girl" or "I'm leaving the band" or "I'm leaving Sunnydale".

And this time, he said "Because we are a married couple."

I drop my fork in the middle of my meatballs.

"You're what?"

Oz shrugged. "We're married. Well, sort of. Waiting on the civil partnership ceremony, but aside from that..."

Fuck, man. That I was not expecting. All I can say is to that, "When did that happen?"

Oz shrugged again. "Last year. No big deal, really, just kinda happened."

"'Just kinda happened'? You got fuckin' married and didn't tell me!"

I was beginning to think I was tripping out on sleep deprivation or something, 'cause there was no way Oz would get married without me being there, when his — fuck, his husband? Is that what I have to call him? — came back over.

I had to say something to him. No one marries my best friend and doesn't tell me, y'know? "Oz just said you two were married. When the fuck did that happen?"

The guy blinked a few times, and stuttered. "L-l-last year. Our civil ceremony's in...February? Yes, February."

Oz wrapped his arm around the guy's waist, and looked right at me. "Dev," he said. "You'll still be here — I'd like you to be my best man, if that's cool."

Well, fuck, man. Knock me over with a feather here.

But I'm cool — I am. Because I'm Devon, and if Devon isn't cool, then no one's cool. So I just pick up my fork again, look at my meatballs, and go "You're not gonna make me wear a tux, are you? 'Cause I didn't even wear that shit to the prom..."

Oz smiles and the guy laughs and, yeah, you know what? It's cool.