Not long before our first wedding in 2006, Ami and I met a co-worker of hers at a bar for drinks. It was after the Solstice Parade, sun-starved Seattle’s celebration of summer. Everyone was already a little tipsy when we arrived at the outdoor patio, and we were introduced around the table.

Soon we were talking about our upcoming wedding. Ami’s co-worker shared the story of their wedding. They’d rented costumes instead of paying for a dress and tuxedo. I admitted that I had bought a big gown for our ceremony.

“Where are you getting married? Canada?” At the time British Columbia, just a few hours north, was the only option for a legal marriage. The question came from a woman I was a little awed by. She was a curator at one of the few decent art museums in Seattle–my favorite local museum, in fact. She sat confidently at the head of the table.

“No,” I said. “It wouldn’t make sense to do that. It wouldn’t be legal when we returned to the States, and we want all of our friends to be there. We’re having it at a park overlooking the Sound.” My tone was matter of fact, and I hoped it betrayed my worldliness and intelligence.

“Oh,” she said. “You’re having a commitment ceremony, then.” She said this with a slight tinge of condescension, but even if she hadn’t, I would have responded the same way.

“No.” My voice was firm. “We’re having a wedding.” Everyone at the table looked at me, and my face grew hot.

Looking down, she grasped her beer, some of that confidence seeming to slip from her face.

I knew my assertion was a little strong for overly polite Seattle, but I delivered it as simply and as kindly as I could. “It’s not as if any of the marriage laws in this country have done anything for me. Why should I defer to them when I describe an event I’m planning? It’s our event. It’s a wedding.”

I don’t remember how long we sat at that table, but in my mind now, that was the end of the conversation. I’m sure somebody changed the subject. I’m sure more beer was consumed. I’m sure I must have spoken again before we left. Maybe she talked about friends of hers that were gay. I don’t know.

I do know that as uncomfortable as the moment made me, it wasn’t my worldliness that had been challenged.

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