oh, mr president | H.S.

FORTY THREE: Classic Crème

"We will not tire, we will not falter, and we will not fail." - George W. Bush

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F O R T Y T H R E E : Classic Crème

Theodore's ten month old mind was not grasping what his parents were doing. Each of them had blabbed away to his ears about the binding of their true love, but he could only hear certain, particular words that were simple enough to understand. His little, chubby thighs swung back and forth in his high chair, his eyes watching the material loosen from his father's jacket. He stared long enough to attract Harry's attention, earning a sympathetic grin. Theodore salivated over his two fingers, and out of panic and alarm, Harry removed the limb from his mouth.

        "Oh, Theodore. No more putting your fingers in there. Those are dirty," He complained to his son, despite what he was actually supposed to be doing. Harry was instructed to wait for the knock on his private room from Tammy and prepare mentally for his betrothal to his fiancé, and First Lady, but his nerves were eating him alive. His mind rained doubt on his skull of what ifs, chilling to his bones. "Do you think mommy will really like me in this?"

The ten month old only snickering at his father's uneasy expression, reaching his moist digits at Harry's unbuttoned collar. "Yeah, you are right. She will love it and I ought to know it," He deciphered from his nonverbal movements, Harry breathing gently through his nostrils. "Thanks, buddy."

There was a persistent knock on the wooden door of the small chapel in Cambridge, signaling Theodore's and his entrance to the altar. The couple had decided on the small wedding's location from Angela and her persuasive skills, and they could not agree more on a secret, private state to be in while they wed. "Harry, it's time. You have to go onto the grass with the minister," Tammy whispered to the wood, thoroughly excited on what to expect from their wedding. "You ready?"

"Y-yeah, I think I am." Harry smoothed the crinkled material of his dress shirt, scooping his son in his lengthy arms. His hand wiggled the door a loose, confidently strutting onto the grass. He could see the close family and friends, including the face of his adoptive mother. Ophelia convinced him to invite her on the basis that she was actually kind to him, and he was surely worried about her health. He placed the infant in his two feet, encouraging him to try out walking with Harry's help. Theodore took a few steps in his stretched stance, waiting for his father to move forward so he could attempt his new tactic of getting around.

"Okay, Ophelia is nearly ready. She's putting the finishing touches on her makeup. We can start the music if you would like?" Tammy inquired, ready to signal the pianist before her phone buzzed."Hold on, she is ready. Just got her text."

Harry's nerves jumped out his soul. He could not believe the moment was closing in on his exasperated lungs. "You can start the music now. Theodore and I will go up the altar."

Tammy received the message, nodding her head to the elder woman behind the chipped piano. The music begun and without delay, Harry and Theodore staggered down the grass in a progressional manner, waving towards the people that were important to both Ophelia and himself. They reached the ending, and Niall, his Vice President and good friend, lifted Theodore to his hip. 

        Harry rotated on the ball of his bare feet, and wiggled his toes in the greenery. The doors widen with the help of Charlotte and Tammy, and his angelic beauty descended from heaven. The material of her dress whipped in the wind, the layers peeling back to reveal her painted toes, and pale feet pattering onto the rich grass beneath her. "She's so beautiful..." His lips breathed out the words in infatuation, hands dropping in a trance.