G wanted to be the princess.

The six of us—him, me, and the girls—were goofing around in the church basement while our parents sat upstairs drinking coffee and talking too loudly.

It was Sarah’s idea to drag a metal folding chair up onto the small stage, lean back in it, close her eyes, and wait for one of us to gallop across the room on an imaginary horse and kiss her awake. Then Rae wanted a turn. Then Jenna, then Lily, then Sarah again.

G and I were always the princes: the uncomplaining heroes whose only job was to rescue the fair maidens.

Except G didn’t take his role so seriously (admittedly, there were few things G did take seriously). The first few times he rode dutifully across the room, his shoes squeaking on the tile, and he kissed whatever princess happened to be sitting onstage. Then, he’d deliver a dramatic monologue in a nasally voice before saving the girl. Or he’d swipe the baby Jesus doll from the Christmas play prop box and play the single dad trying to find a beautiful princess to help him raise his child.

Everyone was flushed and giggling when G finally asked, high-voiced and wide- eyed, if he could have a turn as the princess. He didn’t give the girls a chance to object before rushing over and settling down on the metal chair. He leaned back and clutched an imaginary bouquet to his chest, his gray eyes fluttering closed as he waited for us.

The girls fought in whispers over who would be the first to ride over on their trusty steed and attempt to save him. Lily went first, shyly pecking him on the mouth before stepping back, waiting for something theatrical. G didn’t open his eyes.

He didn’t open them when Jenna or Rae kissed him, either.

I didn’t kiss him when my turn came—I don’t know why. I remember wanting to so badly. I remember thinking about how soft he looked: cheeks rosy, lips giving away the smile he was trying to hide, his dark hair in a rare state of disarray. I don’t think he’d ever been so still in his life (I don’t think he was ever that still again).

Even as it happened, I remember wanting to keep the moment forever. I ran my fingers through his hair a few times, trying to memorize every detail before galloping away.

In Jenna’s version of this story—the one she told at G’s wedding—I kissed him.

I kissed him, but it was Sarah’s that finally woke him up.

People around me laughed. Sarah and G leaned in for another kiss. The photographer stepped in for a better shot.

“It’s like a fairytale, isn’t it?” asked the guy beside me. I was at a table surrounded by Sarah’s other gay friends. She’d hoped I would meet someone that way. “I mean, how many people meet the person they’ll marry when they’re nine years old?”