Against the Altar

Chapter 8: Against the Alta

Three weeks after Ava's conversation with her mother, the invitation arrived.

Not for Ava—for Liana.

A cream-colored envelope with elegant calligraphy, was delivered to Liana's apartment where Ava had been living for the past two weeks. Liana held it up with raised eyebrows, turning it over to show Ava the return address: The Mthembu Family.

"I think there's been a mistake," Liana said.

But there hadn't been. Inside was a formal wedding invitation, beautifully embossed with gold lettering:

*You are cordially invited to celebrate the wedding of Thabo Mthembu and Ava Mokoena, December 20th at 2 PM, First Light Baptist Church, Johannesburg.*

Ava stared at the invitation in disbelief. It had been three weeks since she'd told her mother she was gay. Three weeks since her father had disowned her. Three weeks since she'd moved in with Liana and started building a life that was actually hers.

And her parents were still planning the wedding.

"This is insane," Ava said, her hands shaking as she held the invitation. "They can't actually think I'm going to show up to this."

Her phone buzzed. A text from her mother—the first communication she'd received from her parents since that devastating night of phone calls three weeks ago.

*Since you insist on this rebellious phase, we've decided to proceed with the arrangements. Thabo has graciously agreed to honor the commitment despite your behavior. The wedding is on December 20th. This is your last chance to do the right thing and come home. Your father and I will be waiting.*

Ava read the message three times, each time feeling more disconnected from reality. Rebellious phase. As if her sexuality was something she'd grow out of, like a teenager's goth phase or an experimental semester at university. As if falling in love with Liana was just youthful rebellion rather than the most honest thing she'd ever done.

"They think I'll show up," Ava said wonderingly. "They actually think that family obligation, fear of public embarrassment, fear of final rejection will make me show up and go through with it."

"Will it?" Liana asked carefully.

Ava looked at her—at the woman she'd chosen, at the life they were building together in this colorful apartment full of light and love. In the past three weeks, Ava had learned what it was like to wake up next to Liana every morning, to have breakfast together, to come home from work and find Liana there waiting for her. She'd learned what it felt like to live honestly, to not constantly monitor her words and actions, to just exist as herself.

It had been the happiest three weeks of her life.

And her parents thought she'd give that up to marry a man she didn't love?

"No," Ava said firmly. "Never. Never again."

But doubt nagged at her over the following days. The wedding was in two weeks. Two weeks for her parents to realize she wasn't coming, to call off the event, to save themselves the humiliation. But they didn't. Instead, Ava heard through mutual acquaintances—people from church who weren't quite ready to cut her off completely—that her parents were proceeding as if everything was normal.

Invitations sent. Venue booked. Caterers hired. Flowers ordered. A dress purchased—without Ava's input, without even asking her size, without any acknowledgment that the bride might want some say in her own wedding gown.

They were so certain she'd cave. So convinced that when the day came, when faced with the reality of disappointing everyone, of standing up in front of the entire congregation and refusing to marry, she'd fall in line. That fear would triumph over courage. That conditioning would overpower authenticity.

And the worst part? A small part of Ava wondered if they were right.

"They're going to be so humiliated when I don't show up," Ava said one evening, curled up on the couch with Liana, trying to shake the gnawing anxiety that had taken up residence in her chest. "My mother will be there in the front pew, waiting for me to walk down the aisle. My father will have his arm ready to give me away. And I just—I won't be there. They'll have to tell everyone that the bride isn't coming. That I chose this over them."

"You chose yourself over their expectations," Liana corrected gently. "That's different."

"Is it? Because it feels like I'm about to hurt them all over again. Like I'm rubbing their faces in my choice."

"You're not responsible for their decision to proceed with a wedding you never agreed to. You told them weeks ago that you weren't going to marry Thabo. They chose not to believe you. That's on them, not you."

Liana was right, logically. But emotionally? Emotionally, Ava felt like she was about to commit an unforgivable act of cruelty against the people who'd raised her.

Two days before the wedding, Thabo called.

"Please tell me you're not actually coming," he said without preamble.

"I'm not. Are you?"

"I have to. My mother—if I back out now, after everything, she'll—" He sighed deeply. "I'm not brave like you, Ava. I'm going to show up, and I'm going to stand at that altar, and I'm going to wait for you. And when you don't come, I'll tell everyone the truth. That you have already made your choice, and it wasn't me. That you chose love over obligation, authenticity over appearances."

"Thabo, you don't have to do that. We could call them together, tell them we both refuse—"

"No. This needs to happen this way. They need to see—to really see—that you're serious. That this isn't a phase or a rebellion. That you're not coming back." He paused. "And honestly? I think I need to see it too. I need to see that it's possible to stand up to them, even if I'm not ready to do it myself yet."

"What will you tell people? When I don't show up?"

"The truth. That you're in love with someone else. That you chose honesty over comfort. That you're braver than any of us." His voice was tinged with admiration and something that sounded like envy. "Maybe watching you do this will give me the courage to do it myself someday."

After they hung up, Ava stood at Liana's window—their window now—looking out at Johannesburg's sprawling cityscape. December had brought summer heat and afternoon thunderstorms, the kind that rolled in suddenly and drenched everything before disappearing as quickly as they'd arrived. The city was decorated for Christmas—lights strung along streets, shopping centers blaring carols, everyone preparing for the holidays with their families.

And Ava? Ava would spend Christmas with Liana. Just the two of them. No extended family, no traditional meals at her parents' house, no Christmas Eve service at the church where she'd grown up. Just her and Liana, building new traditions, creating a chosen family.

The thought was both liberating and devastating.

The morning of December 20th arrived bright and clear—the kind of perfect summer day that South Africans boasted about to tourists. Somewhere across the city, people were gathering at First Light Baptist Church. A groom was getting dressed in his best suit. Parents were arriving early to greet guests. Flowers were being arranged. Caterers were setting up the reception hall.

And Ava? Ava was in bed with Liana, the sunlight streaming through the curtains, the sounds of their neighborhood waking up around them.

"It's today," Liana said softly, her hand finding Ava's under the covers.

"Yeah."

"How do you feel?"

Ava thought about it. How did she feel? Sad, certainly. Guilty. Anxious. But also—something else. Something lighter. "Free," she said, surprising herself. "I feel free."

Liana propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at Ava with those eyes that had first captivated her at an art gallery two years ago. "Free?"

"Yeah. I was so afraid of this moment. Of them planning this wedding, of having to publicly refuse, of the fallout. But now that it's here—now that it's actually happening—I just feel free. Because I'm here, with you, living my current life. And they're there, trying to marry me off to someone who doesn't exist. Ava, do they think they know? She never existed. She was just a performance, a mask, a carefully constructed illusion. And I'm done maintaining that illusion."

"I'm so proud of you," Liana whispered, leaning down to kiss her. "You know that, right? I'm so incredibly proud of who you've become."

They spent the day deliberately, carefully—not hiding from what was happening across the city, but also not letting it consume them. Brunch at a café Liana loved, where they sat outside in the heat, drinking iced coffee and eating eggs benedict while the world moved around them. A walk through the park where children were flying kites and families were having picnics, everyone enjoying the summer's day. An afternoon at an art gallery, where Liana pointed out techniques in paintings and Ava pretended to understand but really just loved listening to Liana talk about something she was passionate about.

Living their life. Openly. Proudly. Without shame.

At exactly two PM—the time the wedding was supposed to start—Ava's phone buzzed. A message from Thabo:

*I'm at the altar. She's not here. Guests are murmuring. Your mother keeps looking at the doors like you might still appear. Your father is stone-faced. I'm about to tell them.*

Ava showed the message to Liana. They were sitting on a bench in the gallery, in front of a painting of jacaranda trees in bloom—purple and beautiful and free.

"How do you feel?" Liana asked again.

"Sad for them," Ava said honestly. "Sad that they're going through this humiliation. Sad that they couldn't just accept me and avoid all this pain. But also—" She paused, searching for the right words. "Also relieved. Because it's done. It's really done. There's no going back now. They can't pretend anymore that I might change my mind, that this is a phase, that I'll come to my senses. It's real now. My choice is real."

Another message from Thabo: *I told them. Your mother fainted. Someone's helping her outside. Your father walked out—he didn't say anything, just stood up and left. The guests are chaos. People are crying, some are angry. The pastor is trying to calm everyone down. It's a disaster.*

Then: *But you're free. You're finally free. I hope you're somewhere beautiful, living your best life.*

Then: *Thank you for showing me it's possible. Someday I'll find my courage too.*

Ava typed back: *Thank you for being there. For telling them. For giving me the space to make this choice. I hope you find happiness, Thabo. You deserve it.*

She turned off her phone and slipped it into her pocket. She didn't want to see the messages that would inevitably come—from church members, from her parents eventually, from people who thought they had a right to comment on her choices.

"Let's get dinner," Ava said to Liana. "Somewhere nice. Somewhere we can celebrate."

"Celebrate?" Liana looked at her with surprise and something that looked like cautious hope.

"Yeah. Celebrate my non-wedding day. Celebrate my freedom. Celebrate us." Ava stood up and held out her hand to Liana. "Celebrate the fact that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be, with exactly who I'm supposed to be with."

They went to a restaurant they'd discovered early in their relationship—upscale enough to feel special, casual enough that they could be themselves. The same restaurant where that fateful photo had been taken, the one that had started everything. Ava had been afraid to come back here, afraid of the memories, afraid of being seen.

But she wasn't afraid anymore.

They ordered champagne—"to celebrate your non-wedding," Liana said with a grin—and expensive steaks and dessert they didn't need but ordered anyway because why not? It was a day for indulgence, for celebration, for marking the moment when Ava's old life officially ended and her new one officially began.

"Do you think you'll ever talk to them again?" Liana asked as they shared a chocolate lava cake. "Your parents?"

"I don't know. Maybe. If they're willing to accept me as I am. But I won't shrink myself to make them comfortable anymore. I won't lie or hide or pretend. So if they can't accept the real me, then no. We probably won't speak again."

"And you're okay with that?"

Ava thought about it—really thought about it, not just giving the answer she thought she was supposed to give. "I'm sad about it. I'll probably always be sad about it. But am I okay with it? Yeah. Because the alternative is going back to who I was before. And I can't do that. I won't do that. I've come too far."

That night, back in their apartment—not Liana's apartment, not Ava's temporary residence, but their home—they lay in bed and talked about the future. About where they'd be in a year, in five years, in ten years. About whether they wanted to get married themselves someday, maybe when South Africa's laws made it possible, or maybe just a commitment ceremony with chosen family. About children, careers, dreams.

About building a life that was entirely, authentically theirs.

"I love you," Ava said as they were falling asleep, Liana's arm draped across her waist, their legs tangled together in the way they'd learned each other's bodies fit best.

"I love you too," Liana murmured, already half-asleep. "Thank you for choosing us. For choosing yourself."

"Thank you for waiting for me. For not giving up on me even when I gave up on myself."

As Ava drifted off to sleep, she thought about the wedding that had happened without her. About Thabo standing at an altar, waiting for a bride who never came. About her parents' humiliation and disappointment. About the guests who'd gathered to witness a union that would never happen.

And she felt—not joy at their pain, but relief that it was over. Relief that the charade had finally ended. Relief that everyone now knew the truth, even if they didn't accept it.

She'd been so afraid of this moment. Had spent years dreading it, imagining it, trying to find ways to avoid it.

But now that it was here—now that she'd actually lived through it—she realized something:

The freedom was worth it.

The honesty was worth it.

Living as herself, without apology or pretense, was worth everything she'd lost.

And tomorrow, she'd wake up next to the woman she loved and start building the rest of her life.

A life that was finally, completely, authentically hers.

---

The next morning, Ava woke before Liana. She lay in bed watching the dawn light creep across the ceiling, listening to Liana's steady breathing beside her, and processed everything that had happened.

Yesterday, at two PM, there was a wedding. A church full of people, flowers arranged just so, a groom in his finest suit, parents dressed to the nines. Everything was perfect except for one critical detail: no bride.

Ava tried to imagine what it must have been like. The murmuring that would have started when she was five minutes late, then ten, then fifteen. The looks exchanged between guests. Her mother's growing panic. Her father's stern face tried to maintain composure. Mrs. Mthembu probably rushed to call Ava's phone, getting no answer because Ava had turned it off. Pastor Khumalo tried to keep everyone calm, assuring them the bride would arrive any moment, there must be traffic, there must be some explanation.

And then Thabo, finally, standing at that altar and telling the truth. Speaking words that would echo through the congregation, through the church community, through everyone who'd thought they knew Ava Mokoena.

She wondered what exactly he'd said. Had he been gentle? Diplomatic? Or had he been brutally honest, laying bare the whole situation—the arranged courtship, Ava's sexuality, the months of pretending?

A small part of her wanted to turn on her phone, to read the messages, to know exactly what had happened. But a larger part knew it didn't matter. What mattered was that she hadn't been there. That she'd chosen herself, chosen Liana, chosen freedom.

Liana stirred beside her, eyes fluttering open. "You're awake," she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

"Yeah. Just thinking."

"About yesterday?"

"About everything." Ava rolled onto her side to face Liana fully. "About how terrified I was of that moment for so long. And now it's over, and I'm still here, still breathing, still okay. Better than okay, actually."

Liana reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Ava's ear, a gesture so tender it made Ava's chest ache. "You did it. You really did it. You stood up to everyone—your parents, the church, every expectation you've ever known—and you chose yourself."

"I chose us," Ava corrected. "I couldn't have done it without you. Without knowing you were here, waiting, believing in me even when I didn't believe in myself."

They lay like that for a while, just holding each other, watching the sun paint the room in shades of gold. Outside, the city was waking up—car horns honking, people heading to Sunday services, the world moving forward like it always did.

Somewhere, Ava's parents were waking up too. Probably hadn't slept much. Probably spent the night fielding calls from church members, from relatives, from everyone who wanted to know what had happened, why the bride never showed, what this meant for the family's standing in the community.

And Ava—Ava was lying in bed with the woman she loved, feeling more at peace than she had in years.

"I should probably turn on my phone at some point," Ava said reluctantly. "Face whatever messages are waiting."

"You don't have to. Not today. Let yourself have this. Let yourself just exist at this moment without worrying about their reactions."

"They're probably devastated. Humiliated. My mother—" Ava's voice caught. "She fainted, Thabo said. She actually fainted."

"That wasn't your fault. She fainted because she couldn't accept reality, not because of anything you did wrong. You told her weeks ago you weren't going to marry Thabo. She chose not to believe you. That's on her."

Logically, Ava knew Liana was right. But the guilt still gnawed at her. She was her mother's daughter, after all. Years of conditioning didn't disappear overnight just because you made a brave choice.

"Come on," Liana said, climbing out of bed. "I'm making us a proper breakfast. Eggs, bacon, toast, the works. We're going to sit on the balcony and eat and enjoy this beautiful day, and we're not going to spend it drowning in guilt over choices other people made."

"Liana—"

"I mean it, Ava. You deserve to feel good about what you did yesterday. You deserve to celebrate your courage, not punish yourself for your parents' inability to accept you. So we're going to eat breakfast, and then maybe we'll go to the market, or see a movie, or just stay in bed all day. Whatever you want. But we're not spending our first day of freedom marinating in guilt."

Ava felt tears prick her eyes. "How did I get so lucky? How did I find someone who sees me so clearly, who loves me so completely?"

"The same way, I got lucky finding you," Liana said simply. "We found each other. We chose each other. And now we get to build something beautiful together."

They did exactly what Liana suggested—breakfast on the balcony, watching the neighborhood come alive. Ava still didn't turn on her phone. She let herself have this day, this moment, this space to just be happy without guilt or second-guessing or worry about what everyone else thought.

They went to the Sunday market, browsing stalls of fresh produce and handmade crafts and street food. They held hands as they walked, openly, with no fear of being seen. A few people stared—two women being affectionate in public still drew attention in some quarters—but Ava didn't care. Let them stare. Let them judge. She was finally free.

At one stall, Liana bought Ava a silver bracelet with a small rainbow charm. "To remember this day," Liana said as she fastened it around Ava's wrist. "The day you chose yourself."