Whatever your definition of a honeymoon—“a period of harmony immediately following marriage” or “a vacation taken by a newly married couple”—Frank and I have never had the pleasure. One year ago this week, our Champagne wishes fizzled with the passage of Proposition 8. Our honeymoon became a last-ditch campaign for equality followed by resentful protest and tears for those who missed the chance to say “I do.”

This year, when we finally packed our bags to “honeymoon” in celebration of our first anniversary legally wed, a dark cloud from Maine cast a shadow over our love nest in Napa Valley. Today, Maine will vote on its own Prop 8, fundamentally named Question 1. Call us crazy, but it doesn’t feel right to raise a glass to our own marriage when the future of so many again relies on the whim of a popular vote.

            As I write this, early voter polls put the race in Maine at a dead heat. If voters approve Question 1, the state’s LGBT couples will lose their fundamental right to marriage, which became law in May, to a “people’s veto.” On the heels of Prop 8, this big a loss could be a major blow to our national momentum. But if the measure fails, Maine will be the first U.S. state to pass same-sex marriage at the polls. With legislation also coming down the pike in New York, New Jersey and Washington D.C., a win in Maine could signal a real honeymoon period for marriage equality at last.

             Our own “honeymoon” last week brought more than a bit of irony. The whole trip, in fact, was product of an auction package that we ourselves created to raise funds for the No on Prop 8 campaign. As we lazed by the pool at spectacular Durham Ranch—a locale donated by San Francisco interior designer Ken Fulk—I felt a pang of guilt for California’s second-class couples who missed the marriage window; guilt over the many generous Californians who gave their time and money to support equal rights to no avail; guilt that instead of getting out the vote in Maine, we were toasting our limited-edition gay marriage over a feast donated by Jennifer Biesty, the Top Chef Season 4 contender whose girlfriend, Sara, was assisting in the kitchen.           

As we sat down to an anniversary meal lovingly prepared, the group around our dinner table revealed volumes about the inequitable state of marriage in America: Our friends Elizabeth and Sabrina, whose 2004 marriage in SF was revoked by the California court; our friend Jodi, whose wife and baby were out of town but whose out-of-state same-sex marriage is recognized here thanks to recent legislation; Robin and Scott, a long-married straight couple who has supported us every step of the way; and Jen and Sara, who are banned from taking their young relationship to the ultimate official level. (Disclaimer: I have no idea if Jen and Sara have any plans to marry. I’m just sayin’ that they couldn’t if they wanted to, at least not here at home.)

Whether by candlelight or under the Napa sun, our “honeymoon” illuminated an inconvenient truth: That is, our country sets different standards for different citizens, despite that whole “all men are created equal” thing. While we celebrated our legal marriage—with poolside catnaps and fireside nightcaps—there were couples across the country who have been waiting five, 10, 20 years or more for the right and privilege of marriage. While we played bocce, took bubble baths and clinked glasses beneath a ceiling of oaks sending down sprays of Spanish moss, couples in Maine were fighting for the right to do just that: to be together in life, in love, in sickness and in health.

As we reminisce on this long-awaited getaway, that old Prop 8 anxiety looms anew, welling in my gut and knotting up my throat. We surf compulsively for bits of news and the latest polls from Maine, and from Washington State and Kalamazoo, Michigan, where ballot measures seek to deny domestic partnerships and anti-discrimination laws, respectively. Now the question is, do voters in Maine, Washington and Kalamazoo believe all citizens are created equal?