Page 9 of Alexander: Alexander's Story

I wasn’t lying to Roni; I feel like I’ve known him a long time. There’s no pinpointing the exact reason, but it’s a knowing. Likehis eyes and mine are the same. Like our souls hear and share the same hurt. His pain knows mine, and maybe that’s all it boils down to.

Two people with equally hard past lives meeting, intersecting at a point in time, and deciding life might be easier if you don’t have to walk it alone.

Andthatwas why I said yes. Quickly. Assuredly.

Scribbling a shopping list on an extra guest check, I head towards the door to find myself a wedding dress.

The dress was white, vintage, eyelet-organza, and the second I saw it in Main Street Mercantile, I knew it was mine. The baby blue, cat-eye sunglasses were a perfect addition, and the shoes were brand new and hot pink and didn’t match at all, but they were perfect. I have a thing about not buying used shoes. I would if I had to, but not today.

Standing on the toilet in my small bathroom so I can see my whole body in the mirror above the sink, I can’t help but think:I look like a bride. Wow.

Quick math told me I still had an hour before Roni arrived, two until I would meet Alexander. Somewhere in there, I would have to shower and get ready. But I needed at least 30 minutes of shut-eye.

Lying back on my quilted bedspread, I close my eyes and drift off peacefully for the first time in…I can’t remember how long.

Bang.

Another bang.

I sit up with a gasp. Roni.

“I’m coming!” I shout at her aggressively loud knocks. My hour had flown by too quickly. It felt like I closed my eyes for a long blink and not much more.

Pulling open the trailer door, I find Alexander standing at the bottom of my steps in a sharp navy suit, looking like money and sex. He looks like someone entirely different than the man who sat at table 19 in the wee hours of the morning. He looks like someone’s husband. My husband, though?No.

“Oh my god, what time is it?” I ask as my stomach plummets. It’d been more than an hour. I knew it. I could feel it. My long blink had gone way past noon. The sun isn’t dead center in the sky any longer.

“It’s time to get our marriage license,” he says, not sounding pissed off or even slightly annoyed.Thank god.“I didn’t think you’d forget, but I was waiting outside,” he looks down at his watch, then starts ascending the stairs, “an hour and a half, and I thought maybe you changed your mind.”

I’m immediately shaking my head because,no. No, I wouldn’t leave him hanging out to dry like that. Andno, please don’t come inside.But he moves forward, and I make room for him to enter the tight space.

Peeking around the edge of the door to check where he parked, I’m surprised to see another suited man standing outside, equally as striking as Alexander but darker. Dark hair, thick mustache. It was a vibe.Hewas a vibe, leaningback against a fancy Mercedes sedan, his black dress shoes contrasting against the dusty dirt road.

The other man gives me a faux salute accompanied by a salacious smile plastered on his face, and I blush, closing the door quickly.

“H-how’d you know where I live?” I start patting my hair down, searching for the hair tie that’s gone missing post-nap. Alexander looks around the small space, his head nearly hitting the ceiling of the travel trailer. And for the first time in a while, I feel ashamed. Someone like him doesn’t belongherewith someone like me.

He shrugs. “It wasn’t hard to find out, Emma.”

“I’m so sorry. I thought Roni would wake me up…” She hadn’t come, though. Not surprising. “Again, sososorry.” I hope my tone conveys that because I am.Fuck!I wouldn’t be surprised if he calls this whole thing off and asks for his money back.

Instead, I watch him eye me, still dressed in my wedding dress and heels, before nodding in his assessment. “Well, do we want to do this or not, Em?”Em?

“I do.” God, that sounded corny. “C-can you give me ten minutes, and I’ll be ready?”

“Sure.” His tone gives me nothing back, but I intend to use every second of that ten minutes. So, without waiting, I scoot around him, locking myself in the bathroom.

I hadn’t even showered. Taking a thirty-second whore bath wasn’t what I had in mind for my wedding day, but to be honest, I never put that much thought into a wedding. Period. Using baby wipes, my hands move frantically over all my extremities. I don’t even bother to take off my shoes.

After scrubbing my face, I spray an unhealthy amount of dry shampoo onto my roots. While the curling iron heats, Iput foundation, concealer, blush, and lipstick on, tossing the mascara and eyeliner into my small clutch for the car ride.

My car?I’m guessing I’ll go with Alexander andthatmanto the Marriage Bureau and chapel.Would I just leave my car here?

The time to think about logistics has passed. And honestly, I don’t want to anyway.

In six quick sections, I curl my long hair, knowing this will, at most, provide a light wave.Also fine.Then, running my fingers from root to tip, I grab my clutch and makeup bag and open the door to Alexander staring into my nearly empty pantry. It’s a pitiful sight, just a bag of rice and a box of crusty, old brown sugar.

I blush. Hard. The pit of shame metaphorically knocking me down a peg or two. It’s not like I starve. I just don’t really eat here. But it doesn’t matter because he closes the pantry and says, “This is nice.” There’s only genuine authenticity in his tone, surprising me.