Page 38 of This Might Hurt

They eye me warily as I approach, but my cigarette seems to put them at ease. “Hi, I have a weird question. My boyfriend and I are trying to get married, but we forgot to bring witnesses. Would you two be willing to come inside with us for like ten minutes?”

I watch them exchange looks. The dude clearly wants me to leave, but his wife seems into it. After an acceptably long pause, I dig in my pocket for the money. “I have a little, like a hundred and fifty each? Does that help?”

The guy starts to shake his head, but she slaps his arm loudly.

“You could get those boots you’ve been wanting.

And look at them, Marco. They’re just kids.

” Hearing that, I scoot further out into the rain and try to look young and hopeful and wet.

I should have dragged Andrew over here. He has the most heartbreaking, pathetic sad face in the history of the world.

“Aw, fuck it,” the guy grumbles, dragging himself to his feet and putting out his cigarette in the Tupperware they were using. “If it’s only a few minutes. We’re supposed to be at Pam’s brother’s house for lunch in an hour.” He offers the plastic dish so I can stub mine out too.

“Thank you.” I hand both of them $50. “The rest at the end.” Pam huffs at that, but Marco looks entertained.

“Good business sense, sport.” Only my dad ever called me that, and it makes me feel like throwing up. But if he’s going to help us, he can call me anything under the sun.

Andrew meets us on the front steps and shakes both their hands, back to his charming self. They fall under his spell instantly—I was interesting, but this man is from a different planet than the rest of us.

Inside, Pam and Marco wait by the window, arguing about all the reasons Marco hates his brother-in-law. I lean against the wall and doze, while Andrew sits on a bench next to my thigh and bounces his knee uneasily. He stills when I rest a hand on the top of his head.

“Innes and Bishop?” I feel him jump as a bored-looking gray-haired woman in a green polo calls our names. “Ready?” she asks when he stands up. For a second, as they all follow her into a small, white room with flat office-style carpet and no decorations, I’m the one left staring after them.

Lena got really into the idea of weddings when she was ten.

I’d buy her bridal catalogues at the drug store and she’d pore over them for hours, circling dresses and table decorations.

She grilled me about who in my high school I wanted to marry—no one—and how I wanted my wedding to look—nonexistent.

We made a pact that she’d be my best man and I’d be her maid of honor.

Now our lives are a fucked up, burning heap of garbage, and I’m giving myself away in a broom closet with a bunch of strangers.

I miss her so much right now I don’t know how I’m still alive.

The whole world feels muted here, rain pattering on the window and Marco and Pam breathing too loudly.

The vent in the ceiling is blowing cold air straight down the back of my neck.

The woman in the polo steps behind a small wooden lectern and opens our file, pushing up her glasses to scan it.

When she’s finished, she studies our street clothes and the way we’re standing five feet apart without touching. “Are you exchanging rings?”

I didn’t even think of that, but Andrew shakes his head. “We don’t have them yet.” He sounds hoarse, but calm.

“Alright. Please face each other and hold hands.”

“Oh.” Andrew takes a step closer and sticks out his hand impatiently, his fingers splayed. “Come on.” This woman’s going to think I’m being coerced or something.

Not sure what else to do, I put my hand in his like some kind of lady from a Jane Austen book. His skin feels cool and dry against my overheated fingers.

The woman clears her throat and begins reading off her sheet in a loud monotone. “We are here today to witness the exchange of marriage vows between Andrew Innes and Jude Bishop. Is there anyone who has a reason why they should not be married?”

Andrew’s gaze slides over to mine, one eyebrow quirking slightly.

The list of objectors is so long she might have to sit down.

I shoot him a little grin and stick my tongue out.

Something warm sparks in his eyes, the first sign of life I’ve seen today, and he has to bite his lips to keep from smiling back.

After a pause, she carries on. “Do you, Andrew, take Jude as your spouse?”

His smile disappears, and he glances at her like she can give him some answer to this mess that doesn’t involve getting married to anyone. Then he clears his throat. “I do.”

“Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and keep him for as long as you both shall live?” He doesn’t answer for a second. Those words are a lot, even when they’re a lie. Since I’m going second, I have a chance to get used to them while he got put on the spot.

“Yes,” he murmurs finally.

“Then do you, Jude, take Andrew as your spouse?”

“Yeah.” She gives me a stern look, so I change it to, “I do.” Andrew stares past my shoulder, the tips of his ears turning red.

There’s a pause, and I realize she asked me the other part, the messy part. “I do.” Andrew’s hand shifts impatiently in mine, like he wants to be done with this.

“As you have both consented to be united in the bonds of matrimony,” she recites at top speed, “and exchanged your promises, by the power vested in me by the state of Wyoming, I now pronounce you married. You can seal your vows with a kiss.”

Andrew stiffens. “I—Is that… Legally, is that required?” He glances at me, eyes full of panic, and I’m not sure why that hurts so much.

She blinks at him, then at me like she’s starting to question if we’re playing a prank on her. “No, it’s not. My apologies. Then the ceremony is concluded. Everybody gather to sign the license.”

I wait to give Marco and Pam the rest of their cash until we’re back in the lobby, so that the officiant doesn’t form any more opinions.

Pam looks deflated, like she expected something more romantic.

“Have a happy honeymoon,” she hollers as Marco leads her out the door, even though we never told her we were going on a honeymoon.

“Well,” I murmur as they disappear. “That’s it, I guess. ”

“I guess.” He looks as dazed as I feel, until some kid crashes into his leg and goes sprinting off in a different direction. “Let’s get to the car. I’m hungry.”

“Told you.”

He almost slams the big front door shut in my face with a dirty look. “Hungry, not hangry.”

“Clearly,” I mumble.

As we walk down the steps with that awkward gap still between us, the gutter drops a huge rush of cold rainwater right down the back of his jacket.

He squawks “Shit” and throws his body into mine instinctively.

I put my arm around his shoulders to protect him from the evil rain and he lets me keep it there all the way to the car.

When we get to the G-Wagon, Andrew takes shotgun and wedges himself down in the seat with his wet shoes off and his socks up on the dashboard.

I lean back in the driver’s seat and watch him take big bites of his lukewarm breakfast burrito as he scrolls news sites on my phone, since his is turned off.

After five different ones, he tips his head back and closes his eyes with the deepest, most relieved breath I’ve ever heard.

“No one’s reporting on his death. We made it. ”

“Good.” I study the copy of the marriage license they gave us, laid out over my knee with a few water stains from the rain.

It’s like the night I met him—everything in my head is adding up good, like we did everything right, but I feel kind of…

used up. My head hurts, and I’m trying to ration my cigarettes but I already want another one.

Something tells me we should have talked more about how this would look before we jumped.

We made promises in there that no one can make without changing something elemental inside of them.

We’re playing a game, tying together things which can’t be cleanly separated again.

Or maybe it’s fine, because we’re both so fucked up that when we have to cut ourselves apart, it doesn’t matter if we lose pieces along the way.

I guess I’ll ride his disaster train to the end of the tracks either way. I don’t have anywhere else to go.

Andrew clears his throat impatiently, like he’s been trying to get my attention.

When I look up, he’s offering me the last bite of his burrito with a searching expression.

“It was delicious,” he says as I chew, like he’s trying to make up for not being appreciative enough to Ramona earlier.

“What’s your ring size?” He picks up my phone again.

“I need to order some for Grant to pick up in the city tomorrow. Are you okay with platinum?”

“I don’t know my size.” Studying my broad palm, I wrap my thumb around my ring finger like that’s going to tell us something.

He holds out his hand next to mine. “Probably one size bigger than me.”

“Look, we drove past like nine jewelry stores on the way through town,” I point out. “If we pick something in person, they’ll be able to check the size.”

Wrinkling his nose, he squints out the window. “It’s just…people. And noise. And dirt.”

I tap the push to start and buckle my seatbelt. “Try one store with me. If it doesn’t work out, we’ll go.” Mostly I don’t want to listen to him stress all night about whether they’ll fit.

“Fine.” He watches quietly, his feet still up, as I try to scan all the businesses without running anyone over. I reject a couple of places that don’t look upscale enough, then pull into an open spot right outside one with a navy blue awning and silver lettering.

It’s dark inside, but in a classy way, playing the same Enya music my mom listens to loudly while taking bubble baths. “What are we looking for?” I whisper before the employee can come out of the back room.