Not So Nice Guy
Page 35
“I like what you’ve done with the place,” he says after I let us in. He’s poking at one of the books on my shelf and reading the spine. I’m grateful it’s not Pirate’s Hidden Treasure.
“Thanks. Did Mom send you?” I ask, bringing him a glass of water.
He accepts it and nods. “She wanted to make sure you were okay after the other night. Also, she wants her plates back.”
His teasing smile surprises me and I laugh.
“Right, well, you can have the plates, but if you’re going to try to talk me out of marrying Ian, you shouldn’t bother.”
He sips his water then places it on a coaster on the coffee table. “I’m not.”
“Oh,” I say hesitantly.
“But I’m going to tell you something, and I want you to listen.” He turns to me, his hands on his hips. He suddenly looks like a formidable opponent, and I wonder if this is what he looks like in a court of law. “Marriage is not something you should enter into lightly. Your mom and I were in love when we got married. We’ve been together for over 30 years now, and there have still been a lot of hard times.”
This is news to me—they’ve always seemed perfect.
“I know it seems exciting right now, but there will be trials down the road, and if you don’t start with a solid foundation, it’s going to make it ten times harder to weather the storms.”
“I’ve thought about all this.”
His brow arches with interest. “And you still think you’re making the right decision?”
There’s no point in lying, so I sidestep his question. “Has Mom come around to the idea?”
I take a seat on the couch and he joins me.
“Afraid not. She’s still crying about the fact that you won’t be wearing her grandmother’s dress or getting married at the church.”
I lean my head back against the cushion and smile, thinking back to the monstrosity hanging in one of the upstairs closets back at the house. “I wouldn’t wear that dress even if I was having a traditional wedding.”
He leans his head beside mine and we stare up at the ceiling together. “That’s what I told her.”
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“I could be making a huge mistake.”
“You could be.”
“Or I could be making the best decision of my life.”
He nods thoughtfully. “Who’s to say?”
I glance down and see a folded blue handkerchief in his hand. It’s the one I remember him wearing when I was a kid. He’d fold it into a neat square and stuff it into the front pocket of his suits. His initials are embroidered on the bottom corner, and when he notices me staring at it, he opens his palm.
“Something old, borrowed, and blue.” He offers it to me. “Best I could do on short notice.”
20
I A N
I found our officiant on Craigslist. He’s technically a rabbi, but when I explained our situation, he agreed to marry Sam and me in the museum. Fine by me. I don’t really care how we get married. If we somehow get converted to Judaism in the process, so be it. Shabbat shalom.
The last few days have flown by. In between teaching and coaching, I’ve been putting plans in place for Friday. When I called to tell my parents about the wedding, after my mom stopped crying, she told me she always knew I’d do something like this.
“Once you put your mind to something, you do it! No questions asked. When you wanted to learn how to ride a bike, you went out on the driveway with a helmet and kneepads and kept right on trying until you were pedaling right past all the other kids in the neighborhood.”
They wanted to drive down for the ceremony, but they couldn’t get off work on such short notice, so instead, I told them I’d keep my phone on in my shirt pocket so they could hear the whole thing.
They’re on the phone now.
I tip my chin down. “Testing, testing. Can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear!” my dad shouts back.
I get an amused look from the rabbi.
It’s 4:45 PM. The rabbi and I are at the museum, standing in the antechamber where guests wait for the next star show inside the planetarium. The tall ceiling is domed and lit up like the night sky. Even still, the room is pretty dark and crowded. I’ll have a hard time seeing Sam. She really is small.
“Is she there yet?” my mom asks.
“No.”
“Describe her to us when you see her!” she insists.
It feels like I’ve been waiting forever. I really shouldn’t have arrived so early, but I wanted to scout out the area and make sure everything was set. After that, I went to the bathroom…found a snack…wandered around the museum.
I’ve lost track of how long I’ve stood here, and I don’t want to check my phone again. If it’s after 4:50 and Sam isn’t here, I don’t want to know. As it is, I’m still hopeful that she’ll come.
Another group of guests funnel into the planetarium and more people take their place. The rabbi shifts on his feet and I think he’s annoyed with me for making him wait so long, but then I glance over and he offers me a pitying half-smile.
“Sweetie, is she there yet?” my mom asks.
“You’re supposed to be listening, not talking. I’m going to hang up on you guys if you ask me again.”
I’m sweating now. I can’t believe Sam is going to stand me up on our wedding day. This wasn’t supposed to happen. We were supposed to be wild and crazy. I don’t want to give her a boring love story. For us, there are a million stars and a rabbi and a room full of screaming kids. It fits us better than any chapel could.
I catch myself pleading in my head, Please come, Sam. Please come.
Maybe I should have called her on my way here, just to see where her head was at, but I intentionally gave her distance. I didn’t want to influence her decision. I didn’t want her to feel bad if she’d changed her mind about going through with this.
Sam needs space and time to adjust to things. The last 72 hours have probably been terrible for her. I imagine her pacing in that apartment and pulling out her hair. I wouldn’t be surprised if she shows up completely bald—if she shows up.
Shit.
Now I’m second-guessing myself. This was so stupid. What was I thinking suggesting we get married? We can find new jobs. We can go back to being just friends if it means I get to keep Sam in my life. I’ll keep my hands and my thoughts to myself. If she doesn’t want to be with me, I can accept that. Losing Sam altogether though? No. There’s not a fate worse than that.
A small horde of children scream and run away from their chaperones near the entrance to the antechamber and then right behind them, in walks Sam.
Holy…
The air rushes out of my chest. A wave of goose bumps cascade down my body. I have to resist the urge to clutch my hand over my heart.
“Ian! Why are you breathing hard! Are you having a heart attack or is she there?!”
“Both.”
“How does she look?”
“She…her…I think…”
My mom is exasperated with my lack of brain-to-mouth connection. My synapses have all disappeared.
“What is she wearing?!”
Sam and I lock eyes from across the room and she freezes when she sees me. There’s worry there—worry and amusement. She presses her lips together to hide her smile. Her head tips to the side and she shrugs like, Yup, I’m here, even though this is absolutely insane.
I’ve cried twice in my adult life. The first was when I fractured my tibia during an intramural soccer game. It was so painful, I passed out. This is the second time. I’m a complete schmuck as I watch her start to walk toward me. She doesn’t have a clear path. She has to veer around kids who are running wild and adults who completely miss her. One lady steps back and nearly topples into her before apologizing.
“IAN!” my mom shouts, desperate. “What is she wearing?!”
I scan down her body. “A white dress…lace.”
“Poofy?”
“Straight.”
I’m not sure how she managed to find it so quickly, but it looks like it was made just for her. The top of the dress is fitted and the V-neck dips down across her chest, her creamy skin glowing under the night sky. The bottom half flows around her legs as she walks.
“Thanks. Did Mom send you?” I ask, bringing him a glass of water.
He accepts it and nods. “She wanted to make sure you were okay after the other night. Also, she wants her plates back.”
His teasing smile surprises me and I laugh.
“Right, well, you can have the plates, but if you’re going to try to talk me out of marrying Ian, you shouldn’t bother.”
He sips his water then places it on a coaster on the coffee table. “I’m not.”
“Oh,” I say hesitantly.
“But I’m going to tell you something, and I want you to listen.” He turns to me, his hands on his hips. He suddenly looks like a formidable opponent, and I wonder if this is what he looks like in a court of law. “Marriage is not something you should enter into lightly. Your mom and I were in love when we got married. We’ve been together for over 30 years now, and there have still been a lot of hard times.”
This is news to me—they’ve always seemed perfect.
“I know it seems exciting right now, but there will be trials down the road, and if you don’t start with a solid foundation, it’s going to make it ten times harder to weather the storms.”
“I’ve thought about all this.”
His brow arches with interest. “And you still think you’re making the right decision?”
There’s no point in lying, so I sidestep his question. “Has Mom come around to the idea?”
I take a seat on the couch and he joins me.
“Afraid not. She’s still crying about the fact that you won’t be wearing her grandmother’s dress or getting married at the church.”
I lean my head back against the cushion and smile, thinking back to the monstrosity hanging in one of the upstairs closets back at the house. “I wouldn’t wear that dress even if I was having a traditional wedding.”
He leans his head beside mine and we stare up at the ceiling together. “That’s what I told her.”
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“I could be making a huge mistake.”
“You could be.”
“Or I could be making the best decision of my life.”
He nods thoughtfully. “Who’s to say?”
I glance down and see a folded blue handkerchief in his hand. It’s the one I remember him wearing when I was a kid. He’d fold it into a neat square and stuff it into the front pocket of his suits. His initials are embroidered on the bottom corner, and when he notices me staring at it, he opens his palm.
“Something old, borrowed, and blue.” He offers it to me. “Best I could do on short notice.”
20
I A N
I found our officiant on Craigslist. He’s technically a rabbi, but when I explained our situation, he agreed to marry Sam and me in the museum. Fine by me. I don’t really care how we get married. If we somehow get converted to Judaism in the process, so be it. Shabbat shalom.
The last few days have flown by. In between teaching and coaching, I’ve been putting plans in place for Friday. When I called to tell my parents about the wedding, after my mom stopped crying, she told me she always knew I’d do something like this.
“Once you put your mind to something, you do it! No questions asked. When you wanted to learn how to ride a bike, you went out on the driveway with a helmet and kneepads and kept right on trying until you were pedaling right past all the other kids in the neighborhood.”
They wanted to drive down for the ceremony, but they couldn’t get off work on such short notice, so instead, I told them I’d keep my phone on in my shirt pocket so they could hear the whole thing.
They’re on the phone now.
I tip my chin down. “Testing, testing. Can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear!” my dad shouts back.
I get an amused look from the rabbi.
It’s 4:45 PM. The rabbi and I are at the museum, standing in the antechamber where guests wait for the next star show inside the planetarium. The tall ceiling is domed and lit up like the night sky. Even still, the room is pretty dark and crowded. I’ll have a hard time seeing Sam. She really is small.
“Is she there yet?” my mom asks.
“No.”
“Describe her to us when you see her!” she insists.
It feels like I’ve been waiting forever. I really shouldn’t have arrived so early, but I wanted to scout out the area and make sure everything was set. After that, I went to the bathroom…found a snack…wandered around the museum.
I’ve lost track of how long I’ve stood here, and I don’t want to check my phone again. If it’s after 4:50 and Sam isn’t here, I don’t want to know. As it is, I’m still hopeful that she’ll come.
Another group of guests funnel into the planetarium and more people take their place. The rabbi shifts on his feet and I think he’s annoyed with me for making him wait so long, but then I glance over and he offers me a pitying half-smile.
“Sweetie, is she there yet?” my mom asks.
“You’re supposed to be listening, not talking. I’m going to hang up on you guys if you ask me again.”
I’m sweating now. I can’t believe Sam is going to stand me up on our wedding day. This wasn’t supposed to happen. We were supposed to be wild and crazy. I don’t want to give her a boring love story. For us, there are a million stars and a rabbi and a room full of screaming kids. It fits us better than any chapel could.
I catch myself pleading in my head, Please come, Sam. Please come.
Maybe I should have called her on my way here, just to see where her head was at, but I intentionally gave her distance. I didn’t want to influence her decision. I didn’t want her to feel bad if she’d changed her mind about going through with this.
Sam needs space and time to adjust to things. The last 72 hours have probably been terrible for her. I imagine her pacing in that apartment and pulling out her hair. I wouldn’t be surprised if she shows up completely bald—if she shows up.
Shit.
Now I’m second-guessing myself. This was so stupid. What was I thinking suggesting we get married? We can find new jobs. We can go back to being just friends if it means I get to keep Sam in my life. I’ll keep my hands and my thoughts to myself. If she doesn’t want to be with me, I can accept that. Losing Sam altogether though? No. There’s not a fate worse than that.
A small horde of children scream and run away from their chaperones near the entrance to the antechamber and then right behind them, in walks Sam.
Holy…
The air rushes out of my chest. A wave of goose bumps cascade down my body. I have to resist the urge to clutch my hand over my heart.
“Ian! Why are you breathing hard! Are you having a heart attack or is she there?!”
“Both.”
“How does she look?”
“She…her…I think…”
My mom is exasperated with my lack of brain-to-mouth connection. My synapses have all disappeared.
“What is she wearing?!”
Sam and I lock eyes from across the room and she freezes when she sees me. There’s worry there—worry and amusement. She presses her lips together to hide her smile. Her head tips to the side and she shrugs like, Yup, I’m here, even though this is absolutely insane.
I’ve cried twice in my adult life. The first was when I fractured my tibia during an intramural soccer game. It was so painful, I passed out. This is the second time. I’m a complete schmuck as I watch her start to walk toward me. She doesn’t have a clear path. She has to veer around kids who are running wild and adults who completely miss her. One lady steps back and nearly topples into her before apologizing.
“IAN!” my mom shouts, desperate. “What is she wearing?!”
I scan down her body. “A white dress…lace.”
“Poofy?”
“Straight.”
I’m not sure how she managed to find it so quickly, but it looks like it was made just for her. The top of the dress is fitted and the V-neck dips down across her chest, her creamy skin glowing under the night sky. The bottom half flows around her legs as she walks.
