Hi. Marry Me

by Kimberley Taylor

  “Right,” said Diana tightly. “Go on.”

  “Well, something you might not be aware of—in the app and technology industry, there is immense pressure to…update. To reinvent. To out-do your competition, which invariably includes your past self. Just creating one of the most successful dating agencies on the planet wasn’t enough. I had to imagine up something to surpass that success. And so I did.

  “I stayed up late at night, I covered entire chalkboards with ramblings, I chewed the ears off my mentors—and I fine-tuned my algorithm. And then, finally, I had it. LoveMatches 2.0 was going to be a marriage-generating service. Thousands and thousands of men and women—here in New York, certainly, but the world over—wish they could skip the dating step. It’s a lot of work, you know—hardly surprising that people want to bypass it—especially with the usual dating rate of success, which is close to nil. In my updated app, people would enter their information, the algorithm would pair them off with the person most statistically promised to generate the longest, happiest marriage—and they would get married. Simple as 1-2-3, was the slogan. We even established a connection with the marriage courts of the city so that people could accelerate their union via the website. We were going to redefine marriage, Diana.

  “And there was immense interest. Donors flipped for it. The general public waited with bated breath for the beta to drop. We threw parties in advance of the launch.

  “And then—we opened the doors for the beta and thousands of people signed up but no one got married. They met their matches, sure, they expressed interest but no one wanted to go first.”

  Diana could see where this was going. “So you offered to go first.”

  “No one better than I, right? It’s my company, I’d better be ready to put my life behind it. So I did. A few days ago I signed up for the service and, from the sound of it—”

  “I did, too,” said Diana.

  “Yep, that’s where you come in,” said Tony, half-smiling. “I saw that we'd matched and I went out and bought a ring.”

  He gestured to the ring-box still standing open on the cocktail table. Diana swallowed looking at it, and then turned back.

  “Simple as that,” she said.

  “Yes,” said Tony. “And I stand by it—ridiculous though I know it seems.”

  “Stand by what, precisely?” Diana took another sip of bourbon.

  “That you and I would do well together.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m deadly serious,” said Tony. “I stand by my algorithm. I think you and I stand a higher-than-average chance of having a very happy, long, and healthy marriage.”

  “Well,” said Diana. “Thanks, I suppose.”

  “What’s your misgiving?”

  Diana smiled. “I don’t know you well enough to have any specific misgivings.”

  “Ah, but you see, that’s kind of the point, isn’t it? Think about the old days, when arranged marriages were de rigeur: did they work, then? Of course they did. Because expectations were lower and distractions were fewer and the idea of love was quite different. Were they happy? For the most part, yes. Were they perfect? No, of course not. But modern-day marriage isn’t perfect, either, and we have a much, much higher divorce and infidelity rate.”

  Diana was quiet for a moment. “I can tell you have enough trivia, factoids, and statistics to make your case all day.”

  “I do.”

  “Well, that’s not very convincing,” she said, smiling. “I suspect that’s why no one actually got married off your beta. It’s a very strong logical case. But people—nowadays—don’t get married from strictly logical cases, do they? For example, you’ve done a fantastic job telling me why arranged marriages, in general, in the abstract, work out swimmingly. But you haven’t touched on the reasons why I specifically would want to go through with this.”

  “Do you want me to bribe you?” Tony looked confused. “I’m quite a wealthy man, and, of course, if we were married, all that's mine would be yours—“

  “I don’t want to be bribed, you idiot,” said Diana. She paused. “Although, you know, that’s nice to know. No—why on earth should I give up my comfortable, single life, and shackle myself to a relative stranger? Because that’s what you’re asking me to do.”

  “Propagation of the species?”

  “Pick another reason.”

  “Myriad studies show that people who are married live longer, have safer lives—”

  “Are you listening to anything I’m saying?”

  Tony looked at her for a moment and then closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the couch.

  “I think that you should marry me,” he said, “Because I don’t think that your life as a single woman is as comfortable as you say it is. Why would you have signed up for a dating service otherwise? And I did my homework, Diana, I saw that you’ve signed up for—and deactivated—almost every other dating service out there. I imagine that for years you’ve gone on unsuccessful dates. I think that your friends are getting married around you, while you grow older—and more beautiful every day, might I add,” he said, with a sad but comforting smile, “and I think you wonder nightly if your chance for love, happiness, and romance has drifted by you while you were concentrating on other things.”

  Diana was quiet.

  Tony turned towards her. “Diana, I can offer you security. I can offer you permanency. Don’t think of my fortune as money—think of a future of financial stability, wherein you don’t have to wonder how you’re going to make rent each month. Think of our marriage—if you agree to it—as relief from having to attend weddings and cry in the bathroom, wondering if you’ll ever get to wear a white dress. If you say yes, Diana, you’ll never have to chew your dinners-for-one in front of the TV while wondering what you would do if you choked to death by yourself. I just think—consider it.”

  At this point the door opened and their food came in. Tony had ordered a plate of plain burgers. A second waiter came in a moment later with another platter carrying every type of sauce, vegetable, or topping imaginable. There were even lettuce leaves to be used in place of buns, and a baked chicken patty.

  Tony looked at Diana sheepishly once the waiter had left. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I just got a little of everything,” he said. “If you want a salad or something—“

  “No, no,” said Diana. She knelt on the floor next to the coffee table and began to pile bacon and Swiss cheese, artichokes and Dijon on a sourdough bun. Tony knelt next to her and selected a pretzel bun, which he topped with blue cheese, Endive, potato chips, and bacon before adding his burger. They sat and ate in companionable silence for a moment as Diana’s mind raced.

  “Bacon on our burgers,” said Diana. “That’s something we have in common.”

  Tony nodded at this, and silence reigned once more.

  “Question,” said Diana after a few more minutes. “If we get married—it’s a for-real marriage, is it? Not like the engagement and marriages presented on reality TV shows like The Bachelor. We’d be really and truly husband and wife? For the rest of our lives?”

  “That’s the idea,” said Tony. “Of course, if something catastrophic happens later on, divorce is always an option—just as it always is with every other marriage. Though, I’d have to tell you, because of our specific situation—the first couple to use LoveMatches and get married, if we do, the fact that I’m the founder, that I’m relatively well-known…I believe the spotlight would be on us for a while. Not forever. But for, say, the first few years of our marriage, our relationship would be rather a public one.”

  “And the success of your company would depend upon our happiness.”

  “To a certain extent.”

  “A large extent.”

  “Okay,” said Tony. “Yes, then. Not to put too fine a point on it.”

  Diana finished her burger and looked up at Tony. “You’re right, you know. I’m lonely and I’m sad about
it. I’m frustrated that life is taking this long to kick in for me, and I’m tired of watching my friends get married and start families. I’m tired of feeling like I’m living the lifestyle of a teenager because I’m putting my life on hold until I meet my soulmate, whatever that means. I—I could think of worse things than an arranged marriage.”

  “I imagine you’ve imagined worse for many years now.”

  “I have,” said Diana. She looked up at Tony sharply. “I’m not saying yes—but if I did, what would the next step be?”

  “Well,” said Tony. He got up and grabbed the ring-box from the other table. “I’d put this ring on your finger, and you’d have to start doing arm-exercises to be able to properly carry it. We’d get married, quickly and quietly, at the courthouse later this week. Or, if you’re religious, in a small, private ceremony as soon as possible. We wouldn’t want people finding out about it and showing up as uninvited guests. We’d then go on some sort of honeymoon—I could take you anywhere in the world you wanted to go—and, from that remote location, we’d break the news.

  “After that, we’d, for the most part, just get on with our lives. We’d be living together, of course. I live in a very small, messy apartment, so we’d probably buy something new together, unless your place suits.”

  Diana shuddered.

  “We’d buy something that we both liked, then, and then…you know. Live. Be married. Be happy. Get to know each other.”

  “And promote your company.”

  “Only by doing what comes naturally.” Tony winced. “I didn’t mean—just, we’d advertise by being happily married.”

  “Okay,” said Diana.

  “Do you mean—“ Tony stared at her.

  Diana took a deep breath, turned to look at him, and then said it again. “Okay.”

  “As in—as in—“

  “As in,” said Diana, “I think you’d better hand over that ring.”

  Chapter 5

  The next day they were married. Tony invited Danny to the courthouse. Diana brought one of the teachers from her school to accompany her on her lunch break. With a signature they were wed, with a quick peck on the cheek they left; and, soon, Diana was on her way back to school with a ring in her pocket and a whirling memory of saying ‘I do’ being the only clues she had that she'd just become a wife.

  Her students suffered their second day of mechanical teaching in a row. Diana led them through a Chemistry version of Jeopardy! in which she played most of the cues wrong because she was having a hard time paying attention. She forgot which subject she was supposed to be teaching during which hour, and there was far less pep in her step than she usually prided herself on having.

  She was married.

  When she checked her phone immediately after the last class let out, she had two sets of text messages. One was the long string of conversation omnipresent in the bridesmaids’ group chat for Joy’s wedding. The bachelorette having successfully been completed, the next thing they were planning was a wedding dress try-on, with buckets of champagne and white chocolate in tow. Next weekend, they were wondering? Without thinking too much about it, Diana checked her calendar and then typed that she was in.

  She turned her attention to the other text.

  It was a message from “Tony”—she hadn’t bothered putting in his last name—with an address. I’ll be there around 6p—we should talk logistics.

  Diana blinked at this. And then the sky, metaphorically speaking, opened up around her. ‘Logistics’ as in figure out what they were doing with their lives. Here she was, suddenly shackled to another—she had plans for the evening, now, that she didn’t remember having made—she didn’t even know where she was sleeping tonight. She quailed at the thought of sharing a bed with Tony. It just felt so—abrupt.

  She picked up her things and began the short walk home, musing. Should she pack up her place? They'd both admitted that neither of their places was suitable for their married home.

  It was the oddest thing; she felt as if she were narrating a book about someone else’s life. None of this had sunk in yet.

  She wasn’t even wearing her rings. She looked down at her left hand, pulled the engagement ring and marriage circlet out of her bag and slipped them on. Her hand felt weighed down—oddly heavy. She felt as if people were staring—which they weren’t. She walked, briskly, to her own apartment and shut the door behind her.

  She looked over the room carefully—mercurially. She had to make some decisions today. Her twin bed, sheets, and coverlet could probably be donated. Diana flipped through the clothing in her closet. If she was to play the part—or, rather, actually be—a billionaire’s wife, then much of what was in there wouldn’t be appropriate. She could keep a few of the things she really liked and purchase the rest. In fact, most of what was in this room were items she didn’t feel that much of a connection towards and would feel out of place in a more opulent setting.

  Not that she imagined that she and Tony would be purchasing a mansion, she thought. But a lot of these things seemed—not marriage material? But literally. The grungy side-table she’d picked up off the street and used as a place for her bedside clock and vitamins didn’t have to follow her to their new place, whatever it would be, wherever it was.

  She sank down on the bed. A billionaire’s wife—that’s what she was.

  Diana had a thought. Would she even continue working? Or would she—she didn’t know—philanthropize and party-plan?

  She laid down.

  She wasn’t much of a cook. Would they have a cook? Or would he be okay subsisting on takeout and macaroni and cheese?

  What had she gotten herself into?

  She checked her watch and sat upright. In ten minutes Tony would be at his apartment—for all she knew, having a similar whirlwind of thoughts. Diana picked around her room, selecting a small knapsack’s worth of sentimental items and clothing, then threw it on her back and headed out the front door.

  *****

  Tony’s place wasn’t that far away, just a few blocks closer to downtown. She identified herself to the doorman as Diana Rohr before briefly having a panic attack about names. Was she Diana Miran, now? The doorman had been told to expect her, fortunately. She silently made a mental note to thank Tony for this. He was, it seemed, doing as much as he could to ease her transition. Diana bit her lip. He had to be having a rough time himself—at least on some nominal level. She had to remember that she was married now and that there were two sets of feelings to consider. This felt relatively alien. She'd spent so much of her life fending exclusively for herself.

  She got into the elevator and checked her texts again. She pressed the button for Tony’s floor. It notably wasn’t the Penthouse. Diana felt a bit of relief. Tony, billionaire though he was, didn’t have much of the intimidation factor she'd been dreading. He felt like a normal guy, once you got past the hyper-recognizable face, once you decided to forget that he was probably a genius. He was just a normal guy. A normal guy with so much money that it may as well have been an infinite stash.

  Diana swallowed. The doors of the elevator opened. Diana made her way down the hall to the number Tony had indicated in his text, and knocked on the door three times.

  There was no answer.

  She knocked again—again, no answer—and then, hesitating, reached for the doorknob. It swiveled, the door turned inward, and she stepped into the apartment, effectively letting herself in.

  Well, she thought. That was a wife thing. Check.

  “Hello,” she called. “Hello?”

  “Oh, in here.” She heard a male voice call. She smiled. She didn’t even effectively recognize her own husband’s voice as of yet. It didn’t help that he had many of them. He seemed to speak with different pitches and accents as went the time of day. It startled her to realize that she didn’t know whether that was an affectation or a result of growing up in exotic locales. She didn’t know if he'd grown up anywhere other than Manhattan. She swa
llowed and followed the sound of his voice.

  “Hey, Tony,” she called out, trying to sound somewhat normal. “I’m—here.” She carefully avoided saying home.

  “Good, great, welcome,” said Tony, ducking out of a doorway. He was wearing another white tee and dark jeans. Diana wondered if he was one of those prodigies who established a uniform and stuck to it, like Steve Jobs.

  “Hey,” she said, wondering whether to give him a hug or a handshake. He nodded at her and then leaned against a table with his arms folded across his chest. After a moment, so did Diana.

  “So,” Tony said. “This is my place.”

  “I see,” said Diana, turning slightly on the spot. It was a modest place, but clean. There was a couch and a TV and a dining table, all before a very small kitchen. The room from which he'd come had to be the bedroom, Diana deduced, and another small door had to lead to the bathroom—Diana caught a glimpse of tile. Respectable but small, she decided. And she flushed when she thought of her own place with clothes strewn everywhere and its fridge full of expired food. She’d have to make a point of not inviting him over, she thought. Not for any reason. Or perhaps just to call a junk service first.

  “It’s nice,” said Diana. “Very clean.”

  “I know it’s not fantastic,” said Tony. “But it’s home. And, as I said, we can pick something else out.”

  How effortlessly he said ‘pick something else out’—as if buying a home weren’t something couples usually discussed for months and years, scrimping their way towards a down payment. Diana tried to match this level of blasé.

  “Fine for now,” she said, coolly. “But, yes, we should look at other options.”

  “Soon,” he said. “This weekend. In the meantime—well, you’re welcome to stay here. Or at your place. Or—”

  “Let’s see how the next few hours go,” said Diana awkwardly.

  “Sure,” said Tony. He looked at her carefully. “I was thinking about ordering in a pizza. You in? We could open a bottle of wine and talk. Hammer some things out, you know.”