Imperfect Match

by Jordan Castillo Price

  Lee thought he’d never bring himself to watch, but it turned out that he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Emma closed her eyes, and Howard did, too. They didn’t press up against one another, not like Lee had with Roman, but there were yards of tulle and a massive bouquet between them. And although there was no groping, no tongues, it still felt wrong that such an intimate display would happen in public.

  The kiss was over in less than a second, but in that fleeting moment, years of suppressed emotions flooded through Lee. Mourning over the loss of the relationship he’d shared with Emma mingled with the sadness that things would never be the same. But mostly distress over the knowledge that he couldn’t possibly bring himself to do what Emma had just done, to allow a nameless, faceless, soulless Algorithm to select a match for him that he could never love.

  Emma turned to face the cheering audience. If she was crying, Lee knew, he’d never be able to contain himself. But, no. Emma was smiling. Not in happiness, not exactly. More like a triumphant display of determination, and possibly relief.

  He wasn’t close enough to Emma in the reception line to speak with to her, and maybe that was for the best, since he had no idea what to say. His whole body felt numb. He went through the motions, shaking hands, thanking guests, and occasionally glancing across at Howard’s younger sister, who looked even more bored and vacant than she had at the rehearsal dinner.

  It wasn’t until the clatter of a dropped chafing dish startled him that Lee realized he’d soon have more pressing matters on his mind. He gave his third cousin a distracted handshake while searching for that familiar black silhouette. Nearly all the men were in black—it was a formal occasion, after all—but no one else carried himself like Roman, with that all-shoulders gait, striding purposefully as if to lead a charge into enemy territory.

  Lee continued to cycle through the empty greetings, Happiness and hope—thanks for coming—me? Not yet, I’m still in school. And by the time he’d repeated the words so many times they no longer sounded like words, by the time he’d spotted several other servers many times over, Roman was still nowhere to be seen. Eventually, when all the guests had been greeted and people began to find their seats, Lee slipped away from his family and made his way toward the kitchen.

  Now that it was full of food trays and caterers, it looked nothing like the dim stainless steel warren in which he’d first pressed his lips to Roman’s. The workers all looked up, only curious at first, until someone muttered, “That’s the brother,” and they all began working more briskly.

  Lee wanted to tell them to just act like he wasn’t there, but that would be useless. He was a Boomer, after all. And at least for tonight, they were employed by his family. So was Roman. If Lee felt awkward before, now that he realized how the workers perceived him, he was mortified. He turned on his heel and slunk back to his place at the main table. He wasn’t sure what he’d wanted to say anyhow. Just that he wanted so badly to see the man he’d spent the night with, to reassure himself the encounter had actually happened, it was impossible to think of anything else.

  Once the guests made their way to their tables and the salads were served, Lee finally spotted Roman at a table where Mom’s boss and his wife sat with their neighbors and some college friends of Dad’s. Roman didn’t see Lee. Of course he didn’t. He was busy making sure he didn’t drop croutons on anybody.

  The teenager across from Lee gave a belabored sigh, and began meticulously separating carrot shreds from the lettuce. Lee didn’t mean to stare, but since Roman was no longer circulating through the room, there was nothing better to look at. The girl—his sister-in-law—took his observation for interest, and announced, “I’m so sick of weddings.”

  A simple enough statement, but it had Lee puzzled. Just as no one had ever told him they wanted fewer vacation days, or less dessert, no one had ever told him they were sick of weddings. “How come?”

  “What do you care?”

  Lee shrugged. “Just curious.”

  “They’re all the same. Poofy white dress. Lame wedding band. Ugly rental hall. Stringy broiled chicken. And the Notary getting wasted on the open bar. It’s the bride’s day, that’s what they all say, so why should I have to dress up like I think I’m some fairy princess? Mom says I should support some new local talent, but I think I’d rather design my own gown. And my colors will be red and black. Or silver and black. Or no, wait, transparent and black, and I can have stripes of clear vinyl running through the fabric. Yeah. That’d be totally cool. And my father can keep his raw squab—and his business partners too. That’s what it’s all about for him. Looking to impress those stuffed shirts by doing everything traditional. But not me. I’d serve nothing but sturgeon roe and pale champagne decorated with clouds of squid ink, and sign our license at midnight.”

  Lee had never once imagined a single detail from his own wedding. Maybe, at one time, he would have presumed it was because weddings were the bride’s day and he was the groom. Now, though….

  “So, why aren’t you married yet?” the girl asked.

  The answer came easily—he’d given it so many times that night, he lost count. “I’m still in school.”

  “Why? Did you fail a bunch of grades?”

  “No, nothing like that. I’m studying language, and it’s complicated. Subtle. It would be a shame to cram it all into a few years.”

  “If you say so.” The girl scraped away as much dressing as she could, ate a single lettuce wedge, then abandoned the salad entirely.

  Servers streamed out from the kitchen to clear the salad course and begin serving the ubiquitous banquet chicken, which undoubtedly would be stringy. Lee caught another glimpse of Roman placing an entree on the table while the guests paid him as much attention as they might a piece of furniture. How could they possibly fail to notice him? To Lee’s eyes, it was as if everyone else in the room looked vague and muted, while Roman was strikingly clear.

  While his sister-in-law weighed the merits of black dahlias versus black lilies, Lee watched Roman maneuvering through the crowd, cool and calm, intriguingly alert. If he hoped to skirt around his awkward behavior in the cafe (let alone his awkward behavior in bed) he now realized it was useless to try and gloss anything over. Roman saw everything. Probably more clearly than Lee did, himself.

  While most of him wanted to crawl away and die, a more insistent part yearned for Roman so strongly, it was impossible to stop staring. Being known in the stark nakedness of his reality would be excruciating. But letting Roman slip through his fingers was unthinkable.

  Lee watched the servers cycle through the tables, noting the pattern of their clearing and serving. There would be a lull in which the guests could work on their entrees. No one was in a hurry, since the longer people filled time eating dinner, the less they’d ultimately drink. During that lull, Lee excused himself. If anyone noticed him heading for a restroom that was illogically far from his table, no one mentioned it. And it put him in just the right position to find Roman on his way to clearing the tables. Lee plucked at his sleeve and lured him into a dim hallway, only then realizing he was unsure what to say. “Hi.”

  Roman paused for an uncomfortably long moment, then said, “Hi.”

  “I tried to find you earlier. I wanted to…I thought we’d have more of a chance to talk.” Not only were words failing him, but Lee had no idea what to do with his hands, either.

  He caught Roman’s wrist, but only for a moment, before Roman pulled away and glanced toward the kitchen door, where servers were still filing out. “Probably not the best place.”

  “You’re working,” Lee said. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  Roman cocked his head. “I’m not the one who needs to worry. My worst-case scenario is that the boss chews me out for slacking off. I’m talking about you.” If it was a violation of etiquette to leave the table, Lee was unaware of it. He was about to say so when Roman leaned in and murmured, “Do you really want your entire social circle to see you putting the make on a Tax Rat—anot
her guy, no less? Your school excuse is wearing thin enough as it is. Best not push it.”

  Lee didn’t know which was worse, the ugly slur, or the idea that anything sexual would be insinuated based on the fact that they were talking together. Either way, he wasn’t about to let Roman slip away without a fight. Roman attempted to veer around him and escape into the stream of waitstaff, but Lee backed him into the wall. “Look—after tonight, who knows when I’ll see you again? I should’ve just listened to you at the diner and let you buy me breakfast, and I’m sorry. I came off like a stuck-up Boomer. But only because I cared so much about what you thought of me.”

  Roman gave Lee long, assessing look, and maybe, just maybe, a ghost of a smile. Hopefully that’s what it was, and not a trick of the lighting and a heaping helping of wishful thinking.

  “Give me another chance,” Lee said.

  A few feet away, the bathroom door opened. Lee’s great uncle tottered out, a venerable, leathery man who’d outlived his father’s aunt by two decades. He gave Lee a myopic nod, fumbling with his fly. Roman straightened and said to Lee, “Certainly, sir, I’ll see to table twelve right away.”

  The old man wandered by as if Roman was invisible. When he was gone, they both let out a breath. “Was that really necessary?” Lee muttered.

  “Bulletproof, or naive. I can’t quite decide.” Either way, it seemed a step up from pitying and ignorant.

  A pair of servers emerged from the kitchen laughing. They did a double-take at Lee and quelled the laughter immediately. Lee barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. “Please,” he said softly. “Let’s try again.”

  “As much as I’d relish the chance to give you a more satisfying repeat performance, I’m thinking that’s not the best idea.” Before Lee could attempt to persuade him otherwise, Roman slipped off to a table where second cousins made polite conversation with Dad’s coworkers, and began to clear away plates of half-eaten chicken.

  Lee got back to his own table just as the server was taking away his untouched plate. Just as well. He was so crushed, he couldn’t have forced anything down if he tried. His sister-in-law watched with a slightly curled lip. When the server turned to go, she said, “And I’d hire good-looking local waiters for my wedding. Not these scuzzy District thugs.”

  She was only a dumb teenager—and still, Lee hoped the server hadn’t heard. Despite the fact that he hadn’t been the one to voice the opinion, he was still sitting at the same table with this obnoxious little twit. Not serving her.

  “Or I could just stay in school,” she said, “like you. That would show my dad a thing or two.”

  Lee was so busy trying to pick Roman out from a cluster of waiters near the kitchen, he almost let the remark slip past. But something about her inflection snagged his attention. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re thirty, aren’t you?” She gave Lee a look so filled with “duh” she might as well have shouted the word over the listless cover song the wedding band was wrapping up. “That’s when tuition kicks in.”

  “Lee.” Mom stood behind him now, shaking him by the shoulder. “It’s time.”

  He tore himself from his plans and looked up at her, blinking. Time for what?

  Oh no. The speech.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  FROM THE STAGE, the banquet hall looked nothing at all like it had the morning before. Then again, Lee could say the same for pretty much everything. Those weird little stickers were a secret code. The District residents despised him for merely existing. And the people he was supposed to fit in with were insufferable.

  Filled with dread that was increasing by the second, Lee approached the microphone. He’d practiced nothing. Written nothing. He’d spend years studying language, and here he was, at the most important occasion in Emma’s life, at a loss for words.

  People want to get a look at the spouse so they can gossip later, and they wanna get plowed. Get your new brother-in-law’s name right and you can say just about anything.

  Right.

  “Happiness and hope,” Lee began, and before he could welcome the guests and thank them for coming—and prove that he damn well knew Howard’s name—it occurred to him that maybe how are you would have been more appropriate for the occasion. Because happiness was phenomenally subjective. The status quo was popular for a reason: most people wanted a traditional wedding with a white gown, an inoffensive band, banquet chicken and an open bar. And maybe some people did want squid ink in their champagne. Lee might have thought it was all simply a ploy for attention, but it would be hypocritical to think that he knew what was better for someone else. After all, for some people, for him, happiness meant not marrying at all.

  “Of course, I wish you all happiness and hope. What kind of monster would I be if I didn’t?” Nervous laughter rippled through the crowd. “But have you ever thought about why we say it? People used to simply greet each other with hello—and out in the rural districts, some still do. And the etymology is actually somewhat disturbing. Hello is an alteration of the word holla, which means stop, cease. Blunt, maybe, but sweet and to the point, and not problematic in itself. Except that holla was mainly used to hail a ferryman.” And after the antibiotic-immune strain of yersinia pestis swept the world, well, hailing the ferryman was something people tended to avoid.

  Lee glanced up. Most of the facial expressions he could identify looked befuddled. He assured himself it meant his family and friends were interested in what he had to say.

  “Happiness and hope was actually the Purity Party’s final campaign slogan, before the party system was disbanded altogether so the government could focus its resources on providing health care and rebuilding the population. Maybe people don’t think much about politics anymore, but the legacy remains. Happiness and hope.”

  Lee had been taught that it was best to pick out one person at a time when lecturing and focus on them. He saw his neighbor from across the street, a young mother who’d always been friendly. Her mouth was slightly open, her brows twisted together. He shifted his focus to his uncle, who frowned.

  “What is happiness, really? When we wish one another happiness, do we want them to have rewarding work? Or an engaging hobby? Or a compatible spouse? Many of us don’t really know. The word happiness is so subjective, it’s rare that when we offer it up in greeting, we’re thinking of anything specific, or really, anything at all. The meaning is lost. The sentiment is empty.”

  The hairs on the back of Lee’s neck prickled, and he could no longer deny that everyone in the room was staring at him in a mute, dumbfounded confusion. All but one, a lanky server in black who was leaning on the far wall, head cocked, arms crossed, elbows jutting to either side, and his shrewd eyes fixed on Lee.

  Well. At least someone understands me.

  Lee was unable to look away, and words failed him. Roman shook his head slowly and smiled a melancholy smile. Maybe the real trouble with happiness was that it was so elusive. But before he could say so and plunge the wedding guests deeper into confusion, Roman made a drinking gesture that pulled him from his introspection enough to try and wrap things up.

  Lee turned to address his sister directly. “Emma, it’s not for me to dictate what will make you happy. I hope you have exactly the life you want, whether that involves a new composite house in the Benefit Sector with Howard where you have a boy and a girl and a nine-to-five-job with good benefits, or…anything else your heart desires. I wish you every happiness, and should you ever be faced with hardship, a deep and abiding hope.”

  The guests gave a collective sigh of relief and tipped back their champagne flutes. As Lee made his way back to his seat, he noticed that Howard’s father seemed annoyed, and Mom was looking at him strangely. Emma caught his sleeve and murmured, “You’re such a character. I’ll miss sharing a wall with you.”

  “I’ll bet no one thought they’d be getting an education,” Howard said. Not dismissively, either. He’d settled his hand atop Emma’s, and he actually did look h
appy enough. Maybe he wouldn’t turn out to be so bad after all. Lee could always hope.

  * * *

  For once, Lee noticed, his knees weren’t up around his ears in the cramped backseat. It should have felt luxurious to spread himself out. It didn’t. His hand dropped to the cushion. Normally it would brush up against Emma’s. Now there was nothing there to touch, just an empty space.

  Lee’s stomach churned from too little food and too much vodka. Dad was busy seeing if he could name all the songs the wedding band had covered while Mom focused on driving. Even after they locked on to the highway, she fixed her eyes on the road and said nothing.

  It was late by the time they got home. Lee supposed it had been a long day for everyone, though for him it felt like an entire lifetime of revelations had occurred. And yet, he wasn’t tired, he was beyond tired. Numb. But not really. Although his environment felt as if it had been muffled, muted or swaddled, the dull ache in his gut permeated everything.

  He’d need to pick through his transcript and calculate exactly how many credits he had, and go over his courses to see if there was enough time to fail any of them. The notion of letting a semester of hard work go to waste didn’t appeal to him, but the thought of standing up in front of his family and kissing some poor faceless woman was downright distressing.

  Sleep eluded him. It was a few hours before dawn when he crept from his room to scour the recycling. Hopefully, he’d find a copy of last semester’s catalog to get a better idea of the cost of tuition and ramifications of dropping to part time. The house was so quiet, so utterly still, that he let out a yelp when he rounded the corner and found Mom sitting in the living room.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Lee,” she loud-whispered. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

  “Sorry.” So much for rummaging through the recycling. Unless he wanted to answer a bunch of questions about it, he’d be better off waiting until both his parents were at work. Instead he pretended he’d been heading for the kitchen. “Dehydrated.”