It was all so surreal, this idea of the wedding, even though it was far from a surprise. Beth and Ray had been dating since their sophomore year in high school, and pretty much “engaged-to-be-engaged” since the senior prom.
When Suzanne and Marci had begun preparations to move to Athens for college, Beth had opted to stay home and attend the local community college so she could be with Ray while he worked at his dad’s auto repair shop. When Ray had officially proposed by tying an engagement ring to an ornament shaped like a wrench last December, absolutely no one was surprised, and both families seemed to be celebrating the union without reservation.
“Huge mistake,” Marci said, and tossed the invitation aside.
Only Suzanne knew that Marci felt this way, and privately, they talked about how odd it was to be committing the rest of your life to someone before you were legally old enough to drink. Suzanne, however, always had a knack for taking a live and let live approach to friendship, while Marci felt more emotional about the whole thing.
Ever since the three of them had met in the sixth-grade cafeteria nearly a decade before, Marci had admired Beth’s combination of intelligence and practicality. She was the most centered and confident person Marci had ever met; she seemed removed somehow from all the awkwardness and struggles with identity that came with puberty. Marci had imagined Beth could do anything. She was gifted in math and science, and teachers always mentioned careers like astronaut, engineer, chemist, and doctor when Beth was around.
And then came Ray. He and Beth were partners in their sophomore biology lab, through which she naturally carried him. He was sweet and handsome and well-liked. He held the door for Beth whenever they walked together, no matter how crowded the hallway. When he brought her a cluster of daisies and a romantic mix tape after passing the biology final, Marci and Suzanne (and nearly every other fifteen-year-old girl within earshot) were overcome with jealousy. The two had been inseparable ever since.
Marci lit another cigarette and closed the book on the invitation. She sat back in the chair and watched the bikes and cars go back and forth in front of her. She knew she should be happy for Beth, but she couldn’t deny the thought that maybe someone with the potential to be an astronaut-engineer-chemist-doctor was wasting herself going to community college and becoming a mechanic’s wife.
She had sunken into a listless reverie, warmed by the sun and dangling the cigarette over the side of the chair, when someone sat abruptly in the chair across from hers. She looked up, shading her eyes. “Don’t let me wake you,” Jake said, propping his feet on the third chair at their table, pulling out a newspaper.
“Hey, stranger,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until next week.”
“Came back early for Frisbee practice,” he said.
“I thought the season was over?” She remembered going to a particularly raucous party at the team captain’s house after the last game, where there had been a keg of beer in every room, and she, Rebecca, and Suzanne been hit on by at least five guys apiece over the course of the evening.
“Yeah, but there are enough of us around this summer we decided to just play informally. We’re going to Auburn in a few weeks to scrimmage with those guys, so we wanted to at least get a couple of practices in first.”
She nodded and Jake picked up the paper, so she did the same with Anna Karenina. They read for a while in companionable silence, until he tossed the paper aside and downed the last of his iced coffee. He looked at her matter-of-factly. “Did you take the bus?” She had. “You want to come to practice with me? I can drop you at home after.”
Marci started to refuse, having promised herself she would get in a long walk this afternoon to counteract the cigarettes. The idea of returning to solitude, however, after just a few minutes of human contact in two weeks was not appealing. “Sure. What the hell?” She stood and tried to pull her shorts over the waffle pattern the iron chair had created on the back of her thighs.
Jake was in his Jeep, a rickety old navy blue contraption that seemed barely street legal to Marci, but that he loved and refused to give up despite his parents’ frequent offers to buy him the new car of his choice. They drove through campus and out to the intramural fields at breakneck speed. Marci was slightly afraid she would be tossed from the passenger seat at any moment, but also invigorated by the wind whipping through her hair and the perfect sunny day around them.
She sat on a little hill that rose next to the practice field where Jake and his team were tossing the Frisbee at incredible speeds and racing to outdo one another. For the first half hour, she kept up the pretense of reading her book, but in reality she found it nearly impossible to do anything but watch what was happening on the field. In part, this was a self-preservation measure, because she did have to duck more than once to avoid decapitation by spinning plastic.
There were also the minor dramas playing out in front of her that drew her attention. Two of the guys—who everyone called “Nads” and “Truck”— took every possible opportunity to argue about the rules of the game, throwing and catching techniques, strategy, and anything else they could think of. Both seemed to play leadership roles on the team and neither seemed satisfied with anything the other said or did.
Meanwhile, a few of the guys, like Jake, used the skirmishes as opportunities to make jokes and small talk at the opposite end of the field. Some seemed aware of Marci’s presence. She couldn’t help but notice that when the Frisbee came to the area of the field closest to her, there was a good deal more grunting, jumping, and tumbling to reach it. And lots of additional loud cussing when someone missed it.
Once she saw a couple of guys hanging around Jake at the far end of the field. Though she could not hear what was said, she thought they might be looking at her as they exchanged some sort of commentary and laughter. She felt self-conscious, and flashed back to being teased for her weight on the elementary school playground. She straightened her legs to hide her bare thighs, blushing furiously. But as they dispersed to follow the action downfield, Jake gave her a wave and goofy grin that set her mind at ease.
He had unpretentious good looks—kind of a rough-hewn boy next door, his hair streaked with blonde from a week at the beach with his family and a whole spring of driving the Jeep every sunny day. This was not the first time she had noticed how cute he was, of course. That was something you noticed about Jake the moment you met him. But there was something about the way his crisp t-shirt clung to him as he ran, his tanned skin in the late afternoon sun. A Frisbee skittered to a stop just inches from her. Marci commanded herself to snap out of it before she got hit in the head.
#
After practice, a few guys wandered off to their cars, but most collected in a loose huddle near the metal bench littered with gym bags and water bottles. Some of them changed out of sweaty shirts and shorts right there, without regard to Marci’s presence nearby, while others relived the practice with excited hand gestures and playful punches aimed at one another. She noticed that Nads and Truck stood at opposite ends of the group.
Jake approached her, smiling. “Exciting stuff, huh?”
“Not bad, actually,” she said honestly. “I’m glad I came.”
“Good,” he said. “So some of the guys are going for pizza and beer, just down the road. No pressure or anything, but you’re more than welcome to join us.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She was wearing the baggy shorts with the hole in the butt and paint splatters on the legs, and a tank top that she feared exposed every inch of arm fat.
“Don’t let him lie to you,” said Truck, approaching them and slapping Jake on the back. “There’s all kinds of pressure. We need a woman to keep us under control. You’d be saving us from ourselves. You have to come.”
Jake raised an eyebrow in her direction. “Well?”
“Okay, fine,” she said. “But you have to take me home so I can change.”
“Deal,” said Jake.
He waited patiently in the shared
living room while she changed, obsessing over the right combination of cute and flattering, but without looking as if she was trying too hard. She settled on a denim skirt and scoop-neck t-shirt with athletic sandals. Small necklace, no earrings.
“Why does your apartment smell so nice?” Jake asked as she emerged.
Marci laughed. “Well, maybe because there are four girls living together and we have actually cleaned it since our lease started, or maybe because two of those girls are really into that kind of crap.” She pointed at a hideous porcelain dish right behind him that was four little naked cherubs dancing around a bowl of apple-scented potpourri. Their roommate Noelle had initially tried to put angels and ballerinas in every corner of the apartment until the other three insisted that she confine most of it to her own bedroom. The dancing potpourri dish had been one of their collective concessions to her taste.
“Ugh,” Jake said reflexively. “I mean, unless you like it, in which case...no, I’m sorry. It’s just ugh.”
“You can say that again,” she agreed. “Ready?”
The Ultimate Frisbee guys had already made it halfway through their first pitchers when Jake and Marci arrived. They were seated at a long, sticky picnic table on the patio, watching baseball on the big screen TVs and arguing loudly about something.
Truck and Nads (who Marci later learned were actually Travis and Aaron) were at the other end of the table from them, arm wrestling. Obscenities flew around the table in favor of one competitor or the other, and grew louder as Travis twisted Aaron’s arm down to the table.
“Fucking cheater!” Aaron cried, jumping from the table in outrage.
“What?” Travis grinned. Despite the grime and vulgarity, Marci thought he had kind of a nice smile.
Aaron’s face was crimson. “He stuck his hand up my shorts under the table!” The rickety wood table shook as the whole group collapsed in laughter.
“All’s fair in love and war,” Travis said, making kissing noises at Aaron. “Your credit card, please, ma’am. The next round is on Nads! Or should I say, Nads’ mommy! She pays your bills, doesn’t she?”
Aaron started to protest, but looked around at the group waiting for his response and seemed to change his mind. He pulled out his wallet, slammed down a card, and sputtered away from the table, ignoring his teammates’ cries coming from behind him.
“Oh come on, sweetie, don’t go away mad!”
“Hey wait! How come only Truck gets to feel you up? We all want a turn!”
“Tell your mom I said ‘hi’!”
When Aaron returned several minutes later, the pizza had been delivered and mostly devoured. But he no longer seemed angry and started an immediate conversation with two teammates about the baseball game overhead. Marci wondered whether anyone would refer to the earlier incident, but no one did. Men are so strange, she thought.
Meanwhile, Travis/Truck had made his way down to her end of the table and was seated across from Marci, next to Jake. He stuffed half a slice of pepperoni in his mouth and elbowed Jake roughly. “Mmmh...Didn’t know you had a girlfriend, Stillwell,” and then to Marci, “Did I meet you at our house party a few weeks ago?”
Before she could answer, Jake said, “She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Oh, well, then.” Travis wiped his hand on his shirt and extended it to her. “Travis Fortner. Nice to meet you, um—?”
“Marci,” she said.
“Marci,” Travis repeated, holding her gaze.
“Easy, Truck,” said Jake.
“What? Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, Stillwell.” He winked at Marci. Another argument broke out at the other end of the table, and Truck got up with his beer glass. “Ah... Duty calls. Nice to meet you, Marci.”
Marci smiled back at him. As she watched him inserting himself into the loud conversation down-table, she had a feeling he would do little to settle anything. Soon another scuffle broke out and several guys jumped to avoid a spilled pitcher of beer. Marci watched in amusement as the restaurant manager appeared to tell them all to settle down.
“Hey, want to get out of here?” Jake asked, throwing cash on the table.
“Sure,” she said.
Instead of taking her home, Jake suggested a visit to a new bar downtown where a friend of his was working. Buzzed from the beer and relieved to be in friendly company after so many days alone, Marci was pretty much up for anything. Jake pulled sandals and a button-up shirt from the back of the Jeep and somehow made his grubby practice clothes into passable bar attire.
“Sorry about the guys,” he said as they settled on barstools in the back corner of the bar. Dark and uncrowded, the bar thumped with insistent techno music and disco lights, as though a horde of people were going to show up any moment for martinis and dancing. “They can be pretty obnoxious and sometimes don’t notice when there’s a lady around.”
Hearing Jake refer to her as a lady was funny, but it was sweet that he cared about her feelings. “It’s okay,” she said. “I thought it was fun.”
Jake’s friend brought them two bottled beers and two shots of something that tasted like Lemon Pledge. Marci shuddered as it went down; she had not planned to drink so much, but it seemed rude to turn down free drinks, especially because he had been kind enough not to check Marci’s ID. She was the last of her friends to turn twenty-one and often felt she was holding them back.
“Well, just don’t pay any attention to Truck, okay?” he said as they slammed the shot glasses back on the bar. “He’s kind of a player.”
“Why are you worried about it?” she teased. “I’m not your girlfriend.”
“No, you’re not, but you’re my best friend and I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“I’m your best friend, really?” It had never occurred to her before.
“You are, by a long shot,” he said. “I thought you knew that.”
He looked at her for a minute and then slapped his hand on the bar. “Speaking of long shots, let’s have more of that lemon stuff, huh?”
They talked for a while about the bar (pretentious yet grimy), the Frisbee team (fun but rowdy), and the upcoming summer quarter (grueling but nice to have more credits going into fall). Before each drink was empty, another appeared in its place. After a third round of lemon shots and beer, Marci began to complain about Beth’s wedding. “I just don’t understand how she can choose to do this, to make such a big decision about her life before she’s even old enough to drink.” She gestured broadly at the bar in front of them, as though Jake needed illustration for what she meant by “drink.”
“I agree totally,” he said. “That’s why I’m not even going to date anyone seriously until I’m at least twenty-five. I am not getting married until I’m thirty.”
“You’re not going to date until twenty-five? Jake, that is a waste! So many women would want to be with you.”
“Well, I didn’t say I was going to be a monk or anything. I mean, I’ll date. I am just not going to get serious with anyone. I don’t want to be one of those guys who marries some girl he met in high school or college, and spends the rest of his life wondering what else is out there. You know?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I really want to live my life first. I don’t want to marry a mechanic and stay in my hometown forever. That just feels like settling, you know? I mean, no offense to Beth and Ray, but what about seeing the world and going to college and expanding your mind?”
“Totally,” Jake agreed, emphatically swigging his beer.
“Plus there’s the dress,” Marci said, feeling free now to say what was on her mind, especially because Jake and Beth had never met. “They’re so green and so puffy. I mean, I’m puffy enough as it is. I have to lose weight to fit into it. The girdle is so tight I can barely breathe. I’m going to pass out at the altar!”
“I don’t think you should lose any weight,” Jake said, slurring only slightly. “You’re perfect just the way you are.” He put his hand on her cheek, and she patted his belly playfully.
“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to squeeze your gut into a girdle.”
“You’re perfect,” he insisted, now with both hands on her face.
Marci felt herself moving toward him in slow motion and saw his expression change. The kiss tasted like beer and Lemon Pledge with remnants of the dirt and sweat from Jake’s practice. For a second they looked at each other, surprised, and then kissed again with renewed fervor. As they kissed, Jake slid off his seat and moved closer to her. He wrapped his arms around her and let his hands linger on the small of her back. She clasped her hands behind his neck. Marci had seen couples making out in bars before, and had always resented the public display. Now that the tables were turned, it was pretty fun to be the disgusting ones. She cared about nothing except getting closer to him.
The bartender returned briefly to take their glasses and whistled lewdly. “Atta boy, Jake,” he said. Their laughter at this separated them and they looked at each other, appraising and embarrassed. Part of her knew that this was weird, suddenly making out with her friend after two years. She ought to feel uncomfortable, but happy didn’t seem to be leaving room for it. For the number of drinks they had both consumed, his eyes seemed remarkably clear as he looked down at her, his hand on the side of her face.
“Is this weird?” he asked, reading her thoughts.
“Totally,” she said, grinning. God, what would Suzanne say?
“Yeah, I agree,” he said, and leaned in to kiss her again. The thump of the music grew distant. She closed her eyes and inhaled him with every breath. After a few minutes, he whispered throatily, “Cab to your place?”
“Mmm-hmm,” she said, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. He paid the tab and guided her outside with his hands on her hips.
The Marriage Pact Page 11