Marry Me

by Dan Rhodes

  In the run up to our wedding day, my fiancée told me to be quiet. ‘Can’t you change the subject?’ she snapped. ‘All I’ve been hearing lately is “I love you so much,” and “We have such a wonderful future ahead of us,” and “I can’t believe I’m going to marry the girl of my dreams”.’ She closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘It’s a legal procedure; let’s just get through it with the minimum of fuss.’

  RUSSIAN

  Silver explained that while she loved me very much as a friend, she couldn’t see us settling down together. She had anticipated my distress, and was quick to comfort me. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘You won’t have to be alone.’ She reached into her bag and brought out a brochure full of pictures of marriageminded Russian women. Leafing through it, she pointed at the ones she thought I would like, reading out their names, ages, heights and interests.

  ‘But what if I don’t want a Russian bride?’ I asked.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ she said. ‘It’ll help you get over me. And besides, I’ve always thought you would make a wonderful husband for some lucky girl.’ One Russian in particular had caught her eye. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘she’s got such lovely hair. You two will be so happy together.’

  I told her I was going to spend every moment of the rest of my life wishing she hadn’t left me, and that would hardly be fair on the Russian.

  ‘Listen,’ she said. ‘I’m moving on, and it would really help me to know that you’ve moved on too.’ She gave me a pleading look. ‘So what do you say? Will you write to her?’

  Silver knew I would do anything for her, and there was nothing I could do but nod. She jumped up and down, squealing with delight. ‘Can I be a bridesmaid?’ she asked. ‘Oh, can I? It’s only fair—you two would never have met if it hadn’t been for me.’

  I agreed to let her be a bridesmaid. Veruschka is due to arrive any day now. I’ll try as hard as I can to love her, for Silver’s sake.

  HAT

  My mother told me that the time had come for my girlfriend and I to legitimise our sex life. She had a point, so a few days later I found myself down on one knee in a romantic location. Unfortunately, I was rejected. My girlfriend told me she just wasn’t able to see us growing old together, that I had never been quite as good in bed as she had hoped, and that under the circumstances it would be best not to drag things out any longer.

  When I broke the news to my mother, she was furious. She had already bought a massive hat. She took it out of its box, put it on her head and pointed at it. ‘What am I supposed to do with this fucking thing now?’ she bellowed.

  RING

  My girlfriend had been a real nuisance, and even though she was incredibly good-looking I had been thinking quite seriously about splitting up with her. Since her lobotomy, though, things have improved, and I’m starting to see a way forward for us as a couple. These days I can leave coins and cigarettes lying around without having to worry about her stealing them, and she’s even started smiling, in a vacant sort of way. None of my friends had liked her very much, but they’re starting to change their opinions. ‘If you’re still thinking about packing her in,’ they say, looking her up and down with hunger in their eyes, ‘I’d be glad to take her off your hands.’ A while ago I’d have relinquished her on the spot, but not any more. I’m even thinking about putting a ring on her finger, to mark her as mine. She won’t notice, but it’ll still count.

  FRIENDS

  My wife told me she was leaving, and I was heartbroken. Clutching at straws, I asked her if we could still be friends.

  ‘Let’s be realistic,’ she said. ‘I’ve been through this so many times, and take it from me—the friends thing never really works.’

  ‘So I’ll never see you again?’ I sobbed.

  ‘No,’ she said, sympathetically patting my arm, ‘I’m afraid not. But if it’s any consolation, you’ll be hearing from my solicitor.’

  LOOKS

  I came to the realisation that I would love my girlfriend just the same even if she lost her looks. ‘This means I’m definitely ready for us to get married,’ I said.

  She looked thoughtful. ‘If you were to lose your looks,’ she said ‘I think I would love you quite a lot less.’

  I was worried. ‘Does this mean you won’t marry me?’

  ‘No, I might as well. It’s a gamble, but I’ve always had a reckless streak.’

  CLASSICAL

  My wife had been unemployed for ages, so I was delighted when she applied for work as a classical composer. Neither of us knew much about that kind of thing, but they must have been impressed by her enthusiasm because she got the job. They sent her on a training course, and a few weeks later I went along to the premiere of her first symphony.

  I was struck by how professional it sounded, and enjoyed a lot of the tunes. When it was over, I listened to the people sitting next to me as they discussed their interpretations of the piece. They agreed that the first movement had been as bleak and brave a portrayal of a failing marriage as they had ever heard; the second, they said, had been about escaping the emptiness of this marriage by embarking upon a passionate affair with a handsome bassoonist; and the consensus was that the third had dealt with the final escape, leaving the grinding tedium behind to begin an exciting new life.

  I tracked her down backstage. ‘You didn’t mean any of that, did you?’ I asked.

  She nodded. ‘Every note. I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but at least it’s out in the open now.’ She gave my shoulder a sympathetic squeeze, told me her brother would be round for her things, then left to begin her first world tour.

  FREUD

  I never seemed to meet the kind of girl I would like to settle down with, but after reading Sigmund Freud I realised where I had been going wrong. I took out a lonely hearts ad that said: Do you resemble this woman? If so, I would be interested in marriage. Underneath was a photograph of my mother. Unfortunately, it didn’t work quite as well as I’d hoped. I only received one reply, and although she seemed quite promising on paper, I got to the rendezvous to find I’d been corresponding with my sister.

  I don’t know what she was thinking. If anything she takes after our father’s side of the family.

  LEMMINGS

  My bride was determined to be the most beautiful girl at her wedding, and had gone out of her way to look her best for the big day. As we danced cheek to cheek at the reception, she whispered, ‘Have you seen the way the men have been looking at me? They can’t believe what they’re seeing. There are going to be some suicides tonight, I can tell you.’

  I wasn’t so sure. I thought she was wearing too much make-up, and her hair looked really stiff. Quite a lot of the other girls looked better than her, but I decided that under the circumstances it would be best to keep my opinions to myself. ‘They’ll be jumping off the roof like lemmings,’ I said.

  POTS AND PANS

  My wife told me that while she loved me very much, she was no longer in love with me. ‘I’ll be staying here, and keeping all the pots and pans,’ she continued, ‘so your new place is going to need a little stocking up.’ She pulled out a catalogue and started pointing to various items of kitchenware, praising their style and making claims about their versatility and longevity. ‘How would you feel if I was to say that you could own some of these extraordinary pieces?’ she asked.

  Dazed, I found myself signing up to buy three saucepans, a frying pan and an oven dish, as well as a number of associated accessories.

  ‘You’re my first customer,’ she said, sealing the deal with a firm handshake. ‘I would give you a discount because I know you, but it’s early days and I’m sure you’ll understand that I’ve got to keep a firm grip on my finances now I’m a single gal.’

  SIGNALS

  My wife handed me an envelope, and I excitedly tore it open to find a greetings card with a picture of some kittens on it. I looked inside, and in her neatest
handwriting she had written: Thank you so much for putting up with me through my lesbian phase.

  ‘What lesbian phase?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, looking surprised, ‘it’s been going on for about two years. I thought it was obvious: the short hair; the dungarees; the way I wouldn’t let you touch me.’

  I was stupefied, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t read the signals.

  ‘But never mind all that,’ she said, reaching up to ruffle my hair. ‘I’m back to normal now. I’ll go and put on loads of make-up, and we can pretend it never happened.’

  CHURCH

  My fiancée had never been even slightly religious, but she was determined to have a traditional wedding. ‘There’s just something nice about churches,’ she said. ‘They’re really old, and stuff like that.’ After looking at quite a few, she chose her favourite, and we went along to talk through the arrangements. All the time, I could see she was stifling giggles, and as soon as we were outside she got on the phone to her sister and told her all about it. ‘There was this man in a dress,’ she guffawed, ‘and he kept going on and on about God.’

  When she’d hung up, I asked if she would rather look for a more secular venue, but she was adamant that we stick to her original plan. ‘It’s so weddingy in there, with all those colourful windows and the candles and that weird-sounding piano.’ Then she thought of something. ‘Wait here,’ she said. ‘I’m going back to ask that man to pray for sunshine. That kind of thing’s probably not real, but it’s worth a try because you never know.’

  COLD

  A week before our wedding day, my fiancée suggested I go into suspended animation and leave all the lastminute preparations to her. At first I wasn’t sure about the idea, but she soon convinced me that it would be best for both of us if I was to take something of a back seat. She took me to the local cryogenic freezing centre, and told me she would thaw me out on the morning of the big day. She kissed me goodbye, and shut the door to the chamber.

  When I unfroze, there was no one there to meet me. I walked over to her place to see how things were getting along. She saw me coming up the path, and called out, ‘Look, everyone, it’s the Iceman.’ As I got closer, I noticed she looked a bit different, in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on. A tall, handsome man I had never seen before came out of the house, followed by a group of children, and they all started pointing at me and laughing.

  She explained that she’d had cold feet, and hadn’t been able to resist setting the timer for fifteen years. Then she stopped laughing, and her face turned to stone. She told me she hardly remembered me, and that it was time I left. She said I was trespassing, and that she would be well within her rights to call the police.

  NEW DIRECTION

  As our wedding day approached, my fiancée became increasingly excited about the new direction our lives were taking. ‘Just think of all the pathetic stuff we’ll be able to do,’ she said. ‘We can watch cookery shows together, and talk about curtains, and have really boring friends. And we can go to bed early–not to have sex, just to fall asleep.’ She sighed. ‘It’s what I’ve always wanted.’

  It was what I had always wanted, too. I almost felt ready to start right then, by delivering an impenetrable monologue on the subject of aspect ratios, or droning on and on about my plans to upgrade the lawnmower, but I took a deep breath and stopped myself. It didn’t seem right. I knew I had to be patient; some things would just have to wait until we were married.

  DATA

  At our wedding rehearsal dinner, I stood up and brought the room to a hush with a tap of my glass. I told our guests that the moment I met Arnemetia I had known that I was ready to spend the rest of my life with her. As one, everybody sighed, and the bride-to-be wiped a tear of joy from her eye. I went on to explain that my love for her was so strong that I had immediately started gathering data about her. At this point I started projecting some of my findings on to a big screen. There was a line graph depicting the changing length of her hair over time; a series of diagrams showing the colours she had favoured in her wardrobe month by month; and an elaborate bubble chart documenting the complexity of her moods. She’d had no idea that I’d been collecting this information, but unfortunately she didn’t appear to be delighted by the surprise.

  ‘I can’t work out if that’s romantic or creepy,’ she said. She asked our friends and family to help her decide, and with a show of hands they gave their opinions. Unfortunately, eighty-four per cent of them thought it was creepy, while a disappointing sixteen per cent thought it romantic. A further poll revealed that a comparable majority would fully understand were the wedding not to proceed.

  AWKWARD

  Several years into our engagement, I took my fiancée’s hand and told her that the time had finally come for us to pin down a wedding date.

  ‘This is awkward,’ she said. ‘I was really drunk when I agreed to all that, and sober there’s just no way.’

  PERFECT

  We spent every penny we could get our hands on making sure our wedding was perfect. With a lot of hard work we got it exactly right; every detail was in place for the happiest day of our lives.

  When we returned from our honeymoon we found we weren’t able to stay on top of the bills, and we soon lost our home. It was all worth it, though, and we don’t regret a thing.

  Now, years later, as we huddle together for warmth under whichever bridge happens to feel the safest, we reminisce about our special day.

  ‘Wasn’t it wonderful?’ says my wife, breaking off from a conversation about how we wish we had some boric acid to keep the cockroaches at bay. ‘I’ll never forget the place settings. The calligraphy was exquisite.’

  ‘I know,’ I say, ‘and what about the bridesmaids’ corsages? To think the florist told us we’d be hard pressed to source that shade of orchid.’

  We throw our heads back in laughter.

  ‘And do you remember Uncle Desmond?’ she chuckles, her eyes bright with the memory. I chuckle, too. At the reception Uncle Desmond had done an amusing dance with his arms outstretched, as though he were an aeroplane, or a bird or something.

  LEMON

  Lily of the Valley told me that, as an educated person, I must have known there was a one in three chance that a married couple of our demographic background would end up separating. ‘So, don’t start acting like this is completely unexpected,’ she said. A car horn sounded outside, and I didn’t see what I could do but stand there like a lemon as she picked up her holdall and walked out of my life.

  ALONE

  My wife died, and as I tended to my broken heart I was surprised by how many girls came around to offer their condolences. Without exception they steered the conversation in the same direction, telling me that while they were very sorry that she had slipped away, they had always thought I could have done better. It was so relentless that before long I began to wonder whether they had a point, and that I ought to aim quite a lot higher for my next marriage. Their visits continued, and eventually I whittled them down to a shortlist of six. When decision time came, I lined them up and got ready to make my final choice. They all had longer legs, more lustrous hair and glossier lips than my first wife, and none of them wore glasses or had a slightly haphazard nose like she had. Even so, I realised that none of them could ever take her place. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘but I miss her so much, and it just wouldn’t be fair on anyone.’

  ‘Come on, girls,’ said the one with the most make-up on. ‘Let’s go. I always had a feeling there was something funny about him.’ Clutching their tiny bags, they stormed off, leaving me alone at last.

  TWO

  Some years into our marriage, my wife asked me why, when there were so many different kinds of sex to choose from, I had only ever done the same two.

  KINDNESS

  My wife told me she was adamant that our separation be amicable;
that the last thing she wanted was for us to become one of those former couples who only had bad things to say about one another. These sentiments were so reasonable, and so eloquently expressed, that I found it impossible to disagree. Even so, I was unable to disguise my anguish. Until that moment I’d thought our marriage had been going really well.

  She saw how upset I was, and with her customary kindness she set out to soothe me. ‘Would it help you to see a picture of my new boyfriend?’ she asked.

  Without waiting for an answer, she reached into her bag and pulled out a photograph. He was incredibly handsome. Smiling roguishly in aviator shades, he was sitting at the wheel of a sports car, rolled-up sleeves revealing muscular arms.

  ‘You can’t see his eyes in this one, but my God . . .’ As she saw the agony on my face, her dreamy expression changed to one of concern. ‘You do understand, don’t you?’ She held the photograph beside my face, and kept looking from one to the other. ‘It’s a no-brainer, isn’t it?’

  CARBON

  I asked my girlfriend to marry me, and she said yes. I couldn’t afford a diamond, so instead I handed her a lump of charcoal. ‘It’s pure carbon,’ I explained. ‘Now, if we can just find a way to rearrange the atoms . . .’

  She stared at the black lump in her palm, and I began to worry that ours was going to be the shortest engagement in history. She smiled. ‘We’ll put it under the mattress,’ she said. ‘Maybe we’ll squash it into a diamond over time.’