by Kim Ross
“You just spent like five bucks on something that’s going to die in a few days,” I say.
“I spent five bucks on making you smile,” he says. “Even if it only works once it’s totally worth it.”
Max already got his money’s worth when I first saw him. I can’t help myself here and I get a big silly romantic grin again and we share a kiss before we get our food. None of the stuff I’ve been thinking about and lecturing at Max on the phone matters right now. It’s nice to just be with him for a few minutes.
The subject of marriage finally comes up when I run out of eggs.
“I had some unrealistic expectations about marriage,” I say as an icebreaker.
Max is silent.
“I enjoy spending time with you, and if getting married allows us to spend more time together, I think it’s something we can do, with a few conditions.”
“You realize you’re the woman and I make more money than you so you’d make a large profit off of a divorce, right?” he says.
“That’s not what I meant,” I say.
“Then what is?”
“I want –“
“Wait a sec,” he says. “Can I say something first?”
“I suppose,” I say.
“I want to apologize for what I said last night. I’ve been doing some thinking. If you don’t want to marry me but you still want to be together, I’d be willing to quit my job for you.”
I’m stunned. I wasn’t expecting this.
“Granted, it’s probably not as big of a sacrifice as you want, because I got an offer from Riverside to coach next season, so I’ve got a bit of security if we don’t work out,” Max continues.
I shake my head. “It was perfect until you told me that,” I say.
“We’re about honesty and openness,” Max says. “We got into this mess when I didn’t talk to you about my problems honestly. I’d like to get back on track, which means being open now.”
“Thanks,” I murmur.
“You said you had conditions for our marriage?”
“I wanted to make sure you were doing this for the right reasons,” I say. “It sounds like you are.”
“I want to marry you because of you,” Max says. “Not for anyone or anything else. Just you.”
“Shall we set a date, then?” I say.
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes, Max, I will marry you.”
“Thank god,” he says. “I don’t know what I would have done if you said no.”
“Me neither,” I say.
I’m not sure where this leaves us, really, but that’s okay. If the future was certain there would be no point in living it. For the short term, I’m with Max a while longer. If getting married is necessary so we can spend more time together, I’m okay with that.
EPILOGUE
We have engagement sex at Max’s. It’s a bit strained, but after a week of not having any it seems like the best I’ve ever had (which was with Max under not too-different conditions, so I suppose it’s not too much of a stretch). He got the size wrong on the ring, which disappoints me more than I’d like to admit, but he says it’s guaranteed so he can return it. How he managed that I’ll never know. I convince him to swap it for a cheaper fake rock and use the extra cash on something we’ll enjoy, but again, this is just me being shallow since I know that cubic zirconium is basically free and I can gain 20 carats easily while cutting the overall cost in half. Nobody will ever know.
“I suppose I’m not really surprised you don’t care about the diamond,” Max says. “Still, I thought it was an important symbol of love or whatever.”
“That’s a load of crap,” I say. “DeBeers bought millions of dollars worth of advertising in every form of media they could for about a decade so they could actually sell diamonds. Even now they stockpile most of their production and only release a small amount to be sold to keep profits high. The markup on the stone alone in a ring like this is probably ten thousand percent if you include the cost of everything.”
Max looks at me strangely, like there’s something he really needs to say but he doesn’t want to.
“It’s like medicine where there’s a generic brand. Or bottled water. Or vodka,” I say. “You don’t buy name brand, since it’s all chemically identical.”
“Vodka is totally different,” Max says.
“Vodka is legally defined as an odorless, tasteless alcoholic beverage,” I say.
“It tastes like alcohol,” he says.
“My point exactly,” I say.
“You’re not going to go all crazy vegan when we’re married, are you?” he asks.
“God I hope not,” I say.
This leads into a serious chat about what we expect out of married life, which is incredibly productive. We haven’t actually sat down and talked about things like this in a while. I’m a bit uncomfortable settling back into it at first, but after an hour or so when we’ve ironed out all of the kinks again, it really seems like Max and I are going to work out well long term.
“I’m glad we’re back together,” I say, snuggling up against him.
“Me too,” he says.
We can’t lie here on the couch forever, as much as I might want to. Max has to look over some tapes for work and I need to pick up a few things from Renee’s, most importantly my work computer. Phil will be expecting some sort of article about a local band on Monday and it’s hard to do that without my notes, so I disentangle myself and make the drive to Renee’s.
She greets me at the door, still in her pajamas. “How did it go?” she asks.
“We haven’t decided on a date,” I say.
“So you’re getting married?”
“Yes,” I say. The reality of the situation hasn’t hit me yet. It still feels like a half remembered dream.
“Congratulations!” she says, hugging me.
“It’s not really what I expected,” I say.
“That’s the way life works,” Renee says. “Everything’s kind of informal and messy and spontaneous. None of the big moments feel big as they’re happening.
I don’t really have a response to that, just a shrug. “I’ll be moving back in with Max,” I say. “I’m just here to pick up my stuff.”
“I’ll miss you,” she says.
“Me too,” I say. I’m being somewhat honest: I’ll miss Renee’s company even though I’m glad to be off of her couch.
We have a goodbye hug as I gather my thing. Renee ducks out of the room for a second and returns with a stack of paper. “Your list,” she says, handing it to me.
“What?” I ask.
“Whatever your laptop was running. It’s a list of places in Europe. Brian wanted to go to number two for our honeymoon,” she says.
I had forgotten. “Oh, thanks,” I say.
“Are you planning on travelling soon?” she asks.
“Maybe,” I say.
“Brian really wanted to go there,” she says. “Seemed like it could be a nice trip. Keep it in mind I guess.”
I do. Boy, what a mistake that turned out to be.
Table of Contents
1. 3
2. 6
3. 10
4. 13
5. 15
6. 17
7. 24
8. 26
9. 27
10. 30
11. 34
12. 35
13. 43
14. 47
EPILOGUE. 51