by Imani King
My brother scowled. “Do you know how hard I had to work for the people here to accept us? We’re the only black family in this entire neighborhood—do you know what that feels like?”
Of course I did! I was a lawyer, for Chrissakes! And as hard as it had been for Jon to get ahead in this world as a black man, it’d been twice as hard for me to get ahead as a black woman.
I held up my hands in an attempt to salvage this discussion. “I get it, Jon. I do. But you need to understand where Dad was coming from. We’d just lost Mom, and you giving up your name just felt like one more thing he was losing on top of her death. He didn’t want you to feel ashamed of yourself—of him.”
“But things are better this way,” Mary said, doing her best to keep her bleach-white smile bright and cheery. “Simpler. And I think adding your father to the equation would just make things worse.”
I stared at her for a while, letting that gut punch sink in. All right, if I wasn’t going to hold her skin tone against her, then I was definitely going to hold a grudge against that remark.
Jon didn’t say anything at first, walking over to the cabinet and taking out a bottle of what looked like whiskey. He pulled out a tumbler and poured himself a glass. I couldn’t help giving him a disapproving glare—it wasn’t even one o’clock in the afternoon yet. I glanced at Mary, who averted her gaze.
“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” he muttered.
I took a breath. “Dad needs help, Jon.”
Jon snorted. “What is it this time? More money for bail? Another round of rehab?”
“I’ve been handling the bail. Me,” I reminded him with a glare. Jon had never contributed one red cent to bailing our father out of the results of his escapades. No, he left that to his deep-in-debt sister. “He needs a place to stay for a little while—until I can figure something else out, something more permanent.”
“No, Georgia. We can’t possibly—” Mary began before Jon started talking over her.
“You want him to stay here? In my house?” He laughed, but there was no joy in it. He took a long sip from his tumbler. “You’re fucking crazy.”
I scowled. “It’s not permanent, Jon.”
“It’s not even going to be temporary, Gigi. My answer is no.”
I threw up my hands, my rage starting to get the best of me. “I can’t keep him at my place, and they’re going to take the house.”
Jon took another swig. “Good. It’ll serve his drunk-ass right.”
I looked pointedly at the glass of whiskey in my brother’s hand. “Like you’re so much better, Tyrell, drinking your damn whiskey at noon.”
“So I can’t drink in my own damn house without being just like my old man?” he sneered. Christ, he really was like Dad. “And besides, what would my neighbors think? As though I don’t have to tip-toe around here, now I have to have my alcoholic father move in. That’s a sitcom I don’t want to watch.”
Looking at Mary, I noticed she’d gone silent, her eyes on a picture of Jon playing with the girls out back. My brother always cared way too much about what other people thought about him, and it never failed to drive a huge wedge between him and the rest of our family; if I didn’t insist on seeing my nieces, I’m not even sure they’d know I existed.
“Just for a few days, Jon,” I pleaded, growing weary. “And then we can work something else out. I promise.”
“How about for zero days?” he shot back. I swear, I was so angry that smoke was coming out of my nose like a bull. “I don’t even need one of my neighbors catching a look at Dad, especially the way he dresses. It’s an embarrassment. Does he even wash his damn clothes anymore?”
“That’s it. I’ve had it,” I growled, pointing a finger at my brother and his stupid booze. “You need to watch your damn mouth, Tyrell. You don’t get to act like you’re better than us just because now you get to keep up with the fucking Joneses.”
“Georgia, please don’t start this now,” Mary said, her voice losing some of its musical quality.
“Don’t you start with me, Mary,” I snapped, and she withered under my glare. Jon tried to get between us.
“Look, Georgia—”
“You’d best call me Gigi if you know what’s good for you Tyrell,” I interrupted, my face flaring with red-hot anger.
“Whatever. There are places for people like Dad to go, facilities and senior centers where they take care of people like him—drunks and veterans.” He gave a little chuckle. There still wasn’t a single note of happiness in it. “I’m not sure whether those are synonyms yet or not. But he’s got his pension, and the Army’s got his health insurance. He can afford a decent place to go.”
“You have a shitty idea of what ‘decent’ means,” I muttered. I’d never realized just how much of a snob my brother had become. The more I stood in his presence, the more I felt him looking down his nose at me.
“Well, decent living arrangements for Dad qualify as a drunk tank in the back of the local precinct, so yeah, I guess those standards are pretty low.”
“We can’t put him in some home, Jon. It’s not right. The way they treat people there is terrible.”
“I don’t know what else to tell you, Gigi. He can’t stay here, and I can’t foot the bill for whatever upscale home you want him in. Just pick something that his insurance can cover and let it go.”
What a piece of shit, I thought, looking at my brother in disbelief. How could he be so casual about the way our own father was going to live out the rest of his life?
“You’re a piece of work.”
“Listen, it’s not just me, Mary doesn’t want anything to do with Dad, either. She’s heard enough of me complaining that she doesn’t even want a man like him in our girls’ lives.”
“She’s never even met the man, Jon! And what did you tell him? That he hit you? That’s a load of shit. Dad’s just had a hard time with everything after Mom died—”
“You can’t keep making excuses for him, Gigi!” he roared, cutting me off. “Mom can’t be Dad’s crutch forever. It’s not her fault that he became a drunken piece of shit. His failings shouldn’t be her legacy!”
“I can’t keep listening to you, Jon. I just can’t,” I said, rubbing my temples to ease the stress that was building. “Dad needs our help, and all you’ve ever done was leave. You left him and me. So you got what you wanted, I’ll figure something else out. And besides, I have a hell of a lot better things to do today.”
“Don’t take this so personally, Georgia,” he said as I picked up my purse. “Dad’s the problem here, not me. I’m not the one who threw his life away.”
I shook my head at him and shouldered my bag. “No, Tyrell you just threw your family away.”
He gave me a hard look then, and I thought I saw a flash of pain behind his eyes. But he covered it quickly with a sneer. “I have a family, and I thought you were a part of it,” he said, taking the last swig of his whiskey. “But I guess I was wrong.”
“Don’t you dare pull that horseshit with me. You’ve always been the one who leaves, Tyrell. And God help Mary if she and the girls ever get you in a leaving mood.”
Tyrell set his glass down, his eyes on the still un-stoppered bottle of whiskey nearby. “Maybe you should go.”
I nodded stiffly. “Yeah, maybe I should. I have something important I need to take care of and I wouldn’t want to interrupt your afternoon booze session, Dad.”
Jon shot me a glare that could have curdled milk as he poured himself another glass of the golden liquor.
“And where the hell do you have to be that’s so important?” he snarled.
I turned toward him, hiking my purse up over my shoulder before giving him a derisive little laugh. “Didn’t I tell you?” I said as I turned toward the door, “I’m getting married today.”
The district courthouse wasn’t my first choice for a wedding venue, but then again, I’d never actually imagined I’d be tying the knot. I stood idly in the lobby, wearing a custom-t
ailored sports jacket my father had tailored for me.
I looked down at the cuffs of the jacket, marveling at the embroidered initials sewn into the fabric just below the cufflinks. This was the last thing my father had gotten me before he died. In some ways, it was like having him here.
I watched as other people passed me by, all going about their business within the courthouse. Legal aids, lawyers, judges, and average people—some of whom were probably about to take the same leap as me. If only my bride would get here, then maybe this marriage could get on the road.
It had been almost an hour ago that Gigi had called to tell me she was getting herself ready to go. But getting ready and being ready were two completely different things to women. Could it really have taken her that long to put some clothes on? All we had to do was sign some papers, say “I do,” and then go out for a nice dinner to celebrate my genius. But first, I’d actually need my bride.
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” rang Gigi’s lovely voice from just behind me. I let out a sigh of relief before turning around, maybe even say something scolding for making me wait.
“Well I’ve been here for almost twenty—” My words stuck in my throat as I laid my eyes on her. I blinked, the light of the sun outside shining through the doors and giving her an aura that was almost angelic.
She wore a white dress with a sleek silhouette, the fabric glowing radiantly as she made her way toward me. I felt so strange watching her, her footsteps falling in slow motion as the soft curls of her hair bounced with every stride. My heart hammered in my chest, blood rushing to my cheeks just as she came to a halt a few feet away.
“Sorry,” she said with a little laugh as she looked down at herself. “It took me forever to find this dress.”
“It was worth it,” I breathed. Then I cleared my throat. “I mean it looks beautiful on you.” What in the hell was going on?
“Thank you,” Gigi said, her cheeks darkening just slightly. “I figured I might as well do it up right. It’s not every day you get fake married…”
Her smile disappeared and her eyes lost some of their spark. Gigi cast her gaze downward before heaving a sigh.
I felt compelled to sweep her into my arms. Instead, I fiddled with my cufflinks as I asked her, “What’s wrong?”
She gave the barest of shrugs. “Every girl dreams of having their white wedding, I guess—that moment where they stand in front of all their friends and family in a gorgeous white gown, holding a bouquet of flowers. This isn’t exactly the way I pictured it.”
I felt a pit open in the bottom of my stomach, my shoulders slumping as I watched what little excitement Gigi had walked in with fade away. I felt so guilty, turning what she pictured her wedding to be like into a quick ceremony at the courthouse for some shady paper marriage.
“We can wait,” I said, cautiously putting a hand on her shoulder. “We can do something bigger—I mean it. Money’s no object.”
She let out a laugh, not a harsh laugh, or even a happy laugh—a sad laugh. Gigi looked up at me and gave me a faint smile of gratitude as she reached up and squeezed my hand.
“No, it’s all right, really,” she said, shaking her head. “I think the more we drag this mess out, the more we might come to start having second thoughts—or worse, your family might get involved. This is a business arrangement for now. If things work out, we can renew our vows the right way.”
I gave her a brief nod and a quick smile, but despite her reassurances, my guilt didn’t fade a single bit. It wasn’t something I was used to feeling, let alone regret, but seeing her there in that wedding dress made me realize how little she was getting out of all this. I felt like a monster for asking her to do this. Sure, I was intrigued by her… Maybe I had some feelings… But was it enough? What would I do once I had my inheritance in hand?
“I appreciate that you offered, Dorian,” she said after an awkward moment of silence. “It means a lot more than I thought it would.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” I said, offering what I hoped would be a consoling hug, my arms open.
Gigi’s smile brightened a bit as she wrapped her arms around me for the first time. Her body felt warm against mine, her curves fitting perfectly into my arms as I enveloped her. A small sense of comfort fell over me before we broke away from one another, our faces considerably brighter. Or at least, that’s what I thought I saw in her expression. I hoped I wasn’t imagining things.
“Shall we?” Gigi asked, motioning vaguely toward one of the many lines, this one designated for marriage licenses.
The queue was longer than I’d have liked, but my impatience aside, the two of us managed to make it to the front of the line after what felt like an hour of standing. We stepped up to the counter together, my heart pounding against my ribcage. God, was I actually nervous?
“Sit, please,” a middle-aged women sitting behind the counter, indicating a pair of plastic chairs in front of her desk.
“Your names, please?”
“Georgia Lynn Deveraux and Dorian Eugene Lambert,” Gigi said, glancing over at me with a forced smile. Without warning, her fingers laced together with mine and squeezed tight.
“And you’re filing for your marriage license?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Congratulations,” she said, her voice sounded anything but excited about our nuptials. “Now, there is a fee required before—”
“We can pay it now. I have cash,” I said, my foot thumping nervously. Gigi rubbed her thumb over my knuckles in an attempt to calm me down, but the anxiety didn’t abate.
“All right,” the clerk said, her mouth forming a thin. “Then all that’s required is that you take the license and have the person performing the ceremony return this to the courthouse within ten days of the wedding.”
“We were actually hoping for a courthouse ceremony—are those available? We don’t really want to wait.”
Again, the clerk pursed her lips. She shook her head ever so slightly and turned toward her computer. After a few clicks and keystrokes, she turned back to the two of us.
“We have an opening for one last ceremony today, but it’ll be an additional cost for the notary.”
“We’ve got the money,” Gigi said, turning toward me, her eyebrows raised.
I dug into my pocket and pulled out my wallet and the cash I’d withdrawn from the ATM moments before I even walked in the door. I’d been surprisingly forward thinking and actually looked up the cost of the licensing and the ceremony before I arrived—which was about the most mature thing I’d done outside of the bedroom in a few years.
“I’ll inform the notary.”
The woman stood up and walked, her lack of enthusiasm only seeming to grow as she was required to put physical effort into her job. I couldn’t blame her—government work sounded like the worst thing ever invented next to genocide and Justin Bieber.
The clerk returned with a wiry man in tow, dressed in a dark suit with a spindly pair of glasses perched upon his prominent nose.
“This is them,” the woman said, motioning vaguely toward me and Gigi.
“The happy couple,” the man said, a warm smile spreading across his face. “My name is Mr. Holloway. I’m the notary on duty today.”
Finally, I thought, someone who’s at least pretending to be happy about their job.
“Are we ready to begin?” the man asked, clasping his hands together. He had a wispy, rasping voice, almost like he was perpetually hoarse.
When Gigi and I both nodded, his smile widened and the bid us to follow him behind the desk and toward a door leading deeper into the courthouse.
“We like to hold the ceremonies somewhere a bit more private than the front lobby, you understand. Keeps the spectacle private and cuts down on… incidents.”
“What kind of incidents?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.
“Outside parties interfering with the ceremony. Why, once we had a young lady stop the proceedings and assault th
e bride—quite a debacle. They had to rush her to the emergency room.”
“Jesus,” Gigi said, shaking her head. “People are crazy.”
“To put it mildly,” the notary said “especially when love is involved. Here we are.”
We stopped in front of a door off a long hallway, Mr. Holloway turning a key in the shabby-looking lock before pushing it open.
“Step inside and we’ll begin.”
As Gigi and I stepped into the dark room, the smell of flowers greeted us. The lights clicked on, and I saw there was a small, but colorful arrangement sitting on top of a table beneath a white wooden archway.