Page 25 of Only You and Me

I clear my throat. “Um, hello Sue. I’m calling for some clarity on marriage requirements in the state. I, uh, got myself in a bit of a situation when I was traveling there this past week and need to find out if,”—I take a deep breath—“I need to find out if I’m married.” A nervous laugh escapes me.

Sue responds with an annoyed sigh.

“You don’t know if you’re married?” I don’t miss the sarcasm in her voice.

“I don’t remember. I had too much to drink on Friday and woke up on Saturday with a piece of paper saying we were married…” I swear I hear Sue snigger and I want to strangle her through the phone for making this harder than it already is.

“Well, did you get a marriage license before you got married?”

I wrack my brain but can’t recall doing that. “I don’t think so.”

“But you’re not sure?” she challenges.

“Um. I guess not. Much of Friday afternoon is fuzzy in my mind. Can’t you check in your system?”

“Not today. I can’t. The system is down. And honestly, we’re busy enough with legitimate department business that requests like this are low priority.”

“Low priority? You don’t think it’s important for someone to know if they truly got married or if it was a sham wedding at some sidewalk tourist trap?” The irritation in my voice is loud and clear.

“Of course I do. Which is why I recommend a person not make life-altering decisions while under the influence of alcohol.”

I sigh. This lady is a bitch, but I need to keep my claws in, or she won’t answer the rest of my questions. “Can you please just tell me how to find out for sure if I’m married or not?”

“Well, the only way to be certain is if a marriage license doesn’t get filed legalizing the marriage.”

“Oh, thank God. There’s at least a process. How long does that take? A day or two?”

The haughty witch actually has the audacity to laugh at me. Cackle, more like it. “No. The officiant has ten days to file the license. And it can take us as long as sixty days to get it loaded in the system so it shows up online. We’re always backed up this time of year, catching up on all the Valentine’s Day weddings.”

My throat is instantly as dry as the Sahara Desert. “Sixty days?” I practically whisper.

“Yes, that’s what I said. So, you can start checking online after day ten, but if it doesn’t show up online, don’t bother calling back until it’s been sixty days. The only way to be positive you aren’t married—assuming you have no more incidents between now and then—is to wait until that time period is over. If an officiant doesn’t file a license, you aren’t legally married. Now in the eyes of God?—”

“Okay. Thank you.” I hang up. The last thing I need is for this lady to tell me what she believes God thinks about what did or didn’t happen with Ben and me last week.

Now to get the second tough conversation of the day over with. I pick up my phone and text Ben.

Me: I spoke with the Clerk of Courts office about our situation. Do you want me to tell you what they said in a text?

Ben responds almost instantly.

Ben: Uh, no. I want you to talk to me. In person, please. Can you meet me at Pat’s Diner?

Me: No. Not at Pat’s. Someone might see us. Text me your address and I’ll meet you at your house in a half hour.

It’s a few minutes before Ben responds.

Ben: Fine. 38 Bay Lane. See you in 30.

I don’t reply, but twenty-five minutes later, I’m waiting on Ben’s back patio when he arrives holding two coffees and places one in front of me.

“Thanks,” I mumble, avoiding eye contact with him.

* * *

BEN

Geez, this is going to be more awkward than I thought. Trina won’t even look at me. At least it’s pleasant outside. The spring temperature today is warmer than we’ve seen in the last few weeks. It helps that the sky is an expanse of blue with the sun shining and not a cloud in sight. I’m not sure Trina would go into my house anyway, so I’m happy we can sit out here in pleasant weather instead of the dreariness and too cool for comfort temperatures that are often normal for late March.

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