Page 22 of Hail Marry
Not that her being a sight for sore eyes changes anything. The last thing I need right now is distraction. Or to get attached to someone I have plans to divorce. The people I love never stick around, so the obvious solution is just not to love anyone. I’ve been doing really well at that since Grandma died.
“Come in,” she calls over her shoulder. “I’m just gonna change real quick. Try to match your swagger.”
I step inside, close the door behind me, and look around the living room. I’ve been here a few times, but I haven’t let myself explore much. There are some pictures on the walls, and part of me wants to go check them out, but I keep my feet planted where they are, and in a flash, Victoria’s back.
She’s changed into a black skirt that hugs her hips and thighs, ending just above her knees. Her shirt is white and flowy, tucked carefully into her skirt. She’s holding a pair of black heels, which she slips on while walking.
“Shall we?” The words are garbled by the chopstick between her teeth. She scoops her mass of hair back, twists it, and secures it with a chopstick. Miraculously, it holds. “You have your ID?” I ask.
She grabs her purse and holds it up. “You?”
“In the car.”
“Great!” She opens the front door, and I pass through, ignoring Grandma’s voice telling me to hold the door open for her. This isn’t prom. It’s paperwork, as Victoria said.
“I called first thing this morning,” she says as we walk to the car, “so they’re expecting us. They said we should be able to get in for a ceremony right after we get the license. Apparently, Wednesdays aren’t too busy for them. Convenient, right?”
“Yeah.” This is the weirdest thing ever, talking about our wedding appointment like this. I don’t think I’ve ever really imagined getting married, but some basic part of me knows this is bizarre.
We get in the car, and Victoria keeps up a steady stream of conversation, which is good because I’m in my head, and if she didn’t talk, it’d be completely silent. Her chatter is strangely reassuring, like it’s just a normal day. Or maybe she’s a chatterbox because of nerves. It’s possible she’s terrified inside and just really good at masking it.
When we pull into the courthouse parking lot and I park the car, she opens her door. I put a hand on her arm to stop her.
She looks at me with a question in her eyes.
I’ve got a question of my own, but I’m scared to ask it because I’m afraid of the answer. I ask it anyway. “Are you sure about this?”
She lets out a breathy laugh. “I thought you were going to tell me I forgot to shave or something. Yes, I’m sure. Are you?”
Am I sure I should be letting her do this? Not at all.
Am I crazy grateful she seems to be on board with it? 100%.
Do I want to play in the NFL more than anything? Absolutely.
“If you’re sure you’re sure,” I say, “I’m sure.”
She smiles. “I’m sure I’m sure. Come on. Let’s go do something crazy.” She steps out of the car, and I scrub a hand over my smile.
There are two other couples in the clerk’s office where we wait our turn to get the marriage license. One is an older couple in their seventies. They’re holding hands, and her head’s on his shoulder, a contented smile on both of their faces.
I get a little knot in my throat as I picture Grandma in her place. My grandpa died not long after I came to live with them, and she was never interested in remarrying.
The other couple in the room is young. Late teens maybe? She’s got a distinct baby bump, and a middle-aged man is sitting next to the guy, wearing a deep frown.
So, we’ve got a widower and widow, a kid being forced to man up, and then Victoria and me. Interesting crowd.
Within a quarter of an hour, we’ve answered the clerk’s questions, paid the fee, and have our marriage license in hand.
“Looks like you have a ceremony scheduled in”—the clerk checks the time—“fifteen minutes. You can go ahead and make your way there. It’s just down the hall.”
We leave the clerk’s office, which has since welcomed two other couples.
“Can you imagine forking over forty grand for a wedding when you could spend a hundred and fifteen bucks like us?” She puts out her fist, and I bump it, secretly marveling at her mood.
I’m waiting for her to get cold feet, but so far, they seem plenty warm.
We reach the room where the ceremonies are performed, and I stop in front of the door and face her. “Last chance.”
