After the Shut Up Ring

Chapter 1 – Angie

“Ready for this, sweetheart?”Tyler says, gazing at me, his blue eyes twinkling.

I’m beyond ready. I’ve been dreaming about marrying him since I was fourteen years old.

He clears his throat, and the corners of his lips twitch like he’s stifling a smile. A trickle of dread drips down my spine. I know that look.

The hall is deathly quiet. Our guests lean forward in their seats. They can’t wait to hear this.

My breath is shallow from nerves, but I can still smell the booze coming out of Tyler’s pores. He partied hard last night and started early today. Good thing he wasn’t the one who had to walk down the aisle. He wouldn’t have been able to do it in a straight line.

“Uh oh,” he says, patting his pockets. My heart leaps into my throat. Did he forget his phone?

“Oh. Here it is.” He laughs and holds it up. A few people chuckle. My heart sticks where it leaped.

Everyone’s been joking about Tyler writing his own vows, but it was his idea. He didn’t want a preacher to marry us. He wanted his friend Duck, who got ordained on the internet, to do the ceremony. Duck said he would, but he didn’t want to do too much. Tyler promised him fifty bucks and said we’d write our own vows. Duck said, “Bet.”

My best friend Madison said Tyler’s going to burp his vows like he does the lyrics to Kid Rock’s “Bawitdaba” every time he chugs a beer. I thought he’d be more likely to forget them in the car or in his other pants. I asked him earlier when we got to the Elks Lodge, though, and he said not to worry.

Actually, he said, “For once, can you not worry?”

Now he’s scrolling and scrolling. Did he accidentally delete his vows?

“What’s going on?” I whisper.

“Oh! Here they are!” he says brightly. He’s playing around.

I can hardly swallow past my heart in my throat, and he’s joking.

He flashes a smile at our girls sitting in the front row. “Ready for Daddy’s vows?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Tamblyn answers obediently. The crowd goes awww, and my chest eases.

The girls are sitting in the front row with Madison’s mom, Miss Dawn. Tamblyn’s spindly legs stick straight out of her ruffled petticoats. She’s munching Goldfish crackers from a bag on her lap. Ivy is twisted around and folded over the back of her white plastic folding chair, chatting to my aunt.

Tyler’s mom is on the opposite side of the aisle, casting a stink eye at her grandbabies and muttering to her sister. I just know she’s saying that the girls wouldn’t be eating Goldfish or turned around in their seats if they were sitting with her. She’s right, they wouldn’t, but they’d be bawling because she’d yelled at them about some petty thing, for sure.

For the hundredth time today, I wish my mom was here, that she’d turned it around in time to see this day. I’m wearing her angel pin under the hem of my dress as my “something old.” I even kind of wish I knew how to get in touch with Dad. Walking down the aisle alone sucked.

“Well, without further ado,” Tyler says, lifting his phone. He frowns, swipes, and taps. It must have timed out. His frown deepens, and he taps some more. He entered his passcode wrong. A few folks chuckle again, and he scowls. Tyler doesn’t like to be laughed at.

His groomsmen are getting restless beside him. They don’t look so great today either. They’ve gotten haircuts, and their rented tuxes are pressed, but they all have bloodshot eyes and that greasy sheen you get when you’re still drunk and hungover at the same time.

Tyler taps and scrolls, seriously searching this time, and folks begin to shift and whisper in their seats. I hope none of the chairs give. They’re not the sturdiest, but they came free with the hall rental.

Thank goodness, Tyler finally finds what he’s looking for. His whole head has turned red—you can see it through the buzz cut he got yesterday. I guess it’s too much to ask that this day go smoothly.

Smooth isn’t what Tyler and I get. The condom broke nine months before high school graduation, and we got Tamblyn instead of senior week at the beach. Then, his parents were supposed to move to Florida and rent their house to us, but his dad got busted banging an IT girl from his office, so he got fired and lost his retirement package. After his parents did counseling with the priest, they decided to stay put. And then there was all the drama with Ivy’s ears and the tubes.

Nothing ever breaks our way, but we’re still together, almost eight years after he asked me to his freshman homecoming, and that says something.

Doesn’t it?

My stomach refuses to settle. I’ve got wedding day jitters, only instead of butterflies, I’ve got a huge bird of prey stuck in my guts, flapping its wings, trying to get out. Like an osprey or something.

“We are gathered here today because I finally gave up and let Angie here win,” Tyler starts, his voice low and stilted. He’s not used to reading out loud. He pauses for laughter, but I don’t think anyone heard him.

He coughs and continues louder. “We’ve been together a long time, and today’s the day, as they say.”

My gaze wanders to my babies again, and then, like I always tend to do, I search out Brandon, Madison’s older brother. He’s sitting behind his mother, a few seats over, stiff and solemn per usual. He looks hungover, too, even though he didn’t go to the bachelor party last night. Tyler made a point to invite him—I heard him do it—but Brandon said he had to work.

When I was in eighth grade, I had a massive crush on Brandon, but he was a year ahead. Plenty of high school guys, including Tyler, would give us middle school girls the time of day, but he wouldn’t.

I used to see him all the time at school and Madison’s house. Now that we’re grown, though, I only see him in passing. He usually makes me nervous, but for some reason, today, the sight of him grim-faced in probably the only button-up shirt he owns, makes my stomach ache.

Tyler coughs, and my gaze flies back to him. Good Lord. What am I doing staring at other men on my wedding day?

Tyler goes on. “Ever since we started talking back in high school, I knew that one day, you would drag me down the aisle. I mean, I fought the good fight as long as I could, but in the end, you wore me down.” He waits a beat, and his groomsmen snicker. There’s a chuckle or two from the men in the audience.

I should have known Tyler wouldn’t be able to be serious. Honestly, I’m relieved he has something prepared. In the back of my mind, I was half afraid he’d pull a stunt like that groom in the viral video who just said something like “I vow to ride it like a pony every night” and called it a day.

And Tyler’s right. I’ve waited for this moment for a long time. Every Christmas and birthday and Valentine’s since Tamblyn was born, I held my breath for a ring, and now finally, after so many tears and so much pain and disappointment, it’s finally happening. We’re going to be a real family. This is what I’ve always wanted.

“Plenty of people here thought we wouldn’t make it, but here we are.” He gestures around the hall like he wrote stage directions in his vows.

It sucks to be reminded, but he’s right. Tyler and I were young when we got together, and we had our growing pains. No one is their best self at sixteen or nineteen or even twenty-one. We had a lot of responsibility when most people our age were out at the bars. Tyler resented that, and he made some hurtful choices, but at the end of the day, he came home to me. To us.

This is our new beginning. Life is going to be easier now. We’re in the duplex. He’s finally got the truck he wants. Ivy gets her tubes out in a few months. All the drama is behind us.

I smile up at him. He’s so handsome that sometimes I still can’t believe he ever asked me out. He was so popular, with his good hair and his boy-band face. I really am lucky. I’ve seen the DMs Madison gets from her matches in the dating apps. It’s rough out there—way rougher than I’ve got it.

Tyler shoots his boys a look over his shoulder and then smiles back at me.

It’s a strange smile. He must be nervous, speaking first in front of everyone we know.

He reads on. “So today, I’m going to make you the happiest woman in the world. You’re welcome.”

There are a few more laughs this time. Everyone thinks Tyler is funny. He says the things other people are afraid to say—or that they know they shouldn’t.

“They say that marriage is give and take,” he continues. “I promise to give it to you hard and take your shit with a smile, and if I can’t, to gather your shit up for you and dump it on the lawn. Like a gentleman.”

What? My mouth sours, and my throat tightens. Why would he bring that up?

That was years ago now. I was expecting Ivy, and they ran some routine tests, and when the tests came back, it was a whole thing. My hormones were out of control. I lost my temper and screamed at him that I’d had enough. He went crazy and threw all my stuff out on the front lawn, since technically, the house belongs to him and his dad since he co-signed. Then he drove off in his truck and didn’t come back all weekend.

Mr. Neudecker from next door helped me carry everything back inside because it was starting to rain, and I was so far along, I couldn’t really bend over to pick things up. Tyler and I worked it out, though. We forgave each other. We don’t talk about it anymore.

Except when he’s drunk and mad at me.

And he brings it up now? Here?

Tyler is still smiling down at me, and my shoulder muscles knot as I place it—it’s the smirk he gets when he’s about to give someone what he thinks they have coming to them. My stomach bottoms out.

“They say when you’re married, you should never let your wife go to bed angry, and I promise I won’t. You can sleep on the sofa.” He pauses again for laughs. Duck snorts. His best man Keith snickers. None of the other guests laugh this time. My face catches on fire.

He looks over at his groomsmen, his eyes lighting with glee. When he turns back, he’s not really seeing me. He’s focusing all his attention on keeping a straight face as he says, “When you said I had to write my vows, I looked up marriage on the internet, and it said communication and a sense of humor is key, so I promise to listen to you when you run your mouth and laugh at your jokes, which as everyone knows, aren’t nearly as funny as mine.”

Another pause. His boys laugh. The sound echoes off the dingy white ceiling tiles. The other sixty people in the hall become very, very quiet.

Tyler glances at our guests, his eyebrows pinching together. I know him so well; I can read his face like a book. He doesn’t understand why they aren’t laughing, too. This is hilarious. He’s hilarious.

He shrugs off the mystery and plows on. “Anyway, seriously though, we’ve been together a long time. We have two beautiful girls together, and our family makes my life perfect.”

A few guests murmur their approval, and the tension in the hall eases. This is what vows should sound like. Later, they might cluck disapprovingly about what he said before, but they’ll also smile fondly and shake their heads. So handsome. Such a joker. Can’t even be serious at his own wedding.

I should be relaxing, too, as I scrub the words from my short-term memory before they have the chance to stick. I should be taking the joke, doing whatever mental gymnastics is necessary to smooth it over in my head.

This isn’t bitter disappointment puckering my mouth. This isn’t shame twisting in my guts or humiliation crawling across my skin.

I should be getting over it as it happens. That’s how this relationship works. He steamrolls me. I peel myself off the floor and bounce right back into shape.

“Now you’ve got my last name and my ring, and I promise that you’ve also got my heart, ‘til death do us part—” He stops, his baby blue eyes so clear and gleeful and oblivious to anything except these lines he’s delivering.

I need to ignore what he’s doing right now, in this very moment, but as I look into his bright, shining, eager eyes, my heart sinks. He’s not done.

My body braces.

His smile breaks wide. “—as long as you have dinner on the table on time and keep it tight.” He winks at me. “Of course, if you don’t, I’ll just do what I did when you let yourself go after Tamblyn and Ivy—”

He’s not going to say it. Not here. Not in front of everyone.

“I’ll just shut my eyes, slap that fat ass, and”—he slaps his thigh and pumps his hips—“ride the waves in!”

His groomsmen chant the words along with him—ride the waves in—and then whoop at the top of their lungs.

The words drive into my soft belly like a fist. The humiliation follows in a sharp, blistering blast. I’m speechless and stuck on a rickety riser in front of everyone I know.

He planned this. His boys knew their line. They were waiting for their cue.

No one else is laughing. Duck flips through the two grimy index cards he’s holding like he had the miraculous foresight to write down what he should say to transition from “ride the waves in” to my vows.

Miss Dawn, down in her seat, and Madison, standing at my elbow, are both gaping, matching expressions of horror and disgust on their faces.

Tyler’s mother flattens her lips in disapproval. His dad looks like a raccoon who got caught in the trash, frozen and in denial. His aunt clutches the cross she wears around her neck.

Everyone looks like they want to die from secondhand embarrassment, and at the same time, as if they cannot possibly peel their eyes away. Several folks are recording on their phones, including Tyler’s cousin Aiden. He calls himself a content creator. He’s got a hundred thousand followers just for jumping his four-wheeler over ditches in his parents’ backyard.

Has he gone live? I bet he went live.

Dear God. This is going to be on the internet. People are going to feel sorry for me. Thousands of strangers are going to comment.

How could she marry him after that?

That’s what you call a shut up ring.

She can’t act surprised. Guarantee that she knew what kind of man he was before she got to the altar.

And I did, didn’t I? After eight years, how could I not?

But I didn’t worry about that. I worried about the centerpieces and Tyler’s cummerbund and whether the stupid balloon arch would tip over. I was so freaked out about everything matching—the girls’ hair ribbons and Tyler’s mother’s dress and the groomsmen’s boutonnieres.

I stare around the hall, and damned if everything doesn’t match down to the bows on the sides of the wobbly plastic folding chairs at the end of each cockeyed row. Everything is the exact same shade of powder blue. Perfect.

What have I done?

I wanted a family and a happy-ever-after so badly. Didn’t I drag him down the aisle? Didn’t I hold on and refuse to let go no matter how he fought, or what he said? And in the end, didn’t I wear him down?

I did this to myself.

My stunned gaze settles on my girls. They’re both watching me with wide, worried eyes. Ivy’s head is tilted to the side. Tamblyn’s grubby little fingers keep conveying Goldfish to her mouth, one at a time, in slow motion. She chews and swallows like it’s her duty—if she just keeps acting normal, then this moment will pass and everything will be okay again.

Oh, God, I know exactly who she learned that from.

How much do they understand of what their daddy said?

“Mama,” Ivy mouths. She knows I’m hurt somehow, and she wants to come to me, but she also knows that she’s supposed to stay in her seat and be quiet, and the conflict plays out on her soft, sweet face.

From the corner of my eye, I see Aiden pan the camera from me to her.

One day, she’ll see this, and she’ll understand every word of it. They both will.

They’ll be ashamed of me.

Like I’m ashamed of myself.

My fingers curl into useless fists. My ears ring. What do I do?

Smile.

Play it off.

Grab the girls and run.

Duck tugs at his collar. “Uh, Angie?” He coughs. “It’s your turn.”

My head swivels back to face Tyler. He’s still smirking, so pleased with himself. He lifts an eyebrow. Somehow, it says “What did I do?” and “What are you gonna do about it?” at the same time.

Tamblyn and Ivy lean forward, waiting for me to speak. They’re paying the closest attention.

I have to read what I wrote in my best handwriting on the pretty stationery I bought just for this. I have to pretend like I still believe what I wrote even though everything I am just cracked open and fell to pieces on the floor.

What am I going to do?

No one is ever going to love me like Tyler. No one is going to want me but him. I’m damaged goods.

I’ve tolerated his shit for years, and I’m going to have a problem with it now? In front of all our friends and family?

This dress costs five hundred dollars. It was on sale. No returns.

Chicken piccata and flank steak are heating over Sterno cans in the kitchen at the back of the hall. The smell blows through the vents with the air conditioning, mixing with the stale cigarette smoke that seeped into the paneling decades ago.

This is happening. All I have to do is keep going. Eyes on the prize. Our little family. All I’ve ever wanted. I just need to do what I’m expected to do.

I can do that. I can do anything for my family.

Like show my little girls how to eat shit?

I don’t know where the voice comes from. It’s not mine. It’s loud, though, and so help me God, it’s right.

“Angie?” Duck prompts.

I open my mouth, and some scrap of spirit, some spark of self that hasn’t been ground into the dirt quite yet, rises up inside me and says, “No,” loud and clear enough to be heard in the very last row.

My eyes bulge. Did I really just say no?

I did. And I meant it.

No.

“What?” Tyler’s eyes bulge, too.

I look away from him to Tamblyn and Ivy. They’re wearing their listening ears better than they ever have before. I can’t let them think this is okay.

I look up and stare at the buck’s head mounted on the wall at the rear of the hall. His blank expression doesn’t change while I stumble ahead.

“It’s not okay to talk to people like that,” I say, striving for the mom voice I cobbled together from the lady at library story time and gentle parenting influencers on the internet. “Those kinds of words hurt my feelings, and my feelings matter. It’s not okay to hurt the people you love. It’s not okay to embarrass them on purpose. You don’t have to accept that.”

The stuffed buck’s head gets it. I draw in a deep, shaky breath and glance down. Tamblyn and Ivy are watching me, round-eyed as owls, like I’m a tightrope walker. They’re listening. I hold their gaze, and I keep going.

“Everyone deserves to be treated with kindness and respect by the people who love them.” I look straight at Aiden’s phone. If this becomes my digital footprint, I don’t want my shame to show. I want my girls to think I meant to put my foot down. “And it is never too late to speak up for yourself.”

Tyler snorts. I make myself turn to face him. He’s sneering at me like I’m crazy. In a second, he’ll scoff and say I’m talking shit, making a fool of myself, acting stupid again. Then, he’ll get angry.

Panic floods my bloodstream, screaming at me to take it back. Apologize. Cry. Throw myself on his mercy. Do whatever it takes to keep him. No one else will ever want to be with me. No one will want to touch me. I can’t handle life alone.

Madison grabs my hand, and she steps closer so I can feel her body at my back. “Don’t you dare blink now,” she hisses in my ear, squeezing my fingers so hard that my knuckles ache. “You’re almost home free.”

Tamblyn mouths, “Mommy.” Ivy stays sitting, but she reaches out her hand toward me.

I’m not alone.

“I won’t marry you,” I say, forcing myself to look Tyler in his bright red face. “I won’t do this. No.”

I enunciate each word like I’m talking into an automated phone system, and I need to make my answer very, very clear. Like my life depends on being understood.

“Angie, what the fuck?” Tyler spits through his teeth. His boys shift and mutter so I know what they think of me. They can call me fat at my wedding, but I better watch what I say to their boy.

I paid for their boutonnieres. I paid for the flank steak, and they all picked the steak. Tyler didn’t pay for anything but his tux rental because he spent all his money on the down payment for his truck.

“I won’t marry you.” It comes out easier each time I say it.

“This is bullshit.”

“Uh. Maybe do you want to, uh, take a minute, and uh, talk?” Duck’s neck flushes where it bulges over his too-tight collar. He actually sounds uncomfortable.

“I’m not marrying him.”

“This was your fucking idea.” Tyler grabs me by the upper arm, his fingertips biting into my skin.

Among the guests, a chair screeches on the tile, clattering as it hits the floor. A murmur fans out through the crowd. I glance over. Brandon is standing. Is he going somewhere?

Tyler’s grip tightens, forcing my attention back to his tomato-red face. His mouth twists, his lips peeling back from his teeth. His forehead furrows into ridges like that alien from Star Trek.

He’s hideous, and he’s furious, and usually, I’d be terrified and backpedaling so fast I’d leave tire tracks, but this is my wedding day—I paid for it all, I picked it all out—and apparently, I’m going to burn it all down.

“Well, I changed my mind,” I say louder.

I take it all back. Every I love you when I meant please don’t leave me. Every it’s okay when it wasn’t. Every I don’t mind, it doesn’t matter; don’t worry about it, it’s fine; it was good, really good, I liked it, I promise.

His lip curls, and he lets me go, shoving me backward as he does, but Madison’s right there, so I don’t even stumble.

“Fuck this shit,” he says. He turns on his heel and storms out the emergency exit. Despite the warning in big red letters, no alarm goes off. His boys file after him, trotting like a pack of well-trained dogs.

Duck shrugs at me and follows them. The emergency door swings shut in slow motion, the rusty hinge letting out a long, screeching creak.

I look for my girls. Miss Dawn has somehow gathered both of them onto her lap, and they’re clinging to her, watching me. They aren’t scared. I know when my girls are scared. They’re not sad, either, or angry.

I can’t quite nail down the look in their wide eyes, but if I had to say, it’s close to how they looked when we saw a chick hatching from an egg at the state fair last summer. That kind of stunned wonder.

I straighten my back and lift my chin. Madison winds her arm through mine, and we face the rows of shocked guests.

“What do you say we crack into that open bar, folks?” Madison says, and like a starting pistol, the guests burst into conversation all at once.

I tremble under the big balloon arch from the aftermath of the adrenaline, my ears ringing like I got conked on the head with a concrete block. There is only one thought clear in my dumbstruck brain—why is Brandon standing up?

And why is his chair knocked over?