Chapter Eight #2
“—so we left the bar, and you were very unsteady so I helped you walk, and you kept saying, ‘This isn’t happening; this isn’t real.
I’m going to wake up and this will all be a dream,’ and I said, ‘But what if it’s not a dream; what if it’s destiny,’ and you said, ‘Destiny is just a probability with better marketing,’ which I thought was very clever even though you were wrong—”
Make her stop. Someone, please, make her stop!
“—and then we saw the chapel! The Destiny Chapel! Which was perfect because we’d literally just been talking about destiny, and there was this sign that said, ‘DESTINY AWAITS’ and I said, ‘See, the universe is showing us the way,’ and you said, ‘That’s not the universe.
That’s capitalism,’ but you were smiling when you said it, this little smile like maybe you were starting to believe—”
I sat back down.
My legs had given up. My brain had given up. My entire existence had given up.
“—and we went inside and there was Elvis! Well, an Elvis impersonator, but he was very good, very authentic, and he asked if we were ready to get married and you said—oh, this is my favorite part… you said, ‘I’m not ready for anything; I haven’t been ready for a single thing that’s happened today, but apparently the universe doesn’t care about my schedule,’ and I said, ‘Exactly!’ and Elvis said, ‘That’s the spirit, son,’ and then he started the ceremony—”
She was glowing now. Actually glowing with happiness.
I was dying. Actually dying inside.
“—and he asked if you took me to be your wife and you said, ‘I take her to be proof that chaos theory is real and the universe has a sense of humor,’ and Elvis said, ‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ and then he asked me and I said, ‘Yes, absolutely, one hundred percent yes. This is what I’ve been waiting for my entire life,’ and then he pronounced us husband and wife and said you could kiss the bride and you did—”
I kissed her.
I kissed her.
Oh God, I kissed her.
“—and it was beautiful, really beautiful, very cosmic, very aligned, and then we signed the papers and Elvis gave us the marriage certificate and took our picture. I have it on my phone. Do you want to see it? You look very happy in it, very peaceful, like you’d finally stopped fighting the universe and just surrendered to the flow of destiny—”
“Stop,” I whispered.
She didn’t hear me.
“—and then we came back here, and you said you needed to lie down, and I said that was a good idea and we should probably consummate the marriage because that’s traditional, and you said, ‘I don’t think I can consummate anything right now; I can barely stand,’ and I said, ‘That’s okay, we have our whole lives,’ and then you fell asleep and I fell asleep, and now here we are!
Married! Just like the universe planned! ”
She beamed at me.
I stared at her.
Somewhere in the distance, I could hear my carefully constructed life crumbling into dust.
“So,” she said brightly, “what do you want to do today? We should probably celebrate. Maybe get breakfast? I know this great place that does cosmic smoothies. They’re made with intention and positive energy and...”
I put my head in my hands.
This was it.
This was my life now.
Married to a woman named Athena who believed in cosmic smoothies and talked in run-on sentences and walked around naked like it was a spiritual practice.
And the worst part. The absolute worst part was that I’d asked for this.
I’d demanded she tell me what happened.
I’d opened my mouth and invited this avalanche of information.
I’d done this to myself.
The universe hadn’t done this to me.
I’d done this to me!
“Are you okay?” Athena asked, her voice suddenly concerned. “You’re very quiet. And you’re breathing funny again. Do you need to meditate? I can guide you through a breathing exercise. The universe responds really well to intentional breathwork—”
“Please,” I said quietly, my voice muffled by my hands. “Please stop talking about the universe.”
“But the universe is—”
“Please.”
She was quiet for a moment.
Then: “Okay. I can do that. For now. But eventually we’re going to need to talk about it because the universe is a big part of who I am and if we’re going to make this marriage work—”
I looked up at her.
She stopped talking.
Maybe it was the expression on my face. Maybe it was the way my hands were shaking. Maybe it was the fact that I looked like a man who’d reached the absolute limit of what he could handle and was teetering on the edge of a complete psychological breakdown.
Whatever it was, she finally—finally—stopped talking.
We stared at each other.
Her: wearing a wrinkled dress, hair still damp, eyes bright with cosmic certainty.
Me: fully clothed, hungover, wearing a wedding ring I couldn’t remove, married to a stranger, having a panic attack.
“So,” she said eventually, very carefully. “Breakfast?”
I closed my eyes.
“Sure,” I heard myself say. “Why not? What’s one more terrible decision at this point?”
She clapped her hands together, delighted.
And I realized, with horrible clarity, that I’d just made another mistake.
Because now we were going to breakfast.
Together.
As a married couple.
And she was going to talk the entire time.
About the universe.
And destiny.
And our cosmic future together.
I was trapped.
Completely, utterly, cosmically trapped.
The universe, her universe, had won.