Chapter 18 Kal
18
KAL
The bells in the Old City Hall clock tower mark quarter past ten. Silvio and I await Miz and Aimé by the enormous Toronto sign in Nathan Phillips Square, which is mostly deserted this morning. I look up at the iconic curved towers. Somewhere in there is where, in about an hour, Miz’s and my fates will be intertwined for the foreseeable future. For better, not worse, I hope.
A flash from Silvio’s camera brings me back to my immediate surroundings. “Save your film for the real star of the day, man,” I say. He has already taken many unnecessary pictures of me from every conceivable angle.
“Just checking the lighting,” Silvio says.
“What lighting?” I hope the sun will come out eventually. I don’t feel good about getting “married” on such a grey and damp day.
“You have the rings?” he asks. Though it’s clear that I do by the little bulge in the breast pocket of my jacket. I give the box to him. Contrary to what I’ve told Miz, the rings are not how Silvio found out about our arrangement. He found out when I took him along to help me choose her gift, but I couldn’t tell her that without ruining the surprise of the gift.
At the far end of the square, a bright spot of white catches my eye: a wedding dress. Then I realize the woman in white, the bride, moving fast as if she has a pair of sneakers on under that dress instead of formal shoes, is Miz.
I stare in shock.
Silvio follows my gaze. “Is that…?”
I nod, unable to form words.
“Where’s Aimé? She didn’t tell her?” Silvio says, craning his neck. “Oh, I see her.”
Aimé, behind Miz, is doing her best to keep up while holding the train of Miz’s dress aloft. We should go meet them, but both Silvio and I are glued to our spots. Miz looks incredible in the shoulderless dress, like an angel floating toward us, veil billowing out like wings. It doesn’t matter that the sun is nowhere to be seen today; Miz lights everything up.
In comparison, the rest of us—me in a plain black suit and tie, Silvio in one of his rockabilly ensembles, and Aimé in one of Miz’s West African print dresses—almost look too casual.
Belatedly, as Miz is graciously accepting complimentary words from a passerby, Silvio nudges me toward them. I approach them tentatively, even though Miz is smiling encouragingly at me, as if to say Come on, one foot in front of the other. You can do this . When I’m close enough, I stop to take her in from head to toe. I have seen her in formal dress before, including as a bridesmaid, but this is…different.
“I didn’t know you were bringing flowers,” she says, gesturing to the forgotten bouquet of roses in my grasp. Numbly, I hand them over.
“Don’t freak out. It’s just a white dress,” Aimé says wryly, reading my expression.
“I don’t think he’s ever seen one before,” Silvio jokes, snapping photos that will not make it into our application package because I know I look like a slack-jawed mannequin.
Miz waves her hand in front of my face. “Hello? Anybody home?”
I blink and come to. “You look…” Stunning. Perfect. Like a divine goddess sent from the heavens above.
“Did I overdo it?” She turns to Aimé. “See, I should’ve just worn the other one.”
Other one? My brain short-circuits even more.
“Can you believe she wanted me to slap on one of her old bridesmaid dresses?” Aimé says, making up for my dazedness. “Hey, Silvio, long time.”
She starts the hugs all around. When I lean in to embrace Miz, touching her confirms her realness and helps me find my voice. “You look the part. You look great,” I finally say, my hand lingering on her hip.
“That’s the idea.” She strikes a runway pose.
“You are wearing the hell out of that dress,” Silvio says.
“Thank you.” She beams. “Go big, or go home! Y’all are lucky I didn’t wear the hoop slip under it, or it would’ve been like, Take my haaand !” She curves her upper body away from us, reaching out dramatically as if she’s far away.
“Is it a rental?” I ask Miz.
She hesitates for a nanosecond. A look passes between her and Aimé, who nods.
“Yeah,” Miz says.
I almost say that I will reimburse her but catch myself in time. As per Miz’s orders, I am not allowed to bring up money. Eske’s mysterious low whistle when I told her Miz was doing this for free resounds in my head. I banish it.
“All right!” Silvio says, adjusting his leather camera holster looped around his shoulders. “Before we get you two beautiful humans matrimonied, the ‘before’ pictures!”
Miz bares her teeth. “Here we go. Life is wild, huh?” she says, as we arrange ourselves for the first shot, Silvio backing up to get the Toronto sign and City Hall in the background. “Who knew, when we met, we’d be doing this one day?” She slips her thumb into her neckline to hitch up her cleavage, a subconscious gesture I’ve seen her do a thousand times, but this time it sends a tingle down my spine.
“Not this gal,” Aimé says pointedly but with good humour. “I didn’t wake up yesterday morning planning to be eyewitness to a fraud today.”
The kernel of truth in her teasing chills my blood, reminding me how serious this could get. “Loosen up, man,” Silvio yells. “You’re stiff as a board. This is not good. Smile!”
Miz pinches my cheek gently. “You should see yourself. How am I more relaxed than you?”
“Not so nervous, K-Money,” Aimé says through her smile.
“Me? What do I have to be nervous about?” In an attempt at normalcy, I slip one of the dangling straps of Miz’s dress up onto her shoulder.
“That’s supposed to be like that,” she says, shimmying to get it back down.
“Oh, pardon me,” I say softly, my hand brushing along her collarbone and down her arm as I slide the strap back off for her.
“Oi, get a room, you two,” Aimé says.
“Are you cold?” I say, ignoring that.
“No, Grandma,” Miz says, laughing and jostling me.
Miz continues to be her usual jokey self as we take more photos around Osgoode Hall Gardens and the University Avenue fountain, her arm linked with mine, getting a kick out of strangers’ congratulations. This helps to relax me somewhat. Other than the fact that Aimé’s been sussing me out like an assassin from the corners of her eyes, and I can’t quite feel my face, this could be just another day, just another hangout.
Around 11 a.m., we’re ushered into the wedding chambers after we’ve all signed the Marriage Licence and Record of Solemnization. I hand the rings and my phone over to Silvio, who makes his way to the front row with Aimé. Miz steps up beside me at the entrance, linking her arm with mine to await our cue.
“What?” Miz says with a sidelong glance, catching me beaming at her. I bring her hand to my heart and feel a tremble run through her. She smiles. “Only because…”
“It’s…” She finishes our catchphrase by firmly pressing her index finger into my chest. I feel as if I’ve just been tattooed. I inhale deeply. She follows my lead and does the same. We exhale together slowly. My heart rate steadies. The music starts.
Miz lights up. “No, you didn’t!”
I grin. “I did.”
She and I are not a real couple, but the lyrics of Gildo’s “Lageba New,” as far as I’m concerned, can be for us too. We groove our way down the aisle as if we’re on Soul Train . Silvio’s camera goes into overdrive. I would have loved, and Miz as well I’m sure, to dance to the whole song, but alas, we have to stop and get serious in front of the black-robed officiant, who has remained solemn and still, like a statue.
“Welcome!” she booms. She confirms that Miz and I are both free and willing to be married, then asks us to join our right hands. My stomach is jelly, my sweat flowing like a river. Meanwhile, Miz is vibrating, her eyes shimmering not from tears of joy but from what I suspect to be the intense effort of holding back a giggling fit. I know her well enough to know that when she’s nervous, she giggles.
It’s all a blur as we exchange stilted, scripted vows and our rings, which Silvio fumbles and has to crawl around to retrieve. I send a quick prayer up, hoping it isn’t a sign of bad things to come. Before I know it, the officiant is booming all the way to the back of the empty chairs, “I now pronounce you legally wed! You may now—”
Suddenly, Miz’s lips are on mine, and just as quickly, they are gone, leaving me with a phantom sense of something I would be certain I imagined but for Miz’s yeah I did it look and Aimé’s gobsmacked stare and Silvio’s camera shutter going off like a flock of doves taking to the air at once.
Miz kissed me.
And I missed it.
I roll my lips inward, as if to capture whatever trace of her lips might still be there. I’ve never wanted a do-over, a second chance, so badly. But history never warns you that it is about to happen. You can only hope to keep up or catch up.
Next thing I know, we are being herded over to a table to sign the Marriage Register, receive the completed Record of Solemnization from the officiant, and take “after” photos. Then, we’re done. Within half an hour of our arrival, we are all back outside, Aimé tucking the Record of Solemnization into her purse, Silvio still playing paparazzo.
Miz is nimbly hopping over puddles, using her flowers as an umbrella against the drizzle, my jacket draped over her head. I don’t remember riding down the elevator, or exiting the building or giving Miz my jacket. Miz, my now-legal wife. I watch her with a smile. But she’s also still the same old Miz. Just as I’m the same old Kal…but also not. How is that possible?
“You good with that?” She’s looking at me expectantly.
I step in a puddle. “Pardon?”
“Pasta for lunch.”
“Wh—yes…pasta. For lunch,” I stammer.