Chapter 5
DES
For the record, I never want to get married, but if I had to, I'm glad I'm marrying my best friend for insurance fraud. Legal, insurance fraud.
"Wow, I can't believe my friends are getting married," Hank says, a wobble emanating from his throat.
"Are you okay, buddy?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." He sniffles as he paces behind me. "It's just weddings. They bring it out of me. Don’t let my hyper-masculine demeanor confuse you: I'm an emotional guy with a lot of feelings."
Hank’s very pale, and that means the slightest bit of emotion can color his face like a tomato. I was never one to cry at weddings, and I’m certainly not going to cry at my own fake one.
"It's not a wedding, Hank," I tell him, straightening my tie in the mirror. "We’re simply having a legal ceremony performed so that Tanner and his kids don't wind up like Fantine from Les Misérables."
"Oh God, that musical was so sad. Now I'm gonna get more tears all over again," Hank says.
I dip my head to my fingers, pinch the bridge of my nose.
I love my friends, but also, they can be a little strange, especially Hank. One time junior year, he sat upside down at lunch for a week to test the fact that humans can still swallow in that position. Maybe he got one too many pucks to the head as goalie.
He proudly marches to the beat of his own drum, and you can't hate a guy like that.
"This isn't romantic, Hank," I tell him. "We're in a men's room in a county courthouse."
In fact, right behind us, two guys are using the urinals, and there's a guy in the toilet stall who seems to be having some issues pushing one out.
"Yes, I know, I know," Hank says. "But still…you're getting married. We never thought you would get married. This is an exciting day."
"It really isn't."
Hank brushes aside my objections. “My friend’s getting married today,” he tells one of the urinal users, a young lawyer in a suit who comes to wash his hands. “Oh, and you should use more soap.”
The lawyer gives him an odd look that must be commonplace for Hank at this point before leaving.
I grab my friend’s shoulders. "This is not a real marriage. I am helping a friend out. Remember the time when your car broke down and I let you borrow my backup Lexus? This is just like that. My company's insurance plan is a backup Lexus for Tanner."
"You're right.” He brushes aside whatever emotion he's daring to feel. He looks at me in the mirror and fixes my tie. I smack his hand away.
"Hank, I can always find another witness."
"This may be a fake wedding, but I want you to look nice," he says. This coming from a man who tucks in his shirt 10 percent of the time and doesn’t own a pair of non-sneakers.
Although to be fair, today Hank tried dressing up.
His dress shirt is ironed, and his shaggy, dirty-blond hair is combed into submission.
"Now, I brought some things. Don't get upset." He holds up his hands, steeling himself for my reaction. But with Hank, it's always something, so I just roll with it.
"What is it?"
He claps his hands together, does this little jig with his feet. He grabs an old Jansport backpack from the floor. I shudder to think that’s the same one from high school. He reaches inside, and I hold my breath. With Hank, he could literally pull out anything.
"Even though it’s a fake wedding, nothing says that we can't have some real traditions."
He hands me his old high school student ID. The South Rock letters are mostly worn off. I can make out an S and an R. Hank is twenty-five years older than this picture, but he still has the same goofy smile, same shaggy hair, same ruddy complexion.
"Your high school ID."
"That's something old."
"Oh good Lord," I scream out.
Next, he hands me one of his credit cards.
"Your Visa card?"
"That's a brand new card I just got. You can see the expiration date. Something new. Get it?"
"Nothing says romance like a credit card."
"That's what my ex-wife used to say—well, before she wrecked our credit rating," Hank says. Back into the bag his hand goes. "Then, here's this. It's kind of a two-for-one."
He pulls out a CD case with a blue blob artwork on the front. Third Eye Blind’s album Blue. I've instantly been transported to the year 2000.
I flash back to memories of putting CDs into my car stereo and flipping through my big book of CDs while driving—something that was probably ten times more dangerous than texting and driving.
"That's my Third Eye Blind CD," says Hank.
“Why do you still have this?”
"I believe in keeping physical media.” He takes the CD, then makes a big gesture of handing it back to me. “I’m letting you borrow it. And, could you tell me the name of the album?”
"Blue," I say flatly.
“Yes! Something borrowed and blue! Take that, wedding traditions!” His voice echoes off the bathroom walls. "Maybe there's a song in there that we can play…for your first dance with Tanner." Hank chokes up, and I shoot him all the daggers in the world.
"There's no first dance, no last dance, no dancing at all," I remind him, "because this is not a real wedding."
I want to give back these things, but Hank's eyes are so wide and so hopeful. And what's the big deal if I hold onto this crap for the few minutes of legal proceedings?
“Yes! I knew you were a quasi-romantic,” Hank proclaims. The CD case barely manages to fit into the front of my jacket pocket.
I wave his credit card. "I guess lunch is on you."
I turn and give Hank a final check. I lick my thumb and smooth out his eyebrows. He’s a good-looking guy, one man-size puppy dog. I straighten the collar on his shirt.
“Hank…” I notice him looking up, trying to hold tears.
"I know, I know. Just let me have this moment, since you're not gonna let me make a best man speech."
"You're not my best man. Hank, you're a witness."
"But if you were having a wedding, I would be your best man.”
“If I were getting married, Tanner would be my best man."
"Well, you can't have your groom be your best man."
I decide not to go down this rabbit hole. I let Hank have the victory. "Yes, Hank. You would be my best man."
He pulls an empty, plastic champagne flute from his backpack and fills it with sink water. He clears his throat to ensure none of the other bathroom users interrupt him.
"Des, I've known you for more than half your life.
None of us ever thought that you'd get married. You were so scared, you thought it was like a venereal disease. But Tanner has always been the one to get through to you. He's been able to open you up and make you this warmer, gentler person. I don’t know the twists and turns of the universe that brings two people together, but I’m so glad you two found each other.
I think you make a really wonderful couple. You're gonna make an excellent father."
I shudder at him calling me a father.
"You know, just take care of Tanner. He's been through a lot, and he's a good guy."
Despite everything, Hank's speech actually wedges into my heart. It makes me think of Tanner and how wonderful he is. And damn, now I’m looking up at the ceiling, holding back tears.
Maybe Hank isn't so bad at speeches.
"Thanks, pal." I wrap an arm around him, kiss him on his head and realize his hair is in place thanks to a gallon of hair gel. "Okay, let's get freaking married."
We walk into the judge's chambers. A big window looks out on a huge oak tree, sun shining through the leaves.
Hank immediately starts humming “Here Comes the Bride.” The judge sits behind his oak desk, surrounded by shelves of law journals.
Tanner and Griffin, our other witness, are sitting in two chairs on the right side.
Two chairs on the left side are empty for Hank and me.
Technically, I am walking down an aisle, not the aisle.
“That’s enough,” I mutter to Hank to end his singing.
Tanner stands up from his chair and turns to face me.
Fuck. I am not a romantic, and this is not a real wedding, but the wind kind of gets knocked out of me for a second.
His fiery blue eyes and sweet, hopeful gaze pull me like a tractor beam down the aisle–I mean, an aisle.
We're actually getting married. Like we're going to sign a legal document and be husbands.
It's hard to tell what's a scam and what isn't.
"You look very nice, Des," he says.
"Well, I always look nice. It pays to have a tailor on speed dial." I adjust my cuffs in a James Bond style.
The judge welcomes us into her chambers. She's an older woman with a mane of gray hair and big, black-framed glasses. She looks like she could’ve been a lesbian bookstore owner in a past life.
"Good morning. We’re here today to witness the union of Max Desmond and Tanner Chance in marriage,” the judge says. I stand next to Tanner. His sandalwood scent blurs the lines even more today.
"It's so weird hearing someone call you Max," Griffin says. He gives me a supportive nod and stands behind us observing. He’s really taking being a witness to heart.
"You can just call me Des," I tell the judge. "Max was my father's name."
The judge motions Tanner and me to take step forward.
She comes around to our side of her desk.
“Today marks the beginning of your shared journey, built on a foundation of honesty, respect, deep friendship, and of course love. Marriage is not just a celebration—it is a profound and enduring commitment.”
I gulp a nervous lump back in my throat. I didn’t expect the judge to go so hard.
“Ahead lies a future rich with joy, new experiences, and the challenges that life brings. With unwavering support for one another, you will face each moment united, growing stronger with every step.”
I look at Tanner, and I get that lump in my throat again. This can’t help but feel real as much as I try to remind myself it isn’t. Tanner doesn’t break eye contact with me, making this even more intimate.
The judge turns to me and asks me a question I never thought I would ever be asked. I take a deep breath, my heart thumping in my ears. I'm about to say two words I never thought I would say. But there's no one I'd rather say them to for the purposes of insurance coverage.
"I do."
Tanner bites his lip slowly. It's a small tell he has—that something is really affecting him. I guess he feels the weight of it too. This isn't just a little story between friends. We're involving the United States court system.
"And do you, Tanner, take Des to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
Tanner opens his mouth. Nothing comes out at first. He looks at the judge, then looks back at Griffin, looks at me. His eyes are big and nervous.
Then I get nervous. Fuck. Am I gonna be left at the altar at my fake wedding?
"I do," he says. His voice is shaky, and I wonder if he’s going to cry. I squeeze his hand.
“Do you have the rings?” the judge asks.
Griffin steps forward and removes them from his pocket. He hands one to me. I stare at it for a second.
“You’re supposed to take it,” he tells me, as if I just landed on earth.
I was the one who picked out the pair of white gold rings. If we’re going to have a sham marriage, we might as well do it right. I picked the first pair that looked decent and weren’t cheap metal, then went to work. But now the rings are in front of me, and they’re…rings. Actual rings.
I open my palm and Griffin drops a ring in. I can barely think straight as I watch myself slide the ring onto Tanner’s finger.
My body vibrates with nerves and terror and joy as Tanner slips a ring onto my finger. This finger was supposed to stay naked for eternity. I check out my hand. I was never a jewelry person, but it looks good with a ring on.
"Des and Tanner, by the state of New York, I now pronounce you married. You may kiss," she says.
"We don't have to do that,” I say.
She cocks her head. "Why wouldn't you want to kiss your new husband?"
Shit. I guess we can't lie about that.
"Sorry, I had a…garlic omelet for breakfast." I wonder if such a thing does exist.
But before I can second guess, Tanner steps forward and plants a kiss on my lips. I’ve kissed a lot of people, but no kiss has ever taken my breath away like Tanner is doing at this moment. His hot lips press against mine for a flash before pulling away, quite possibly leaving me changed forever.
This kiss is magic. I'm not a romantic, and I don't believe in magic, but…my wand is starting to stand up.
"Okay, well, where do we sign?" I ask.
She hands over the documents, and I get back to something I know: signing contracts. That is my specialty. Marriage and love? That is not.
"Stop crying," I tell Hank as he signs the witness part. A few minutes later, I exit the courthouse with…my husband? We stand on the majestic courthouse steps, staring out on the green.
"Well, husband, what should we do?" he asks.
"I actually have a call I have to get to at work. I told them I had a doctor's appointment."
"Yeah, fair enough. And I have to get home, with job hunting, and then do some grocery shopping and laundry. There's always laundry to be done," Tanner says, laughing.
It really is a beautiful laugh—deep and warm like the perfect cup of coffee on a chilly winter morning. It breaks the tension building in my chest.
"Well, I guess I'll see you at practice." I shrug my shoulders up to my ears.
He laughs. "Yeah, I'm not sure what to do either. I mean, we're married."
"We are married."
"I know what I'm gonna do," I say. "I’m going to change my insurance status with my company.” I hold up the marriage license. “Qualifying event, bitches! I’ll get you and the kids on the plan in no time. So no worries."
"Great."
“Okay.” We walk to the parking lot. A wind rustles the leaves. “I’m parked down this way.”
“And I’m one aisle over,” he says. The word aisle causes a twist in my stomach.
“Cool.” We stand there, a bit unsure, a bit dazed. We decide on a hug goodbye.
“Goodbye, husband,” Tanner says.
“Goodbye, husband.”