Chapter 14
D exter had told Lainey to be ready at exactly fifteen minutes past noon. The courthouse was open until four, but he didn’t like to cut things that close. Plus, knowing Lainey as he was beginning to, he thought she might need some wiggle room on the time. Call him crazy, but she seemed like the type of woman who was always late.
And when he arrived home and let himself into her darkened apartment, his fears were confirmed. Her car was there, so he knew she hadn’t left. She must have fallen asleep again, which meant she would have to get ready, which meant he would have to tamp down his ire and impatience as he waited an unknown time for her, after he made a special point of leaving work early.
She wasn’t in the main parts of the house. Since hers was a mirror of his, he followed the stairs to her bedroom and found her burrowed under the covers. With a lightning stab of annoyance he flicked on the light and stood at the edge of her bed.
“Lainey!”
She lay still a few beats, then flung off the blankets and beamed at him, fully dressed. “I tricked you.”
“What?”
“You thought I wouldn’t be ready. But look at me, all ready. Ta-da.”
“Congratulations on being a functioning adult. Now let’s go.”
“Wait, how was your day?” she scooted over and patted the bed.
He perched on the edge of it and let out the breath he seemed to hold all day at work. “It was…you know. It was work.”
“I don’t really know anymore. I kind of miss working with people. I didn’t see that coming.”
“You could go back,” he said.
She squinted up at him. “Could you lie down? Staring at the light behind you hurts my eyes.”
He popped off his shoes and lay down, letting go of another breath as he stretched out. “Your bed is soft.”
“Is yours an ironing board?” she guessed.
“Nails.”
“Ah, figures. Back to your earlier statement, just because I miss people and routine doesn’t mean I’m ready to give up yet. Feels like failure.”
He didn’t respond, but quitting his job to try some far flung dream, one that could and would only end in failure and, if looks were any indication, was already failing, was unfathomable to him. He needed the security of nine to five, of frameworked tasks, of money in the bank and viable retirement.
Lainey yawned and reached for the hem of his shirt, winding her fist in it.
“No,” he said, yanking it away.
“What?” she asked, affronted.
“I know that move. You’re about to fall asleep for real.”
“I like to hold things when I sleep,” she said. “Makes me feel cozy.”
“Don’t sleep, we have to go,” he said, but he yawned. Her bed really was comfortable, soft and plush and cozy .
“Let’s pretend for a minute.”
“That we can get you out of here on time?” he said hopefully.
“No, that it’s true. That we’re really getting married,” she said.
“I thought we are really getting married.”
She poked him. “You know what I mean. We’re crazy in love, can’t keep our hands off each other.” She stretched her arms around him and gave him a squeeze. “We sleep all night bundled like puppies because we’re sooooo in lurve .”
“No one actually sleeps that way,” he mumbled. The weight of her warmth was dragging him under.
“Play along,” she growled, squeezing harder.
He put his arms around her and she nestled, burrowing comfortably into his embrace, a perfect fit. “Oh, darling. I can’t wait to argue about which way the flap on the toilet paper goes with you,” she gushed.
“For the rest of our lives,” he said, imitating her breathless dreaminess in a way that made her giggle.
“I love how you snore. When I can’t sleep because you sound like a stuck chainsaw, I stare at you for hours, feeling so much love I want to die. Not like I want to stuff a pillow over your face and suffocate you at all.”
“And when I’m trying to go to sleep and you keep talking and talking and talking and talking, I think to myself, ‘how did I get lucky enough to find an incessant chatterbox who won’t shut up’?”
She giggled and pressed her face to his chest and he smiled. And then somehow woke up an hour later, Lainey still molded firmly against him.
“Lainey,” he whispered, giving her a shake. “Wake up, we fell asleep.”
Her eyes flapped open. “Oh. Good nap, though.”
It had been, actually. His alarm went off and she sat up. “Did you set your alarm for our impromptu nap?”
He pushed the button on his alarm. “I don’t really do impromptu,” he reminded her.
“Consistency is key,” she said, touching her finger to his cheek. She turned to go, but he held her back.
“Wait I have to ask you something.”
“Kind of anticlimactic. I already said I’ll marry you.”
He picked up her left hand and regarded it. “Do you want a ring?”
“I’ve had my eye on the Hope Diamond,” she said.
He shook her hand.
She let out a little breath and also now stared at her hand, rather both their hands since they were still joined. “Maybe. Not a diamond or stone, but a little band might be nice. Sort of a reminder of our temporary commitment, you know? There’s something kind of sweet and solemn about that.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, thumb smoothing over her ring finger. “How come no diamond? I thought girls liked that kind of stuff.”
“A diamond is too real. Too—emotionally involved. It says you put thought and effort and energy into selecting something for me.” She paused. “I don’t think I’ll ever have a ring like that. Not really.”
She sounded so sad. He didn’t like it. “Why not?”
She let go of his hand and bundled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “I have this friend who is a firefighter.” It still hurt too much to say Ian’s name. “He told me about this tank they have that when they run out of water can go to any lake or river or pond or even swimming pool and suck up all the liquid. That’s me, I’m that tank. I suck the life out of people, always require more than they have or are willing to give. And then I spew it back at them like an out-of-control hose, bowling them over with too much love, too much affection, attention.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say,” he said.
“No, it’s a truthful thing to say. I’m trying really hard to use this time to grow and improve and become better. And part of that is realizing that I’m the common denominator in every failed relationship. I alternately ask too much and give too much. In short, I am too much.”
They were quiet a few beats. Dexter studied her with a thoughtful frown, but he couldn’t disagree because maybe it was true. He didn’t know, nor would he. It wasn’t like they were in a real relationship. So far she’d been fun and funny and a little kooky, but he’d only scratched the surface. What if, beneath that, she actually was needy and a little insane?
She reached over and gripped his hand again. “Look, I know you said you’re not a fixer, and I respect that. But maybe if you see things in me, things that are starting to tip over the margins, you could point them out. Like, ‘Lainey, this is what you were talking about. This is you being too much.’ And then I could fix them. Because I don’t know when I’m doing it. I don’t know until after it’s already too late, until after I’ve pushed away all the people I care about.” She sniffed and brushed at her eyes. “Please? Okay?”
“I’ll try,” he said slowly. “But I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’ll think of it as ripping off a Band-Aid. You’re an unbiased observer. You can see all my rough spots that need to be polished. This could be like a master class in relationship prep.” She wriggled, warming to her idea. “This could be amazing. Why doesn’t everyone take a practice run at marriage? I see so many benefits looming in our future.” She gave his hand a squeeze.
He smiled, glad she’d regained her sparkle. Lainey was a warm, passionate person. To see her without that warmth and passion, even temporarily, felt like a cold, gray drizzle.
“Clearly we’re relationship geniuses,” he agreed.
“Maybe we should write a book, when all of this is over.”
“How To Marry Your Neighbor And Succeed At Life,” he suggested.
“How To Be Opposite And Not Kill Each Other,” Lainey added.
“Let’s give that one time. We might have to amend it by the end,” he said, checking his watch. “Speaking of which, can we pretty please go before the courthouse closes?”
“I’m waiting on you. I’m completely ready,” she said, motioning to herself.
He quirked an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Just got to touch up my hair and makeup after the nap. Back in a tick.” She hopped out of the bed and darted to the bathroom.
Sighing, Dexter picked up the book by the bed and started to read, some girly romance novel. Twenty minutes later, Lainey finally reappeared in the doorway.
“Are you ready yet? They’re going to close,” she said, hands on hips.
“Maybe a how-to manual,” Dexter suggested as he eased out of the bed and tidied it behind him, pulling the sheets taut. “How Not To Kill The Stranger You Married.”
“Might want to hold off on that. It might need to be amended by the end,” she said. She reached around him, ruffled the sheets he’d perfected, took his hand, and dragged him out of the room before he could fix the bed again.
A s the day wore on, their light mood slid toward solemnity. Things began to feel more real when they had to sign papers and fill out their marriage certificate application. Next they went to look at rings, and another realization jolted them as they viewed all the other happy couples picking out their forever rings.
“What can I show you?” an eager saleswoman asked as they stared dazedly at the ring counter.
“Something cheap and temporary,” Dexter said, elbowing Lainey when she snorted a laugh.
“Something simple,” he amended when the woman’s eyes widened and swung sympathetically toward Lainey.
“Simple is good,” Lainey agreed, rescuing him.
“Okay,” the woman drawled, her hopes for a good commission dwindling. “Here are our simplest bands.” She pulled out the tray and set it on the counter, not bothering to remain while they made their inspection.
“Kind of anticlimactic,” Lainey said, picking up a ring that looked like all the others.
“Were you hoping it would shoot fireworks or something?” Dexter asked, picking up a matching band.
“No, although not going to lie, now that you said it I think it’s a genius marketing idea. I just…Everyone makes it out to be such a big deal. The ring .” She pressed her palm to her cheek. “But it’s only a piece of metal.” Her hand moved up and down a few times, feeling the weight of it.
“Try it on,” Dexter urged. “Maybe it feels different on.”
Dutifully, she slid it on her finger. Dexter did the same and they made a combined inspection. “Do you feel married?” he asked.
“No, but I feel a little weird, seeing something that should have meaning but doesn’t. Do you think everyone feels this way?”
“Maybe no one overthinks it this much. Maybe they’re too busy thinking about all the other stuff to give credence to rings,” Dexter mused.
“Credence to rings is an excellent band name,” Lainey said. She slid the ring off and set it on the counter. Dexter took his off and lined it next to hers.
“These?”
“These seem as good as any others,” he agreed, nodding. They stared at them, side by side on the clear glass counter.
“Yep,” she agreed. They couldn’t seem to take their eyes off the rings, a tangible symbol of the reality they were about to undertake.
At last the saleslady rescued them with her return. They purchased the rings, shoved them deep into a bag, and went to get something to eat, deciding to get carry out when the wait was too long. Hanging around a restaurant endlessly felt too much like a date. Fast food felt more in line with the current theme of things—ill thought and laced with a touch of shame.
They sat on Lainey’s couch as they ate, staring at the bag that contained their rings.
“Why did it feel so weird?” Dexter mused.
“Maybe it was the shock. We’re really doing this. Maybe we need to put them on for a while, like practice. You know when you buy new shoes for a vacation but you have to break them in a few times so you don’t get blisters when you wear them?”
He stared at her. “You know I’m a guy, right? We don’t buy vacation shoes, and we don’t calculate for blisters.”
“Must be anarchy,” she observed.
“Must be looking in a mirror,” he muttered. “But it’s not a bad idea, the practice ring thing.” He finished his food and wiped his fingers with a napkin. Not that they needed it. Somehow he had remained clean while Lainey’s fingers looked like she’d run them through a combo oil-slick/ketchup rain-wash. He used one napkin and handed the remainder of the stack to her. She used them all and shoved them in the bag.
Neither of them made a move toward the rings.
“Right, yes, being a man,” Dexter said. With a definitive nod, he reached for the bag, pulled out his ring, and put it on. Nervously, Lainey took her ring and slid it on, too. They sat there staring at their respective hands in silence a few minutes.
“Not getting any less weird,” Lainey observed.
“Can we take them off now?” Dexter said.
“Yes, but like brave adults,” Lainey said. She demonstrated by sliding the ring gently off her finger and easing it back inside its box. When both ring boxes were in the bag, she tossed it onto the coffee table and wiped her hand on her pants.
“Brave. Adult,” Dexter said, nodding.
“I need chocolate now,” she replied, heading toward the kitchen.
“Do you ever not need that?” Dexter called.
“In different forms, based on my mood and life events. Today calls for the big guns. Dark and all its ensuing flavonoids.” She returned and handed him a square of chocolate.
“One square? And it’s not even shaped like a bunny or rolled around a cherry,” he said, holding it aloft with a frown. In the short time he’d known her, he had come to expect better, in terms of candy.
“This is need-based chocolate. There are no medicinal bunnies. Just eat it.” She bit off a hank using her molars, as if it were a medieval turkey leg and she was about to partake in a joust. Unable to participate in the primal display, he instead popped the whole thing in his mouth like a pill, letting it dissolve on his tongue. It did so nicely, far smoother than he would have guessed by its appearance. And maybe it was placebo, but he did start to feel better, calmer and more settled.
Lainey finished her piece and had to wipe her hands again. She also seemed far cheerier than she had a moment ago. “If rings don’t make you married, what does? What does ‘married’ mean? Because so far we only know what it isn’t. So what is it? What makes someone really married? It’s not going to happen for us when we take the vows, we’ve already decided. If the vows don’t make it so, and the rings don’t make it so, what makes it real?”
“You sound like the velveteen rabbit,” Dexter noted.
“I feel like the velveteen rabbit,” Lainey agreed. She had spent all of her life feeling roughed up and unloved. Too much for some people, not enough for others.
“To answer your question, I have no idea. Luckily it’s not a question that concerns us. Maybe by the time it happens to you for real, you’ll figure it out.”
“Doesn’t it bother you? The not knowing?” she asked.
“Nope. I deal with more tangible things. Speaking of which, is there anyone you want to invite to the wedding?”
She wrinkled her nose. “No.”
“Thanks for the rapid response and immediate disgust. Feels good,” Dexter said.
“It has nothing to do with you and everything to do with them. My family isn’t involved in my life, by choice. They moved away to Florida and seem happy to forget they have a daughter.”
“Sorry,” he said.
“Not to be a sad sack, but it seems to be the pervading consensus among everyone I know. We moved a lot when I was a kid, and I wasn’t a pariah at each new school, but neither did I assimilate. I sort of orbited. I sat with kids at lunch, played with them at recess, and passed a few notes. But I was never invited to the play dates, the sleepovers, the parties.” She reached for the fast food bag and began laboriously folding down the top of it in some intricate manner, smoothing it each time to make the creases perfect. “What about you? Where did you fall in the social hierarchy?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “The same place I always dwell. In the middle. I wasn’t popular, not unpopular. Played some sports, wasn’t a super athlete. Good manageable grades, wasn’t a super brain.”
She turned her attention from folding the bag to studying him. “You sound remarkably well-adjusted.”
“I am. Sorry.”
“I don’t know how to be that way, okay with mediocrity. I’ve always aimed to be stellar, to dream big, to reach big. And then when I fail, as I inevitably do, I feel so devastated. Feels like I’m on a constant roller coaster. I kind of hate it, but I don’t know how to get off. It’s the same with my goals and with people. I want to achieve amazing things, I want big love. Neither ever happens. Lately it’s getting harder to believe in both my dreams and people and I think, ‘Is this how it happens?’ Is this how people end up settling for a mediocre life in a mediocre marriage? Is that what I’m supposed to do? Should I go back to an office job that squeezes the life from my lungs, merely to provide a stable living? Should I settle with some schlub I don’t hate when the love of my life might be just over the next horizon? All in all, it’s very confusing to be a grownup.”
“I suppose I view it differently,” he said. She was relieved to hear no defensiveness in his tone, glad he realized she hadn’t been alluding to him as the hapless schlub.
“How so?” she asked with genuine curiosity. When she was younger, she had always believed her way was best—big impossible, rose-colored dreams. But now that she’d had a big dose of reality, she was far more willing to consider other viewpoints.
“I like to feel like a productive member of society. It makes me feel like I’m doing my part to be a cog in the machinery, like I’m helping society and my family by being a willing participant. I’m repeating what my ancestors did before me, since the beginning of time. The continuity of that soothes me.”
“Doesn’t it feel…small to you? No offense.”
He wasn’t offended because he heard the sincerity in her tone, the seeking. She was trying hard to understand his point of view. It was a humble place to be, and he couldn’t fault her for it, even if they disagreed. “No. What could be bigger than to keep all of society going? To repeat what’s been done for thousands of years? I am a man, doing what men do. I wake up each morning and go to work at a job that challenges me, that brings me satisfaction. Someday I will marry—for real—and reproduce. And then I will teach my children to carry on the traditions I value and they’ll become the cogs, doing the things on repeat that keep society going. That tangible connection to the past and the future, the sense of purpose in today, who could want more than that?”
She tipped her head, studying him, absorbing the words. “Maybe I envy you.”
“You shouldn’t, and neither should you emulate me. You know why?”
She shook her head.
“Because we’re different, and that’s okay. What works for me probably won’t work for you, and vice versa. The trick is figuring out what works for you.” He patted her knee.
She stared at the spot on her knee, still thinking. “That’s good advice, and I appreciate it. But that doesn’t count as your daily dose of affection.”
“Oh, come on. That was me, reaching out, taking a step out of my comfort zone.”
“My knee is outside your comfort zone?” she asked.
“So far I can barely see it,” he said, squinting and shading his eyes as he stared at her knee.
“Who hurt you?” she asked.
He laughed. “No one, my family’s not touchy-feely. We’re worker bees, not whatever the opposite of that is. Are there cuddle bees? I don’t think so.”
“Why isn’t your family touchy-feely? Don’t you have a mom?”
“Of course I have a mom. I wasn’t hatched in an incubator. My mom is Polish. She emigrated to Canada when she was in her twenties, met my dad who is an American, and moved down here. A couple of years ago after he retired, they moved back to Canada. But she’s your typical Eastern European. She can be stern and stoic and, I suppose, cold. When I was little, she probably loved on me and cuddled me. But as I got older, I don’t remember much of that. And, if we’re being honest, I never missed it, never yearned for it. It was how it was, and to me that was normal. Gooey affection seems odder.”
“But it’s so important,” Lainey said, tossing her arms wide in a sudden fit of passion. “There’s nothing more important than touch. Don’t make me tell you the sad monkey experiment.”
“I’m familiar with the monkey experiment,” he said. He remembered it from a psychology class, the poor baby monkeys who yearned for touch so much they ended up starving to death.
“And that doesn’t haunt you?” she exclaimed.
“I’m not a monkey,” he pointed out. “Maybe we fill our tanks in different ways.”
That gave her pause. “What fills your tank, if not human contact?”
“I don’t know. My tank feels perpetually full,” he said.
“Freak,” she murmured, and he laughed. Then she opened her arms. “Come here, I’m going to teach you affection, then you’ll see what you’ve been missing.”
Instead of going willingly into her arms, he shied away. “No, go away. It’s too weird.”
“It’s in the contract,” she reminded him, making a little come hither motion with her hands.
Sighing, he eased closer, allowing her to capture him and pull him close. His head rested on her chest, in what might have been a maternal gesture, if he had been thinking motherly thoughts just then, which he was not. Her hand began to pet his head.
“There, isn’t that nice?” she murmured.
It was nice, but not for the reasons she probably hoped. She was soft and pretty and smelled good and Dexter had been away from dating for too long. He had tried to repeatedly tell himself she was off limits, but at the moment he couldn’t remember why. He squirmed, trying to turn his thoughts away from her, but the motion upended them, plunging them backwards onto the couch with her beneath him.
“You go all in on hugs,” Lainey said, voice muffled by his shoulder.
“This is not working,” Dexter croaked. Was it warm in here? Why did the heat feel cranked up to eighty? “I am feeling the opposite of affection.”
“Hatred?” she said, concerned as she began rooting from beneath him.
“I wish,” he muttered. He eased to the side, lying next to her instead of on top, and that helped a bit. Her hair had become insistently messy with lots of flyaways now covering her face. Impossibly, she seemed not to notice them so he began smoothing them off and tucking them back, one by one.
“That,” she said softly, swallowing hard. “That’s affectionate.”
“How so?” he asked. He was merely doing what needed to be done.
“Because you’re taking care of me without thought, because it’s what you do. You’re the keeper of the hair. It’s nice.”
It was helping him forget the other stuff, the decidedly not-affection feelings he had recently felt, so he kept going, petting her head like a sleepy kitten. “It’s not so bad,” he agreed.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Lainey said.
She smiled. He smiled in return and realized, in that moment, that he liked her. It took him by surprise, that little fact. He had expected exasperation and responsibility to be his main reaction because they were his primary reaction to everyone. Most people made no sense to him. But, though they were vastly different, he got Lainey. She was warmth and sunshine and passion. All she wanted in return was the same. For her sake, he hoped someday she found it. Those things wouldn’t happen with him, of course. He wasn’t the passionate sort, was far too stodgy and settled for her. But they could do this. They could be friends who were kind to each other during a strange and complex interlude.
“One more week. Now is the time to sew any remaining wild oats,” he said, his finger still skimming lightly over her face.
She gripped his arm and opened her eyes. “Oats sound so good right now.”
“How can you want oats after cheeseburgers and chocolate?” he asked.
“Too late. You said it, and now it’s happening.” She sprang away from him, toward the kitchen.
“You’re too highly suggestible,” he called after her, suddenly cold at the loss of her warmth.
“A smart man would use it to his advantage,” she returned.
And now he stared at the blank wall, trying and failing to come up with a reasonable response.