Chapter 6
SO, THAT’S WHAT I DID. Nine days later, down at city hall.
There wasn’t time to plan a big wedding, and I don’t think I’d have wanted one anyway—not with Lenny gone.
My parents were there, along with my aunt Arlene, who lived in Goose Creek.
Paul’s parents drove down from Richmond, stopping in Durham to pick up his sister, who was a senior at Duke, and together we made a small but festive party.
That is, until Paul promised to love and to keep me until death do us part, at which point I heard my mother choke back a sob.
For the sake of this story, I’d love to be able to recall what I was thinking, standing up there in front of that judge, who had to be a hundred years old if he was a day.
But it’s like I went outside my body. I could see Paul standing there in his dress blues, and me in the deeply discounted jersey dress I’d picked up at Margaret Riley’s dress shop.
I could see the bouquet my aunt had fashioned out of confederate jasmine and magnolia blossoms, and the rings, which we’d bought at Garfield’s a few days earlier.
But as to what was going on inside my head, I honestly can’t say.
I’m sure I was a combination of nervous and excited and maybe even a little embarrassed to have all those people staring at me, but what I remember most of all—and I know this is sad—is that my shoes were pinching my toes something terrible, and all I wanted to do was kick them off.
Thankfully, the ceremony was brief. To celebrate, the eight of us went to lunch at the Colony House, where we ate oysters and drank so much champagne that I eventually puked in a trash can out back.
But before that, Paul’s dad gave a nice speech, which was a surprise because I had gotten the impression that his parents weren’t thrilled with this whole arrangement.
It wasn’t anything they said, just the way they wore these thin-lipped smiles everywhere they went.
They stayed in town through Monday, but as soon as we waved them off, Paul had me down at the county clerk’s office, where we submitted our marriage license and paid three dollars to expedite the issuance of our marriage certificate.
“Just married,” said the woman behind the counter, who must have been able to tell, looking at the license, that we’d been married at city hall. “How nice.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Paul, who was practically beaming.
“You been together long?” the woman asked, and I choked out a laugh.
“Long enough to know she’s the one,” said Paul, which was a sweet thing to say, but also a pretty big clue that the real answer was Not long enough.
The woman looked me up and down, letting her eyes linger on my waist, which was cinched with one of those hideous chain belts that were all the rage that spring.
“Oh my God,” I whispered as we returned to our seats to wait, “she thinks I’m pregnant.”
Paul got a kick out of that. He leaned in real close, so I could feel his breath on my ear.
“Too many more performances like last night’s, and you will be.
” Then he goosed me, and I let out a cackle so loud it caused that old busybody to push her glasses down to the end of her nose and give us a hard stare.