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Fifteen minutes later, we’re standing in front of Harold, the judge, who turns out to be an older man who looks sort of like a very thin, very serious cross between a priest and a praying mantis. He has to be close to seven feet tall, towering over both Lake and me, but he looks like the slightest breeze could knock him over. He’s also wearing an expression suitable for a funeral, and he’s dressed in black. Head to toe.
Festive.
Ethel is standing by the wall to the left of us with two other people.
“Lacey plays the piano and Landon here takes good photographs. Show them your iPhone, dear. It’s the newest model.”
“Oh, that’s really not necessary.” Lake sends me a wide-eyed look. “We were kind of hoping it’d just be the two of us? And Harold, obviously. Your honor. We’re private people.”
“Nonsense.” Ethel waves him off. “You need witnesses, and I’ve been to every wedding this town has ever held. I bring good luck to your marriage, young man. My couples, they don’t divorce.”
“But—”
“I’m a good luck charm. Ask anybody.”
“I bet Cyrus would have a few choice words to say about that,” I mutter into Lake’s ear. He immediately lets out another helpless snort of laughter and then aims a glare my way.
“Shall we get started?” Ethel asks.
Lake’s shoulders slump in resignation. “Yeah, okay. Let’s just get this over with.” He looks around taking in the curious looks Ethel and company are sending him. “Just because I can’t wait to be married to my… lover. Officially. And legally. I’m so tired of living in sin,” he adds with a sad headshake, reaching out and patting me on the chest.
“Wow. You’re terrible under pressure,” I whisper.
“Fuck you,” he replies loudly enough to draw more looks. “Is what we’re going to do later,” he adds and looks around. “Can’t wait to honeymoon the hell out of this one.”
Harold lets out a bone-shaking sigh and lumbers forward painfully slowly. “Getting married?” he says and shakes his head. “You know, fifty percent of marriages end in divorce.”
Lake and I exchange glances.
“Fascinating,” I say.
“Almost seems like it’s not worth the hassle.” Harold looks at us expectantly as if hoping we’ll call the whole thing off in light of this new information. No such luck. Harold seems to deflate a bit when neither of us runs out the door. “If you’re sure.”
Lake blinks and presses his lips together.
“Ah yes.” Harold flips through the greasy old notebook he’s holding. “Here we are. We are gathered here today…” He stops and adjusts his glasses, clears his throat, and looks up. “Do you want that part too, or should I just do the vows? The speech is quite long, and God knows how much time any of us has left. My father died when he was fifty-five—a massive heart attack—and I’m getting dangerously close to that number.” He rubs at his chest.
I gape at Harold. He’s younger than fifty-five?
“Just vows are good,” I say. I’m not sure Lake will make it if Harold has a speech to deliver. It already looks like it’s taking all the willpower he possesses not to laugh out loud.
“Good choice. Maybe you two will make it after all. Statistics are against you, but sometimes people beat the odds. Testicular cancer failed to take me, so I know everything about overcoming the odds.”
I have no idea if the thought disappoints him or if that’s his happy face.
“That’s… excellent news,” Lake chokes out.
Harold sends him an appreciative look. “Thank you, young man. It was touch and go for a while there?—”
“Harold, darling. Can we get back to the agenda?” Ethel says.
“I’m a spokesperson, Ethel. People want to hear my story!”
“They want you to marry them, not discuss your testicles.”
“Testicle. Singular, Ethel. Have some respect, please.”
“Just get on with it.”
