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Harold dutifully turns his attention back to us.
“Repeat after me,” Harold says, and proceeds to lead me through the vows in a droning voice that is only suitable for a funeral.
“I, Ryker Lennox James, take you, Lake Oliver Bates,” I recite dutifully after Harold, and promise to be there for all sorts of things. I don’t pay too much attention to exactly what I’m saying, because Lake has gone very still next to me. He’s staring straight ahead, lips pressed into a tight line, a scowl on his face that does very little to say ‘devoted groom’ and leans more toward ‘hostage trying to come up with an escape plan.’
When it’s his turn to speak, I have to elbow him in the side to get his attention.
He blinks and stares at me for a long moment. “Huh?”
“You okay?” I ask in a low voice.
“What? Yeah. Yeah, yeah,” he says quickly.
“Are you ready to continue now?” Harold asks, then barrels straight on without waiting for a reply. “Repeat after me.”
Another round of vows follows.
I have a faint feeling I should maybe feel bad for fucking with the sanctity of marriage or something, but to be honest, I don’t really care about the whole concept that much, so feeling bad about doing this isn’t high on my list of priorities. My mother’s currently in the market for husband number three, and my father is in the process of divorcing wife number four, so I think it’s safe to say we’re at a point where getting married isn’t so much a lifetime commitment but an expensive hobby for them. Don’t get me wrong, I love them both, and they both love me, but they’re not exactly traditional parents, and we’re not exactly a traditional family.
So no, I don’t feel bad about adding another marriage to the family tally. Who gives a shit anyway?
Mainly, I’m pleased with myself. I had a goal in mind, and I’m getting it done. I do like it when that happens. It’s been pointed out on occasion that I tend to get a bit obsessive and a lot stubborn when I put my mind to something. The way I see it, it’s been working out well for me so far, so why fix something that isn’t broken?
“Do you have the rings?” Harold asks.
I glance at Lake, who seems equally baffled by the question, before I look at Harold again.
“Uh… no,” I say. “No. We don’t have rings.”
Ethel takes a step forward. “There’s a pawn shop a couple of streets over. We can wait until you?—”
“It’s not something we support,” Lake says firmly. “Rings are against our beliefs. We think bands are only supposed to be put on… birds. To study their migration patterns.”
Harold’s confused frown only deepens.
“Migration patterns of birds?” I mouth at Lake, and he shrugs.
“Frugal decision,” Harold says, and now he’s looking at us with a hint of, dare I say, approval? “You know, people think they’ll get their money back from the pawn shop later, but the pawn shop always wins.” He eyes us for a moment. “Well, if that’s all, I pronounce you husband and husband.”
I glance at Lake again. I suppose this is it. I don’t know if the actual moment is meant to be impactful, but I don’t feel much of anything.
Ethel pointedly clears her throat from somewhere on my left.
“Oh!” Harold looks startled. “My apologies. You can kiss. Forgot that part. The ol’ noggin isn’t the same it used to be.” He lets out another one of his patented forlorn sighs. “Dementia runs in the family. But you two go ahead.” He looks at us expectantly and nods. “You can now kiss your husband.”
LAKE
In hindsight, I should’ve seen this part coming.
But amid the whirlwind of idiocy of these past few weeks, I’d somehow forgotten it’s a thing at weddings.
If nothing else, this should be entertaining.
I quirk my brow at Ryker.
I got us out of ring shopping. You get us out of this one.
And, really, this whole thing was his idea, so I leave it to him to solve this.
