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Two
I’m not someone who imagined what their wedding would be like at a young age. No binge-watching Say Yes to the Dress, no pining after dream venues or Vera Wang gowns. Even still, I can admit I didn’t see this arrangement in my future: a quick walk down the center of a courtroom, a hasty signature on a prenuptial agreement, and now I’m standing across from a man I’ve exchanged only a handful of words with. Honestly, I chatted more with my Uber driver on the way over here.
I catch whiffs of classic wedding words. Judge Mathers repeats vows and says my name to prod me to repeat them. I think I say the right thing, but I can’t be sure. The whole affair has taken on a dreamlike quality, like at any moment, Walt’s head will dissolve into a thousand snakes and then I’ll wake up in a sweat, trying to determine what it all means.
“Would you like to exchange rings now?” Judge Mathers asks Walt.
He shakes his head. “Not today.”
This doesn’t faze the judge, but it fazes me.
I clasp my hands together and brush my thumb over my naked ring finger, trying to decipher why the absence of a ring that would symbolize absolutely nothing hurts my feelings. It’s not about the ring itself. I don’t covet diamonds. In fact, I wouldn’t care what stone the ring was made of. I suppose I just wanted something. A sign that this farce of a wedding was built on something more than business alone. I now realize that was pretty juvenile. My mom laid out the terms clearly enough last night, and the sheer desperation in her voice is something I’ll never forget.
“Broke” is a word I’ve never heard Julianne Brighton utter before yesterday. Over the course of one phone call, I learned just how much my parents had been hiding from me and my siblings over the years. My parents had hit the end of the road. Up to their ears in debt and out of options, they were facing imminent consequences: their homes, cars, clothing—all of it would be repossessed by the bank. They would be left without a dime and with no way to take care of themselves or my younger siblings. In their tight-knit social circle, there’s no doubt they’d face public humiliation; their reputations would be forever tarnished. At first as I listened to her describe their circumstances, a small voice inside of me said this would be a good thing, a much-needed dose of reality, but that bitterness dried up as my mom continued to cry and let me in on their despair. I had no idea how much debt they’d accrued. I had no idea someone could be so far past the point of no return. My father had taken loans from the banks, and when that was no longer a viable option, he’d borrowed from his friend, Walter Jennings Senior.
At first, it made no sense. My father inherited gobs of money from my grandfather, more than one person could possibly spend in a lifetime, and yet poof, now it was gone.
“What about his shares in Diomedica?” I asked her, assuming there was still one last option for them.
“What shares?” my mom spat back with so much venom it almost scared me. “Everything your father had was sold almost a decade ago in his attempt to save his fucking print company. Millions, Elizabeth. He drained millions into a dying industry. Why? Because he believes in print media. He can’t stand the thought of people not reading newspapers anymore. Jesus Christ.
“And you know what else? It’s not just that either. He’s funneled money into dying businesses left and right. Absolutely ridiculous ventures.”
I wanted to point out that she’s at fault too, that she spends and spends and spends as if money grows on trees.
Judge Mathers’ phone dings on the stand, distracting her from the ceremony and me from my thoughts.
She checks the notification and scrunches her face. “Shoot. I’m running late.”
“It’s fine,” Walt says, waving to the man in the glasses. “Why don’t we just sign the marriage certificate. Mason?”
The man steps up to the judge’s stand with a crisp piece of paper in his hand.
“Thank you,” Walt says to Mason, who I now assume is his assistant.
Judge Mathers takes the certificate and signs her name swiftly at the bottom of it. “I feel bad for rushing through this, but I don’t think either one of you minds. You can do all that ‘kiss the bride’ stuff in private,” she says with a wink.
Walt clears his throat, and I turn a nice shade of pink as my eyes fall to the floor. If he’s watching me blush, I don’t want to know.
I think even by civil ceremony standards, ours is rather swift.
Judge Mathers walks with us out of the courtroom, hurrying us along so she can get back to work. No one else seems to mind, so I tell myself I don’t either.
