So I parrot his vow back at him. “I, Kayla Hollins, take Sid Charles to protect and to care for. For always.”
Well, there’s a flourish that’s mine, I guess. Sid’s brow pinches in surprise.
The judge murmurs a lot of legalese while we stand there, holding hands. Yadda yadda power vested yadda yadda Salt Spring and her Gulf Island Territories yadda yadda in memory of the Crown of Canada yadda yadda husband and wife.
Husband and wife.
There’s a pause, but neither of us makes a move. Husband and wife. Someone has to make it official. I go up on my toes and pull him by the neck toward me to peck a kiss against his closed mouth. It is significantly less tumultuous than our kiss last night and for that, I’m incredibly grateful. He also smells slightly less like cigarettes. I don’t think he’s had one since last night so… progress.
James and Silas sign their names on the witness papers, then clap Sid on the shoulders. Sid turns toward the judge. “How long until our copy of the records is ready?”
“The legal department will mail them to you in a day or two.”
Sid squeezes my shoulder. “We’ll need to wait before setting things up with the doctor.”
I nod, fighting the lump in my throat.
“Do you want to go home?” he asks.
“No.” April and I need to move out of Silas’s place, and I need a distraction. “It’s my honeymoon. You’re buying me shit.”
“HOW DO YOUeven know what honeymoons are? Did people go on honeymoons up in Port Alberni?”
Sid leans against a pallet jack, waiting as I examine a table full of rugs, towels, dish cloths and a host of other household linens. Every single one of them is beautiful: a fuzzy bathmat shaped like a fish with only one hole near the tail; an embroidered tablecloth that would be perfect, if not for a wine stain over one of the delicate roses. The prices aren’t bad—a dollar for the bathmat, two for the tablecloth. Or to be more accurate: I am now learning how expensive April’s insulin is. Pig pancreases don’t come easy, I guess.
I put the tablecloth back, deciding I can do better, and hand a loonie over for the bathmat. “You’re going to give this to April.” I press it into Sid’s arms. “Tell her it’s forherwashhouse.”
“Oh, you’ve finally come around on that?” He looks ridiculous, clutching a teal striped fish to his chest, bits of fluff sticking to the hair on his forearms. That alone pleases me.
“Well, it’s my house too, now.” I stroll down the tables, relishing being on the buying end of the exchange. Sid already paid for a bed, plus a few more blankets and pillows, but I’ve got a small amount of spending money of my own. We agreed that the only thing that makes sense is if I move into his place. It will look suspicious otherwise, and Tom will still have to visit the acreage on occasion to oversee my sanctuary case. It’s better if he finds us living together. Luckily, Sid says his spare room is devoid of gardening tools. We talked about maybe getting two beds, but that could tip someone off, too. Plus, April and I are used to sharing, so it’s no big deal.
I currently have thirteen dollars to my name left over from when I bought April’s first round of insulin. I know what my mother would say about it. Buy something that keeps me alive or makes me happy. Nothing else matters.
Besides, if I stop shopping, there’s no excuse to avoid going home. And once we do that, I’ll have to tell April.
“You’re really in a mood.” Behind me, there’s a crunch as Sid pushes the pallet forward, following me over to a display of earthenware.
“Am I? You probably should have gotten to know me better before marrying me.” Honestly, I’m surprised by the lightness in my voice. Not because I’m a morose, depressive person, but because I wasn’t able to leave survival mode until now. The weight that has drifted off my shoulders is tremendous. It’s done. The hard part is over.
Now some part of me is curious if it’s possible to enjoy this situation.
The rows of tables at the exchange are a perfect place to start. I’ve lived in two separate colonies, raided countless pre-Quake buildings, and I’ve still never seen this muchstuffin one place. Anything I could want is here. Bicycles, wool socks, bits of irrigation hose, even solar cells. Abig sign sits next to them with the wordsgood as newemblazoned on it.
“Thatis a scam,” Sid says, annoyed. “Council repossesses all high-quality electrical equipment. You’d be lucky to charge a night light with those things.”
“You should report them to Tom.”
“He doesn’t manage the exchange. It should be Leah Perry. She’s Minister of Economics. Though, I think the exchange is a joint venture with the Ministry of Agriculture, so that would involve Adam Tilney.”
My attention wanders as he rattles off names and offices of people on the island council, until I realize this might be the sort of thing I’m supposed to know as his politically-minded wife. Shit, does this position come with homework? Maybe April isn’t the only one who needs to study up.
A table at the far end of the hall catches my eye and I gasp. Books. Hundreds of books.
“Sid!” I run to the booth. He follows at a leisurely pace. “Look at all of these!”
Many of the covers are damaged, the spines cracked, but there arebooks. It always broke my heart when I found a stash of books. In a kinder world, I would have filled my whole pack with them. April and I would read through the picture books at least and—I’m ashamed to say it—sometimes rip out our favourite pages to take with us.
All the usual suspects are here. Leatherbound classics that held up better against mould in unattended houses. Worn-out paperbacks for the voracious readers of romance, thrillers, and mysteries. Most exciting is a collection of comics, sleeved in plastic, that have barely faded. I would buy every one of them in a heartbeat if not for the price—five dollars an issue.
