I pointed to myself and then to Brody. “Is that a serious question?”
She snorted softly as she took my proffered arm so I could escort her to the car. “Fair.”
“To the wedding chapel!” Brody called out to the driver.
* * *
There was only one package available that evening, which was a surprise to us. It turned out that most people had booked their ceremonies in advance and walk-ins were left with whatever was available. So when the guy at the front desk informed us that the only time slot open included a pink Cadillac and a Gene Simmons impersonator, I put my credit card down on the counter.
The Gene Simmons officiant was very committed to his role. His platform boots made him nearly seven feet tall. We were assigned a wedding planner, who informed us that our ceremony would take twenty minutes and that we would get married in front of the pink Cadillac in the parking lot with the city’s neon lights as the backdrop.
I expected to have a minute with Vera before it all began, but the wedding chapel moved us along like cattle and suddenly I was standing in front of the pink Cadillac with Brody beside me and a clearance rack Gene Simmons at my back.
“You’re a lucky man,” Fake Gene Simmons said, and I was pretty sure it was a line he gave to every groom, but it still felt like something that uniquely applied to me.
Vera stepped out of the front doors of the chapel with our driver, whose name turned out to be Alvin, escorting her down the aisle, which was a white shag carpet that led straight to me.
Vera held a bouquet of fake peonies wrapped in tulle in one hand and kept her eyes on the ground in front of her, only looking up to glance at me a few times. As if she was expecting to find that I was no longer there.
Beside me, Brody reeked of booze, and I was pretty sure he’d thrown up in the bathroom while I was paying for the ceremony.
But that didn’t matter. Because for the first time, Vera wasn’t walking to him. She was walking to me.
Once she made it to the end of the aisle, Alvin peeled off to smoke a cigarette and Brody took her bouquet after Fake Gene Simmons nudged him to do so.
“Let’s rock and roll,” Fake Gene shrieked before sticking his tongue out, which was unimpressively short—couldn’t fake genetics—and a moment that the photographer capturing the ceremony was very used to anticipating.
I took Vera’s hands, both of our palms slick with sweat, which I found comforting.
She looked up to me, her warm brown eyes bright and open, despite being laced with hesitation. My heart was doing things that would concern any medical professional.
I gave her hands a squeeze and her pursed lips eased with relief.
The next few minutes were a blur and only came into focus when it was time for me to say my vows. I repeated after Fake Gene Simmons, concentrating on each syllable and the shape of Vera’s mouth.
“I, Eli Buckley, take you, Vera Stein, to be my wedded wife.”
She looked up into my eyes, tugging her lower lip between her teeth.
“To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer...”
We were two people playing make-believe. Just pretending to be something we were not.
“In sickness and in health, in times of rock, and in times of roll, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”
But this didn’t feel like pretending. Not to me.
Vera repeated the vows back to me and then Fake Gene Simmons asked, “Are you two exchanging rings?”
“No,” Vera said just as I said, “Yes.”
He shrugged, which seemed very un-KISS-like of him. “Which is it?”
“I don’t have a ring for you,” Vera told me.
“It’s okay. Not like we really planned this.”
“But you have one for me?”
