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“Yeah?” I said. “Celebrate how?”
“Dinner. And drinks. Champagne.” Our car pulled up and we stuffed the dress and ourselves into the backseat.
“You can leave this at my house if you need to and then we can go straight from there,” I said, and Cara nodded. I gave the driver my address and we both laughed as we tried to make room for ourselves with the bag between us.
“So we need to figure out this whole moving thing,” Cara said. Right. Moving. Moving and a wedding and finding a job and paying my bills. Sometimes I wanted to hold my head and scream, but in a few weeks, it was all going to be good and I wouldn’t have to worry anymore. At least that was what I was telling myself.
“Do you want to hire a company? I mean, I know everyone would show up and help, but do we really want to do that?” I asked.
“Yeah, you’re right. And I refuse to drive a UHaul in Boston again. Never. Again.” I agreed. I’d done the same myself and it had been a complete nightmare.
“So we should probably plan the wedding and do that ASAP so you can have the money to hire movers.” I was still shaky on the schedule of how this was all going down. I was kind of counting on Cara to handle that part and I’d deal with everything else. My mom had also been up my ass about it because she was totally serious about having a party for us at the house.
“Well, we have the dresses and I have next weekend off. How about Friday?” Friday. That was eight days away. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe and my skin flashed hot and then cold.
“Are you okay?” Cara asked.
“Yeah, I think so. That’s just so soon.” I fiddled with the zipper on the garment bag.
“I hate to remind you, Loren Bowman, but this was your idea. Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet now.” I wasn’t. I didn’t think I was.
“It’s just the enormity of this is kind of crashing down on me and I’m having a moment. I’ll be fine.” I tried to give her a smile, but I wasn’t sure if it was convincing. Cara reached across the bag, squashing it down, and took my hand.
“It’s nothing. Like cosigning a loan. Only we’ll be wearing fucking awesome dresses. It’s just paperwork.” I repeated that to myself. Paperwork. It was just paperwork.
“I’m good. I swear,” I said, and she let go of my hand.
“SO, THE WEDDING IS going to be next Friday afternoon,” I told my mother when I called her that night after our celebratory dinner. We’d gone to a semi-fancy restaurant, had gotten the cheapest champagne they’d had on the menu, and had shared a tiramisu. I’d almost asked her if she wanted to sleep over again, but I could tell Lisa was in a foul mood and would be cold and nasty if Cara stayed. I didn’t want to expose her to Lisa’s toxicity if I didn’t have to.
“Loren. That’s eight days away.”
“I know. It’s soon, but we need to get it done. Cara has to move and we need money for the movers. So that’s when it’s happening. We’re going to get our marriage license on Tuesday and then do it on Friday. It’s just signing a piece of paper, it’s not a real marriage, Mom.” She sighed heavily on the other end of the line.
“I know, I know. You know I don’t have any sentiments about marriage, but still. It’s going to be an emotional day. You’re doing something for yourself and for Cara that not a lot of people would do. You’re taking care of each other, and that’s a big part of marriage.” Who was this woman, and what had she done with my very practical mother?
“I just want to be there,” she said in a quiet voice. Cara and I had decided that we didn’t really want or need an audience, because, like she had said, this was a contract. You didn’t bring an audience when you signed for a new credit card, or took out a loan.
“You want to come?” I asked in disbelief.
“I know I’m being a sap, but I can’t help it. Something happens to you when you have children and it warps your heart until you’re crying at commercials.” We both laughed.
“Does Dad want to come too?” I couldn’t see him wanting to witness our sham ceremony, but I hadn’t thought my mother would want to be there either.
