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“Oh.” Huh. It’s hard to pinpoint my feelings about it. Disappointment? Regret? Relief that I don’t remember sex with Griffin because it didn’t happen, not because I was barely coherent?
I married a gorgeous stranger last night and we didn’t even have sex. Based on the way my personal life has been going lately, that checks out.
“We kissed,” he says.
I nod. “I’ve seen the photo.”
“At the ceremony and later.”
He picks up a baseball hat off the couch and fits it onto his head, covering his rumpled hair.
The hat reads ‘I rode the rollercoaster at NY-NY.’ Griffin’s quiet confidence and the way his wavy hair peeks out from under the edges makes it look trendy. Like Justin Bieber wearing Crocs, except it’s a cheesy souvenir hat.
My fingertips find the tender flesh of my swollen lips.
Somewhere in the foggy depths of my mind, another memory resurfaces. He’s right. We didn’t have sex, but we kissed for hours. And the tenderness between my legs is from Griffin’s raging hard on that never made it out of his pants. My cheeks flush. Why does that feel more awkward than if we had drunk, messy sex?
“Did we want to?” I don’t know why I say ‘we.’ I wanted it. What I really mean iswhy didn’t we?Is something wrong with me?
“Have sex?”
I fidget with the ends of my robe. Why is this conversation making me flush? I was groping him on the dance floor last night and now I feel like giggling when he says the wordsex.
He smiles, his lips doing this adorable twitching, like he’s fighting back a laugh.
His hands move from his pockets to the bill of the hat, where he uses his fingers to shape the stiff bill.
His movements put me at ease because I realize I’m not the only one feeling self-conscious this morning.
If we weren’t married, would we close the feet between us and pick up where we left off last night? Is it the weight of marrying a stranger that has chased the wild abandon from our veins? Or the lack of alcohol?
“How did we manage to get married but not have sex?” The octave of my voice is rising again.
I want to drop my head into my hands when I realize that I married a man I barely know and then dry humped him like a horny teenager.
With each new memory, my head feels like it’s tightening around my brain.
“I can’t believe we did this. I fly back to New York tomorrow. We can’t stay married. We have to fix this!”
I wince, my head reminding me that my brain is basically a vodka-soaked sponge right now.
“Why aren’t you freaking out?” I ask.
“I’m processing.”
“Can you process out loud? I feel like I’m going crazy here.”
I drop to the edge of the bed and sigh.
Griffin walks over to where I’m sitting.
“You’re right. We’ll fix it.”
“An annulment?” I suggest. That’s the solution in every cinematic version of this story I’ve seen.
“Yeah.” He nods.
“Sorry. It’s not you. I can’t even think straight right now.” I press my fingertips into my temples. “My head is pounding.”
