Page 23 of Love & Other Drunken Mistakes
Alex nods, the gesture almost absentminded. “Did you want to marry him? Some people claim they know immediately when they’ve met ‘the one.’”
I think back on our drunken night together. How the words of Alex’s silly proposal so quickly filled up the empty parts of my heart. When I’d said ‘yes.’ I’d initially been playing along with the joke. But the more I dwell on it, the more I wish it were real. That someone had seen me and immediately thought ‘I want to be with him forever.’
“We discussed it,” I admit. “Just to establish our positions. No point in dating to marry if the other person frowns on the whole institution.”
“What did he say?”
“That he would enjoy the tax benefits,” I reply dryly.
Alex cringes and takes his eyes off the road long enough to shoot me a sympathetic look. “He didn’t think about you at all? What a life together would be like?”
“I don’t know. He probably did—he seems to think about life from every possible angle—but he never shared his thoughts with me.”
“And what areyourthoughts on marriage?” Alex pulls the car into a mostly empty parking lot. There’s still some time before the office opens. He turns the car off and finally gives me his full attention, looking at me like I’m the most important thing in his world.
“I want a partnership,” I begin. “Someone who will split the chores with me, maybe not equally, but in a way that makes sense for us.” As I talk, a hazy image forms in my mind of an indistinct figure drying the dishes while I wash them. Putting away the groceries I brought home. Simple, domestic tasks. “Someone who shares my interests.” The image changes so that we’re watching a movie together while we cuddle on the couch, my arm over his shoulders.
Alex watches me, his eyes wide and a little unfocused, like he sees everything I’m describing.
“And of course, someone who I have chemistry with in the bedroom.” The image this time is the clearest of all: Alexunderneath me, lips glossy and swollen from countless kisses, eyes closed as he’s overwhelmed with pleasure.
The real Alex’s breath hitches, and I wonder if he’s imagining the same thing. The hitch turns into a laugh as he grins at me. “So you want what everyone wants.”
I smile back at him, but it’s fleeting, hard to hold in place. “I guess. Unfortunately, it’s not what everyonegets.”
I almost regret the words when his smile slips. “Yeah, a lot of marriages are … definitely not like that.”
Is he thinking of his potential future with Theresa? Or someone else entirely? “Ours certainly isn’t,” I reply. “I had to do all the dishes on my own last night.”
He rolls his eyes and plays along with the joke. “Let’s figure out if this marriage is real first and then we can discuss the division of household chores.” With that, he gets out of the car and heads toward the door.
Unsurprisingly, we’re the first people inside. The office is small, with a few chairs designating a waiting area and a long service counter. Behind the counter is a closed door with a bronze plaque that proclaims the office belongs to Stephanie Belhart, County Clerk.
A young man sits behind the counter, his gaze focused on the computer. He briefly glances at us and offers a quick, tired smile. “How can I help you?”
Once again, Alex steps up to explain the situation. “I think we were scammed Saturday night.”
“Scammed?” the employee’s eyes widen in surprise, then his eyebrows bunch in confusion. “What do you mean scammed?”
“Have you ever heard of Virtual Vows?”
“Not really?”
“Supposedly, it’s an online marriage service, but we don’t know if it’sreal.” Alex gestures between himself and me and explains, “We needto see if we’re legally married.”
“Oh! Yeah, I can see why that’d be concerning,” the employee agrees. “Don’t worry, if it was a scam, we can go over the whole legal process and still get you married today.”
Alex looks at me, wide-eyed, then shakes his head vigorously. “No, we don’twantto be married. We want the opposite. Wewantit to be a scam.”
The employee stares blankly at us. “You want it to be a scam,” he repeats.
“It’s a long story,” I say.
“Okaaaay,” he draws the word out, as if giving himself time to process the strange couple who brought this tangled mess to him first thing in the morning. “Well, if you give me your IDs, I can look your names up in the system, see if a marriage license has been issued to you.”
Alex and I both pull out our IDs and pass them along the counter. While the employee types in our information, more people enter and sit in the waiting area, giving us an unwanted audience.
After a few minutes, the employee says, “I don’t have anything in the system for you.”
