The legal system moves at its own pace. And it cannot be rushed no matter how hard you try. And dealing with it is an exercise in patience. What I find out from Dylan and later confirm on my own by researching the topic online is that an annulment is incredibly difficult to get in the state of New York.

I’ve heard the word “annulment” many times before, but I didn’t actually know what it meant. Apparently, an annulment is a finding by a court that a marriage is invalid or void and this finding allows the court to make it as if the marriage never occurred. This is what both Dylan and I want, but it doesn’t look like it’s something that can happen.

“I can’t believe that we can’t get an annulment,” I say. Dylan is sitting on the couch texting someone.

“We’ve been over this already,” he says without looking up.

“I know.” I sigh. “But what if…”

“Look, here, let me read it to you,” he says, cutting me off.

He already told me this and I read a lot about it already online, but I still feel like there must be a way. Dylan searches for something on his phone and clears his throat.

“There are various grounds that allow either spouse to bring the action to annul the marriage,” Dylan reads. “These are the grounds. Either spouse had not reached the age of legal consent, 18 years of age. That doesn’t apply to us.”

I nod.

“Either spouse is incurably incapable of having sexual intercourse. Either spouse has incurable insanity for at least five years after marriage. Either spouse could not give actual consent to the marriage (could not understand the effect, nature, and the consequences of marriage).”

“Oh that’s us!” I say. “We were drunk. We didn’t actually understand the effect and consequences of marriage.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” Dylan says. “Either spouse could not give actual consent to the marriage, could not understand the nature, effect and consequences of marriage, as a result of some mental incapacity or deficiency.”

“We were drunk,” I say.

“That’s not a mental incapacity,” he says.

“Are you serious? We got married and didn’t remember. If that’s not a mental incapacity or deficiency, I don’t know what is.”

“Maybe,” he says. “But that’s not what it means legally.”

Dylan turns back to his phone and continues to read.

“Either spouse consented to the marriage as a result of force or duress of the other.”

“Again, I was drunk, I consented as a result of duress,” I say.

“Again, this doesn’t apply,” Dylan says. “Force in legal terms is a really high standard. It’s as if I held a gun to your head to get you to marry me.”

“And finally, either spouses’ consent was obtained by fraud,” Dylan reads. “The fraud must go to the essence of the marriage contract, and then only the injured spouse can obtain the annulment.”

“So none of these will work?” I ask. He shakes his head.

“So, what do we do now?”

“We have to get a divorce,” Dylan says.

“And what does that entail?” I ask. Dylan shrugs.

“I have no idea. But I’ll ask our family attorney.”

So, this is certain now. An annulment is not an option. We can’t just make this marriage go away and pretend that it never happened. We have to get a divorce. A divorce. Divorce. That word is so strange, I can barely comprehend its meaning. After we get a divorce, will I be a divorcee? Some sad, middle-aged woman who’s bitter about men? No, of course not. I’ll still be a 19-year-old girl who made a terrible mistake. But it still doesn’t sound pleasant.

Dylan and I don’t say a word to each other for a while. He hasn’t talked about it with me yet, but I heard from Juliet that Peyton refuses to talk to him. He hasn’t seen her since Tristan told her even though he went to her dorm on two separate occasions to try to explain. She flat out refuses to see him. And Tristan and Dylan? They’re still roommates, but they’re also ships passing in the night. Tristan is barely home and when he is, he’s usually asleep. I’m not sure they’ve spoken since the fight either.

“We really fucked up, didn’t we?” I ask when I turn to Dylan and see that we were thinking about the same thing.

“Big time,” he says quietly.

“Do you think they’ll ever forgive us?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” he whispers. The thought of that sends shivers up my spine.

* * *

The party for that Friday night had been planned a long time ago and we can’t cancel it now. It was Dylan’s idea, but we have all invited people and asked them to bring people so there’s no way to let everyone know it’s off. The only thing is to go through with it and host it. Dylan gets the alcohol and the cups and Juliet and I get the food and the decorations. Juliet actually seems excited gets a little carried away in the party favors section.

“Are you sure we need so many?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says, throwing more into the cart. “I’ve been living in the middle of a war zone for a couple of weeks now and I need to let loose. At first, it was fiery and exciting so that was fun. For me. But now, the whole place has become some sort of Cold War zone. No one talks to anyone anymore. It’s boring. And tense. And this party is exactly what we need to move on with our lives.”

“Move on?” I ask.

“Listen, you and Dylan act like you’re the only people in the world getting a divorce. But you’re not. Lots of people do it. And they don’t mope around like you two. So you made a mistake? So what? Nothing too terrible has happened. It’s not like you killed someone.”

“You definitely have a way of putting everything in perspective,” I say sarcastically. “I mean, I guess I should be glad that instead of just ruining my life, I didn’t actually kill someone.”

But the sarcasm is lost on her. She either doesn’t get it or chooses to actively ignore it. Instead, she goes to the next aisle over and drops a few more decorative banners into the cart.