Chapter Twenty-Five

Maggie

Wes can’t make up his mind if he’s in favor of Trig and my sham marriage. One minute he looks relieved, the next he’s frowning, worried about something he doesn’t share. He was certain he could fast-track the whole thing, but even the head Poo-bah of the Lion’s Club can’t duck rules about getting hitched.

Trig and I go to the courthouse the next morning to sign the license. Aside from a few clerks, the office is deserted. One of the ladies brings us a form to fill out. We have to answer a few questions, like if we’re related. Trig marks no. It makes me wonder what happens when a person marks, yes. Are both of us of sound mind and body? Yes. Are we both of legal age?

“Barely,” Trig mutters under his breath as he checks yes.

We both sign the document. Trig pays thirty-five dollars in cash. I offer to pay half and he responds with a frown. The clerk takes the money and the license and congratulates us.

Over the next forty-eight hours Jane and Gwen turn into wedding planners on steroids. The idea that started out as an arrangement and would totally be kept on the DL has now become a full-fledged wedding.

Gwen and Jane insist on a dress. They tell me with such wistfulness in their eyes, I can hardly tell them no and I agree to meet them at the bridal shop after class. Walking into the dress shop, I feel beyond stupid. The shopkeeper is used to hurry up weddings I suppose and brings me three dresses to try on. When Jane helps me into a dress, I can’t help getting caught up in their excitement.

“Trig told me you should get whatever you want,” Jane says. “He gave me his credit card.”

“The same one he paid my bail with?” I ask.

The shopkeeper’s smile vanishes. Her jaw drops as she sets a couple of shoe boxes down and hurries out of the changing room.

Gwen laughs, and Jane shakes her head, admonishing me.

The first dress is pretty enough, but it’s the second one that takes my breath away. Everything about it is soft and delicate. The bodice hugs my curves and shows a little cleavage, but not too much. The skirt looks like a cascade of white silken waves. I hardly recognize myself.

Both Gwen and Jane stare. After a long moment, Gwen speaks, softly. “I don’t think you need to try on any others, do you?”

I shake my head. “Do you think Trig would like this?”

“Yes,” Jane says. “You look perfect.”

“It feels like too much.” The dress is gorgeous and I’d love to wear it, but it’s seems silly to show up in a real wedding dress. I smooth my hands across my waist. “When we first talked about this, I imagined going to the courthouse in jeans, and that Trig would meet me there in his oil-stained cover-all.”

“We’re not having it at the courthouse.” Jane’s got a silly smile on her face as she keeps her eyes on my reflection. “We’re having it in a little chapel downtown and a reception at the house. Wes is working on the catering.”

Nobody told me any of this. Jane told me she’d handle the details and that I should just focus on school. I agreed. I didn’t want to think about what Trig and I were doing. In the meantime, Gwen and Jane have turned this charade into what looks and feels like an actual wedding.

I have no idea what I’m doing. No plan. All I can see is what’s right in front of me. Passing my courses. Getting shop-lifting charges dropped. And getting married so that the judge lets me stay in the country. I can’t dwell on the future. Anytime I’ve ever tried to plan too far ahead, the universe finds my plans amusing and responds with. “Oh yeah? Watch this!”

Gwen and Jane leave the dressing room to search the bridal shop for accessories. Trying on the heels, I try to imagine how I’ll look next to Trig. He’s a head taller than me, but with four-inch heels, I won’t look short next to him.

Looking at the reflection, I’m struck by the thought that he won’t approve of all this effort. Grabbing my phone I snap a picture and send it to him. He’s going to think I’m being needy. Clingy. I can just imagine how much he likes that in a fake fiancé.

What do you think? Overdressed?

I wonder what he’s doing right now and I picture him working in the noisy shop, probably irritated that I’m bugging him. Several minutes tick by until my phone vibrates with an incoming message.

Looks good

I huff. “Stop, really. You’re embarrassing me,” I mutter. I toss the phone back into my purse. Trig’s the only person I’ll share the picture with. I’m not talking to Kyle these days, obviously, and while I’ve made friends at Stowe, I sure as hell don’t want to tell them I’m getting married.

There’s a group of us that meet on Fridays to eat lunch and complain about professors. They’re all super-serious about school. I love spending time with them but I know they’d be floored if I told them I was getting married. I myself can hardly wrap my brain around the idea.

Gwen and Jane return with an armful of “foundation garments” to go with my dress. They approve of the shoes. While Gwen helps me out of my dress, Jane settles up with the shopkeeper. I don’t want to know the details. Thinking about Trig paying for all this makes my stomach clench. He’s paying a fortune to help me and to make this look like a legitimate marriage.

All of us carry bags and parcels out to the car while Gwen talks about tomorrow. We’re exchanging vows at three in the afternoon, taking pictures and then heading back to Wes and Jane’s house for dinner and cake. They joke about Trig not seeing me before the wedding. How the groom can’t see the bride in her wedding dress because it’s bad luck.

Too late. The damage is done. I’m not too worried about it though. I’m pretty sure I’m immune to that sort of bad luck. My doting groom has already forgotten about the photo I sent. He’s probably hunched over an engine, cursing at some stripped bolt.

It doesn’t matter. We won’t live under the same roof. For the first time in years, I understand what to expect. He wants to help, nothing more. He got my hopes up once, the only time he’s held me close, but all he did was slip his hand under my shirt and murmur words intended for another girl.

I wonder if she knows about this charade.