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“Do you know what this is?” he asks, a suspiciously bright twinkle in his sapphire eyes.
I look at the plain white envelope.
“It’s the deed to my building?” I ask eagerly. “You paid it off with your secret inheritance, and I don’t owe any money on it anymore?”
Chaz looks disappointed. “No. Is that what you want me to do? I thought you wanted to do it all by yourself, stand on your own two feet, and all of that stuff you said last summer?”
“Um, yeah,” I say, trying to hide my disappointment. “I do. Totally. So what is it?”
Chaz opens the envelope and pulls out the folded paper inside. It’s a pamphlet with Office of the City Clerk of the City of New York written on the top. Under it, it says, What You Need to Know to Apply for a Marriage License.
“Yeah,” Chaz says when I turn my stu
I am still staring at the pamphlet he’s holding.
“You’re asking me to marry you?” is all I can manage to choke out.
“If you want to,” Chaz says. “You don’t have to. And I’m not talking about one of those big monstrosity things your clients have, with a chocolate fondue fountain and the chicken dance. I don’t want that. I will never want that, do you understand? My sister had that, and it was—” He shudders. It is clear he is begi
I give him a gentle shake.
“Chaz,” I say. “It’s all right. I don’t want that either, okay? I like your idea. Doing it this way, just you and me here tomorrow. No one else. Because that’s what getting married is really about, right? Just us. No one else.”
“No one else,” Chaz says. “Because we’re the only ones who matter. I mean, I guess we can tell people… someday.”
“Someday,” I agree. “When we feel like it. We can just mention it. Like, by the way… we got married. Although they’ll probably be mad we didn’t invite them.”
“I don’t care,” Chaz says. “Do you care?”
“I don’t care,” I say. “We don’t even have to tell them if we don’t want to.”
“I should probably mention to Luke that we’re going out first,” Chaz says. “To sort of cushion the blow. I can tell him we’re married in a few years. Although he’s juggling approximately four steady girlfriends in Paris right now. I don’t know why he still thinks my seeing you is such a bad idea.”
“Aw,” I say. I still can’t seem to summon up any animosity toward Luke. I’m still holding on to his engagement ring to give to my own daughter, if I ever have one. Or to my niece Maggie, from whom I’m expecting great things. “That’s so cute.”
“Cute, my ass,” Chaz says. “Let me see your arm.”
Obediently I roll up the sleeve to the vintage Lilli A
“No hives,” Chaz says.
“That’s a good sign. Do you feel like throwing up?”
Chaz shakes his head. “No.”
I’m feeling optimistic about this, and about the number we are on the list. Ninety. That was Gran’s age when she died. They both seem like gifts from above. Like maybe… maybe someone is watching out for us… someone who wants to make sure we aren’t on the highway to hell after all.
Or that maybe we are, actually. Because maybe that’s a good place to be.
Chaz and I both look down at the pamphlet in his hand. It is divided into frequently asked questions, which include, Is a premarital physical exam or blood test prior to the ceremony required? (Answer: No) and Can two first cousins legally marry in the state of New York? (Answer: Yes) and Can I use the marriage license in another state? (Answer: No).
It all seems so… legal.
“You really want to do this?” Chaz asks.
“I think so,” I say. “But… you once said I’d make a terrible wife.”
“I’ve sort of amended my opinion on that,” Chaz says. “I think you’d make sort of a spiffy one now.”
“Spiffy?” I grin up at him. “Did you really just say that?”
He grins back. “I think I did.”
I grin even harder. “Do you promise to cherish and obey me?”
“I already do,” Chaz points out. “Especially the obey part. In bed, when you get saucy with the whips and chains.”
“Then,” I say gravely, “Charles Pendergast the Third, I will gladly marry you.”
“You guys,” Tiffany shrieks from the doorway through which everyone is filing. “Are you coming or what?”
“We’re coming,” Chaz calls after them. He nudges me. “Hey, I don’t think they heard me. You’ve got the big mouth. Tell them not to wait for us.”
“Not me,” I say happily. “I think I’ve finally learned how to keep this big mouth shut.”