“Saaammm…”
“I’m sure Father O will cut us a deal what with us finding his missing Jesus.”
“What, exactly, are we talking here?”
She frowns, “It’s not so bad. We’ll be with other couples discussing marriage, setting expectations about kids and ah… what religion we want them brought up in. That kind of thing. It’s a prerequisite.”
I take a deep breath, remembering how much I love her. “Are there any others?”
“Do you have proof of baptism?”
“Fuck. Only my mom would have it. Dad was deployed at the time but I can probably find a copy. Anything else?”
“I was thinking we could set a date. How about twelve months? I should be able to get everything done by then.”
“A year? Hell no. I want you to be my wife, sooner than that.”Is she having second thoughts?
“But I need to rent a hall, buy a dress, and reserve the church. Then, there’s cake, flowers, caterers, photogr-”
“Stop. My God, Sam.”Hell, we’ll never get out of debt.
“My mother and father will pay for most of it,” she mutters.
“How do you figure that? Your Dad hates me.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“He put an APB out on me last month. I think that’s pretty telling.”
“True, but he’s coming around. Honey, I can buy a used dress and our guests will give us money. I’ll do the math and talk to my mom. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.” She has an answer for everything.
Obviously, I’m in over my head and will need to talk to my married buddies who managed to survive taking their vows.
Damn, I do believe I’m about to be hog-tied and roasted on a spit.
Sometime later, after discussing the intrinsic nature of strawberry filling, taffeta, and roses, Mr. Nardo reappears. I have never been happier to see a cheating fucktard in my life.
My soon-to-be wife takes a few more shots and we make it home without any more disagreements.
At home, our driveway is blocked by a new, bigger dumpster.
I hope they realize, this means war.
In the morning, when the jackhammers rev up, I have had enough. The rat-a-tat triggers my nightmares, my PTSD alarm screeches and as my girl crawls into a corner, the cat yowls.
“Jesus H Christ!” I throw on my sweats and sneakers while Sam and the kitten stare wide-eyed.
I’m not sure if either one has ever seen me lose my temper. It ain’t all that pretty.
“No. I’ll talk to them.” Sam starts to get dressed but it only gets my blood boiling more.
“Hell no. You aren’t goin’ over there.”I’ve heard their catcalls and those don’t sit right, neither.
I stomp down the stairs, turn left, and cut across the debris field into the front of what used to be a Pentecostal Church.
Inside, it takes only a few seconds to locate the guy making the racket. While three other guys in hardhats cross their arms, I tap Jack Hammer on the shoulder.
He stops, his eyes go wide, and then narrow as I remove his ear protectors.
