Checkmate.
14
MAXFORD
Sage green walls and soft gray drapes greet me when I open my eyes. The bed I’m in is smaller than my king, but the sheets and duvet are much, much nicer. I have money. Why don’t I spend it on quality bedding and towels? This thought catapults me to where I am. I’m at Nola’s, and my sleepy state is quickly replaced by steady heart arrhythmia. The beats are so hard against my ribcage I’m sure I’m experiencing my first panic attack. Nola and I are getting married this evening.
When we agreed to follow through with what Stella dubbed a “scheme” before turkey yesterday, it had an air of festivity, as if no legal responsibility were tied to it. Even last night when we talked about it on the couch, it felt like an elaborate prank. However, in the bright light of morning, the weight of the reality we’re agreeing to is ominous. Married. Commitment. Legally binding. The right to the status of filing our taxes jointly.
I rub my eyes and drink the glass of water I left on the nightstand. Light music plays somewhere in the house and Ipad down the hall in search of it. In the corner of the dining room is the easel holding a large canvas. Nola’s back is to me as she mixes paints on a palette and tests her color creation on a small canvas on the table. Next to her paints sits a Bluetooth speaker on which The Head and the Heart “Lost in My Mind” finishes up. She doesn’t hear me, her attention going back to the easel, and with a broad brush-stroke, she spreads the deep pink thoughtfully back and forth.
“Brightside” by the Lumineers starts next, and she spins around to see me leaning against the fireplace, arms crossed against my chest, watching her work. A nervous chuckle escapes her. She resets by wiping the back of her hand over her forehead, leaving behind a trail of pink.
“I’m going to have to get you a bell.” She gives me a small smirk and goes back to her paints, adding a few drops of black, blending it together for a richer pink hue than before. “How’d you sleep?”
“Like a man before his wedding.” She gives me an eye roll, and I move closer to the table. “What are you working on?”
Stepping aside, she gives me a peek at the beginnings of an abstract of Stella. Bold colors, distinctive kaftan that looks like it’s moving.
“That’s . . .” I inch closer and examine it. It’s an abstract, all right, but it’s unmistakable. The conceptually woven detail impresses me: Birkenstock sandals, Stella’s favorite Tiffany’s & Co. necklace, earrings, and bracelet set. It’s swirls and squares, shades overlapping into one another. “Wow, Nola. She’ll love it.”
“I’m fully anticipating she’ll want a traditional sitting and that’s fine. In the middle of the night I couldn’t sleep and this came to me. I haven’t played around like this in years.” There’s exhilaration in her tone. Nola motions me out of theway and gives her full attention back to the canvas, swiping the new shade on top of the last one.
“Nervous about today?” I head into the kitchen and grab a Diet Pepsi from the fridge, popping the tab and chugging half of it.
“Naw, I’ve got my eye on the prize.”
“We’d never decided when we’d officially get married—you’re sure it’s okay we do this today?”
She reaches for another brush and glances over her shoulder at me. “Yeah, why not?”
I should be ecstatic she’s seeing this for exactly what it is: a business arrangement. If she was feeling anything for me, I’d have to put a stop to this because it wouldn’t be fair to her. In a few months, I’ll be relocating and she’ll be doing her art thing. Both our lives are not conducive to relationships.
“Are you okay Emma’s not here for it?”
“Absolutely. There’s no way I’d let her come. She’s ten, Max. Explaining to her that we’re going to keep ‘pretending’ we’re married has got to be hard enough for her to grasp. To have her witness the wedding would be a whole extra level of messy.” With a nod to my drink, she asks, “You okay?”
“Thought I’d caffeinate early. It’s going to be a day.”
I watchNola paint while drinking another soda and polishing off a half dozen frozen burritos from her freezer. My healthy eating habits have been put on hold over the last few months and I can feel it. I’m calling this a last supper of sorts because conditioning starts tomorrow. For real. The Armadillo’s nutritionist made us weekly meal plans and I am confident I can put one together for myself. There are amillion apps for figuring out combos of lean protein, carbs, and fats.
The rest of the morning is spent searching online reviews for the best nearby gym that respects privacy and placing an order on the ice bath and steam sauna I talked myself out of purchasing last spring. I nonchalantly let Nola know both will be delivered here and she calls dibs on the first steam.
At four o’clock, Nola and I walk the path at Kathryn Albertson Park to a small gazebo-covered area nestled away from other people out braving the cold by walking off Thanksgiving indulgences on the footpath around the park. Our little reserved gazebo area bumps up against the wetlands pond with a faux rock water fountain feature. The majority of the leaves are off the trees, and the bushes are getting bare. The sun sits at that perfect angle before it starts to set, and I realize how much I missed out on my whole life by not experiencing seasons until moving here.
Stella looks us over and nods in approval. “Robert got ordained on the internet to marry his granddaughter last year, but she ended up falling for the best man and they eloped in Mexico. Almost as unorthodox as what’s happening here?—”
“Look, I paid twenty dollars to get my license. Can I marry you so it’s not good money gone to waste?” Bingo caller Robert asks.
A big smile stretches across Nola’s face. “I think that’s perfect. You’ve met both of us and your tie matches my dress. That has to be good luck, right?”
Robert holds out his burgundy tie as if he weren’t aware of what he’d put on. With renewed enthusiasm, he looks at us. “You two ready?”
“Go back out the way you came and enter when you hearthe music,” Stella instructs. “We need to have some kind of formality.”
We hand over the marriage license we picked up before lunch to Robert and see him nod to Violet and Opal, who are synching a phone to a Bluetooth speaker, then turn and go back toward the paved path.
“Is Stella mad at us?” Nola asks when we stop. She shivers against a gust of wind whipping through the park. I automatically slide off my new suit coat and rub her arms. She picked out the long-sleeved dress this afternoon and selected the light gray suit I’m currently wearing. I’d never have chosen it for myself under any circumstances, but she shot down my plan to wear my khakis, flannel, and down vest. Sham wedding or not, she said we deserved something new to wear.
