Closing my eyes, I bathe—actually, I saturate myself—in the warmth of Haynes Woodcock.
I’ll never forget the first time I laid eyes on him. It was our freshman year—the Alpha Delt, Sigma Nu pledge swap. Back then, the membership chairmen—one from the sorority and one from the fraternity—got together and paired up the pledges ahead of time. We could put in requests if we had seen a cute boy we wanted for a date, but most of the time everyone went potluck.
We’d all be crammed in the foyer of the Alpha Delt House. The membership chairmen would call out two names and the pledges would meet in the middle. Then all the actives and remaining pledges whooped and hollered when the two, mortified and flustered, paraded out the front door.
Haynes was standing dead center of the Sigma Nu pledges. His thick, collar length, sandy blond hair flipped up on the ends, and even from where I stood I noticed his double row of dark eyelashes underneath thick sandy eyebrows.
The light from his eyes—so blue they looked like aquamarines—and the way he smiled, bobbing his head in response to whatever it was his fraternity brothers were saying, caught my eye. I watched him, and him only, praying we would be matched together, until he and Emily Kay floated out the front door arm in arm.
Later at the Sigma Nu House, after looking all over, I finally spotted them at the keg refilling their cups. There seemed to be an electrical current, a force beyond my control, pulling me toward him like a magnet, so I left my date and glided over.
After watching me standing there like an idiot with a pleading look in my eyes, Emily finally introduced us. “Wilda, meet Haynes Woodcock.”
“Haynes who?” I had obviously missed that ever-so-important detail back at the House.
“Woodcock,” he said, with a playful grin. Then he whispered in my ear. “Whatever you do, no rooster wisecracks. Only penis jokes allowed.”
I laughed at his joke, probably harder than I should have. Standing next to him made me giddy and nervous. Then the reality of his last name hit mewith a crushing blow. “Have you ever thought about changing it?” I heard myself saying. Because at that point I was already down the road—down the aisle, rather—and the voice inside my head was screaming:No! You can’t be Wilda Woodcock!
“When I was young. Then I got over it.”
Once I realized what I had done, my face turned fifty shades of red. Who says something like that? And to a cute guy? No matter how bad his name is.
“Mind if I call you Wildebeest?”
Every guy I’d ever known from junior high to high school had called me Wildebeest. Disappointed, but grateful to still be chatting with him, I said, “Sure. But I should warn you, my horns are sharp and they can really hurt if you’re not careful.”
Thenhelaughed out loud. “I’m not afraid of a stinking Wildebeest,” he said, with his chin in the air.
“Good. Then we should get along famously.”
“Woodcock and Wildebeest. Now there’s a duo for you.”
I wanted to say, right then and there: I know. I’ve already thought of that, but if I marry you, I become Wilda Woodcock. And I have spent my entire life mad at my mother for naming me Wilda in the first place. But instead I said, “Actually, it should be Wildebeest and Woodcock. ‘I’ comes before ‘O’.”
“Fair enough. Wildebeest and Woodcock.” We looked up and Emily was gone. From then on we really were Wildebeest and Woodcock. He must have seen something way more wonderful and attractive than a real wildebeest, which is one of the most unsightly animals God has ever created, with a hunchback and a long-faced head with ears sticking out at right angles. And I ask myself why my self-confidence was in the toilet?
A few years later, when our partnership became official, Emily, who became one of my best friends and bridesmaids, told that story at our rehearsal dinner.
Six months earlier, I had been sitting at our breakfast room table when I told Mama I wanted to marry Haynes Woodcock. She took a dainty sip from her Herend china teacup and placed it slowly back down on the saucer with a lightclink,her pinky high in the air. Sitting straight as a pencil, all the while staring out our bay window, she drummed her fingers against the teacup. “Wil-da Wood-cock,” she said slowly, overenunciating each syllable.“In-ter-es-ting.”
I jumped out of my chair, threw my arms overhead. “Why are you making this worse? You gave Mary your mother’s name and I was your first girl. You could have given me a normal name, too. Butnooo,you had to name me after a college roommate whom you’ve hardly seen since!”
“Why, Wilda is a lovely, old-fashioned name. But Woodcock.” She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. “How unfohtunate.”
I stormed off to my room and we’ve never brought it up since. Despite that, and a host of other dramatic to-dos along the way, I still named Ellie after Mama. Even though Haynes wanted to name her Wilda. Love for our parents is deeper and more primal than any of us realizes, I suppose, despite the measure of childhood trauma. Haynes has spent the last thirty-four years telling me how beautiful I am, and how beautiful my name is.
Some days I actually believe him.
Years later Haynes told me that no one had ever asked him before if he wanted to change his name. But I’m convinced that question, no matter how cringeworthy, is the reason I’m Mrs. Haynes Woodcock today. And right now, after the week I’ve had, getting home to my husband is all I can think about.
FORTY-TWO
MISS PEARL
Miss Lilith is the only one in the present room when I walk past. She doesn’t notice me, so I stand off to the side and watch her maneuver around the baskets, fingering each and reading the gift tags. Every now and then she’ll take a second to smell one of the rose bouquets, but it seems she’s more interested in checking out the sender.
She reminds me of my ex-mother-in-law. Always sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. When she happens to look up we lock eyes. She stiffens, stands up straight as a nutcracker, like she’s been caught with her hand in that ol’ cookie jar. The chain on that Alpha Delt pin she always wears on the end of her breast is still jiggling.
