I don’t mean to, but I look at Seamus when the man says, “I do.”
Seamus straightens in his chair. I don't know what to make of him.
Tessa approaches then, her smile warm and professional. "Whenever you're both ready, the judge is prepared to begin."
I take a breath. This is it. The moment where I either walk forward and commit to six months of living with a stranger, or I turn around and walk out and lose everything I've been working toward.
Seamus extends his hand slightly. He's not touching me, just gesturing toward the front of the room. An invitation, not a demand. "Shall we?"
We walk to the front of the room together, maintaining careful distance. The judge is an older woman with kind eyes and an efficient manner. She smiles at us both.
"Good morning. I'm Judge Whitmore." She glances at her paperwork. "Seamus O'Malley and Rosanna Lopez, correct?"
"Correct," Seamus says.
"Yes," I add.
Judge Whitmore nods. "Wonderful. Do either of you have any questions before we begin?"
I glance at Seamus. He's looking straight ahead, jaw tight, hands clasped in front of him.
He looks like he's about to negotiate a hostile takeover, not get married.
At least we're both equally uncomfortable.
"No questions," Seamus says.
I shake my head. "No."
"Then let's proceed." Judge Whitmore opens a small leather-bound book, and I realize this is really happening.
My hands start to shake.
Seamus glances down at them and extends his hand. I place my hand in his.
"Please join hands." The judge looks up from her paperwork. "Oh! You already did. Excellent."
This is it.
Six months.
His palm is warm. Steady.
Mine isn’t.
Judge Whitmore begins her speech on partnership.
That's what this is. Not love. Not romance. Just a partnership with clear terms and a predetermined end date.
I can do this.
I hope.
Chapter eleven
Seamus
I don’t think marriage works. Statistically, it’s not promising. There are too many variables. Plus women are crazy. (no offense). I don't think I'll ever get married. I prefer better odds. —Shay (Age 20)
