The Marriage Pact (1) (15 page)

This
turned out to be a major oversight. When they got back to her apartment Marci could
not help but remember with shame bringing Jake here a week before under far
better circumstances.  She and Travis had raided the liquor cabinet and
consumed shots of Suzanne’s expensive vodka with squirts of lemon juice. They
had eventually made their clumsy way to the bedroom, where Marci was prepared
to lose her regrets in simple animal sex. This part would be easy.

Or
so she thought. Travis turned out to be a very sloppy drunk, evidenced first by
peeing all around her toilet, including on Suzanne’s fluffy rose-colored bath
mat (
add that to my tab
, she thought the next day). When he emerged from
the bathroom and collapsed onto the bed with her, he struggled to get his
shorts off and scarcely attempted to undress her at all. She tried to feel sexy
and remember that she was enjoying this, but with each moment that passed it
became more challenging. Truck was annoyed when she insisted that he use a
condom, and fumbled so much to get it on that he was unable to use it for its
purpose anyway.

Marci
was ready to give up and escape into sleep. But Travis insisted on spending the
next forty-five minutes trying every way imaginable to arouse himself. This
involved Marci doing a lot of unpleasant work while he apologized, swore that
this never happened to him, and saying, “you’re so pretty,” in a way that was
more creepy than convincing. Finally, he let out a frustrated sigh and rolled
over without another word. Within minutes, he was snoring louder than anyone
she’d ever heard.

She
was relieved when she awoke hours later to find him gone, and completely
shocked when he called that evening to ask her out to dinner, “to make it up to
her.” She returned his call, knowing they would certainly cross paths again
meant she couldn’t be entirely rude, but pleaded a previous engagement to get
out of dinner. Over the next several days, he continued to pursue Marci in a
way that surprised her enormously, given his reputation and their embarrassing
first experience together.

Eventually
she consented to a few awkward dates with him, more out of kindness than
desire. Selfishly, however, she enjoyed the impact this seemed to have on
Jake—making him surly whenever she mentioned going out. She was pretty sure
Jake knew as well as she did that nothing serious would develop between Travis
and her, but his discomfort with the idea was a bit gratifying.

Over
a couple of weeks, this became the only source of tension between them as their
friendship returned once again to relative normalcy. Her anger with Jake
dissipated with each interaction. They never talked about what had happened
between them or about the confrontation in the bar, but somehow they came to a
silent understanding that their friendship would not withstand pressing the
issue further.

The
Sunday after midterms, Marci broke down and made the trip to Atlanta to the
bridal shop to order Beth’s forest green monstrosity. The sales girl tsk-tsk’d
as she pointed out that Marci was the last bridesmaid to order—even flighty
Suzanne had managed to stop by before her trip to Florida—and that she would
have to pay a rush fee to ensure “timely delivery.” 
Baffling, because
the wedding was still two months away, but whatever. Anything for a friend.

Normally
comfortable in a size twelve or fourteen, Marci discovered that bridal wear
sizes were painfully smaller than real-life sizes. Why the wedding industry
collectively decided to take one more knock at a girl’s self-esteem on the most
beautiful day of your life, or your friend’s life, was incomprehensible.
As
though the stress of a wedding didn’t break you down enough
.

Once
she and the clerk had wrangled her arms and torso into a floor sample on the
third try, the disapproving noises resumed. “Hmm...I’m thinking the sixteen is
going to be a little snug through the middle. You’ll have to order a size
eighteen and alter down, because you’re a little thick through here. The
alteration fee is $65.”

“But
the dress is only $105!” Marci protested. With alterations, rush fee, and the
shoes dyed to match, the whole Emerald City ensemble was going to cost her more
than $230.

“It’s
either that,” the sales lady chirped, patting Marci’s constricted belly, “or
skip dessert for the next two months!” Marci left the shop further in debt and
ready to wear the first size eighteen dress of her life.

Back
in Athens that evening, she sat at a high table by the window of the Globe Bar
and complained about the dress incident to Rebecca and Suzanne.

“The
whole wedding industry conspires against women,” Suzanne said. She’d helped
plan an older cousin’s wedding the summer before and resented every minute of
it. “They sell you on the idea of this ‘perfect day,’ and then make you feel
like crap about yourself if you don’t get everything just right. It’s all about
getting women to spend money by playing on their insecurities, if you ask me.
Everything’s marked up like 200% for weddings, too. Bullshit. Total bullshit.”

“Wow,
Suzanne, you’re starting to sound like one of those uber-feminists in the
women’s studies department,” Rebecca teased. “Maybe you ought to slow down on
the rum and Diet Coke.”

Suzanne
scowled. Marci sensed a far less pleasant tirade brewing beneath her best
friend’s flawless exterior, fueled by Captain Morgan and ready to fire at
Rebecca. She could sense a catfight in the making, and Marci had no desire to
play referee between those two sets of claws. She intervened quickly with,
“Well, I certainly don’t think that awful dress was worth $240—do you guys?”

Suzanne
slowly softened her glare, which Rebecca had yet to notice because she had been
examining a flaw in one of her fingernails. They both shook their heads.
Rebecca, who was not in the wedding but had seen pictures of the dresses in
Beth’s catalog, took the reins. “Definitely not. I mean, y’all know I love Beth
and all...” she prefaced.

Suzanne
and Marci glanced at each  other. They didn’t know that she “loved Beth
and all,” because Rebecca had known Beth only during their senior year and
never seemed to really click with her. Rebecca did not seem to notice their
exchanged eye roll and went on unimpeded. “But, seriously, doesn’t she know
that forest green went out of style like three years ago? And those invitations
were so tacky. I guess that’s what happens when you marry young like that; you
haven’t grown into good taste yet.”

Marci
regretted bringing up the subject of the dress entirely. She had just wanted to
bitch about the whole experience for a bit and throw back a couple of
sympathetic tequila shots with her girlfriends. And while she agreed about the
dress and even the invitations, something about hearing it from Rebecca’s mouth
made her bristle on sweet Beth’s behalf. It was like when she and Nicole were
kids. Marci could pick on her little sister relentlessly, but no one else was
allowed to call her so much as a name without Marci running to her defense. She
had a sudden desire to tell Rebecca to shut the hell up.

Fortunately
for all three of them, Jake appeared in the doorway of the bar before the
conversation could go any further. He gave the bartender an easy wave and signaled
for his usual pint of Guinness before sidling up to the empty chair between
Rebecca and Suzanne. He paused at the empty shot glasses in the middle of the
table. “Didn’t know we were doing the hard stuff tonight or I’d have ordered
one myself,” he said. “What’s the occasion?”

“We
were just talking about weddings,” Suzanne said, before Rebecca could speak.

“Jesus
Christ.”

“You
said it,” she agreed, raising her glass to him before taking a sip from her
drink.

“Did
you know,” Marci added, “that Jake doesn’t want to get married?”

“Why
not?” said Rebecca.

“Neither
do I,” said Suzanne.

A
cloud passed over Jake’s face as he looked across the table at Marci.
Good.
Let him be hurt a little.

“I
never said I didn’t want to get married. I said I want to wait until I’m
thirty.”

“Thirty
is a good age to get married,” Rebecca said. “But I’m going to get married at
twenty-six so I can spend four years living in New York and traveling with my
husband before we have children.”

“What
if you haven’t met the guy you want to marry by twenty-six?” Suzanne asked.

Rebecca
didn’t miss a beat. “Well, I’ll live in New York and travel by myself for a
couple of years, and I’ll meet my husband on a beach in Spain or something. And
if that doesn’t work, I’ll go to my backup guy.”

“I
beg your pardon?” Suzanne looked baffled. “‘Backup guy’?”

“Yeah,”
Rebecca said. “Roger Simon is my backup guy. We grew up together in Birmingham.
He is my big brother’s best friend, and has wanted to marry me since the fifth
grade. He’s in law school now at UAB, so he’ll be a lawyer, at least. If I’m
not married by twenty-eight, I’ll marry Roger. Plenty of time to get settled
and have our first child by thirty.”

No
one said anything. Marci couldn’t believe that Rebecca had so much of her life
planned already, never mind the fact that poor Roger was her consolation prize
if she didn’t meet Señor Right on a beach in Barcelona. Marci could barely plan
from one week to the next, much less think about what her late 20s would hold.
Thirty was so far away; how could anyone decide now what they would want then?
Apparently, Jake and Suzanne were equally caught off guard by these
declarations, because they both stared pensively at the center of the table.

Rebecca
took the last sip of her amaretto sour and slid off her barstool. “Well, I need
to go. I have an early class in the morning and a rush meeting tomorrow night
to get ready for. Kiss, kiss!” Suzanne rolled her eyes at this affectation as
Rebecca strolled out of the bar without paying her part of the tab.

As
annoyed as Marci had felt with Rebecca that evening, her absence left a tension
lingering over the table. She wondered whether Jake knew that Suzanne knew what
had happened between them. After a few minutes of silent sipping, Suzanne was
the first to speak. “It’s actually not a bad idea.”

“What?”
Jake and Marci said in unison.

“The
whole backup guy thing. I think I’ve actually heard of that, people choosing
someone who they like and respect who they’ll marry if they don’t meet someone
else by a certain age. Like thirty or forty or whatever.”

Marci
was shocked to hear this, particularly from Suzanne, who had no interest in
marriage. “Who would do that? I mean, if you like someone enough to marry them
ten years from now, why not just marry them now?”

“You
mean like Beth and Ray?” Suzanne argued. “I thought you felt it was too early
to get into a serious relationship.”

“I
do, but...” Marci stuttered.

“I
get it,” Jake said softly. He did not meet Marci’s eye.

 “You
guys should do it!” Suzanne said abruptly, as though she were suggesting they
all run next door to The Grill for a burger.

“What?
No. That’s stupid.” Marci squirmed in her seat, careful to look directly at
Suzanne and not across the table. She was angry with Jake now
,
why would
she want to marry him in the future?

“No,
it’s not,” Suzanne said, quite seriously. “I mean, you never know what’s going
to happen in the next ten years, do you? Maybe you’ll both be happily married
to other people, but if not, you can marry someone you already love and
respect. By thirty, your biological clock will be ticking!” This last was
directed at Marci, because for some reason, guys did not have biological
clocks.

“What
about you? You have a biological clock, too. Why don’t you two do it?” Marci
sputtered defensively.  Of course all three of them knew the answer to
this. Suzanne and Jake had never connected, while just a few weeks ago, she and
Jake had certainly demonstrated that they at least had the
potential
to
be more than friends.

“What
about Truck?” she added weakly. She hadn’t actually talked to Travis in nearly
a week, but Jake didn’t need to know that. He seemed sulky after she said this,
which pleased her.

Suzanne
scowled. “Oh, come on, like you’re really going to marry that Neanderthal! And
anyway, if you do, certainly you’ll decide that before you turn thirty, won’t
you?”

Marci
took a long gulp of beer from her glass. Only she had objected to Suzanne’s
suggestion; Jake had not weighed in at all. Was she being petty?

As
if sensing a chink in Marci’s armor, Suzanne renewed her assault. “Jake, you’d
marry Marci if you were still single in ten years, wouldn’t you?”

He
looked at Marci for the first time, expression inscrutable. “Yeah, I think I
would.”

Suzanne
stopped a passing waitress and asked for a pen. “Let’s go ahead and make it
official, then. Come on, Marce, what do you have to lose? It’s not like this
will hold up in court or anything.”

“Fine,”
Marci said.
Whatever they wanted. It’s not like this was meaningful or
anything. Just a joke.
Jake would be married in ten years anyway, to some
blonde heiress his parents had chosen for him, and she’d be...she had
absolutely no idea. “Fine. But I need another shot of tequila first.”