Page 17 of Two Friends in Marriage
“You okay?”I ask him.
“Yeah.I’m fine, just a little tired.”
If he doesn’t want to talk about it, I won’t force him.I squeeze his shoulder, then head back to my room and check my phone.
My father didn’t even send me a text on my wedding day.
I pick up the framed photo on my dresser, the one that has sat on my dresser for as long as I can remember.It was taken at the Sears photo studio, back when photo studios at department stores were still a thing.Back when Sears still existed in Canada.It’s one of the few pictures of me with both my parents.I’m three years old, and apparently, I was Not Happy with the whole experience, but I’m smiling in the picture.
I imagine having my mother—and my father—at my wedding.Going dress shopping with her.Would she have had lots of opinions about the wedding?Would I have told her that I wasn’t marrying for love?
Maybe, if my mom were alive, I wouldn’t have made a marriage pact with Evan.My life might have turned out very differently.Maybe, for one reason or another, I would have ended up going to another university and never met him.
Maybe I would have met the love of my life instead.
I shake my head at these sentimental thoughts.This is why it’s best not to think of such things, but it’s hard to entirely avoid it on your wedding day.
The next thing I know, I’m wondering whether I would have been easier to love—and more open to it—if she were still here.
If, if, if.
Some people say that your wedding is the happiest day of your life.But I never expected it to be—and it wasn’t.
Still, it went well, and I’m now married to a nice man with lots of family.
Chapter 6
Evan
BothJaneandIhave taken the Monday after our wedding off.In the morning, we brave the traffic to drive Claudia to the airport.She playfully threatens me in the drop-off area.
“You better not screw this up,” she says, “or I will come for you.”
Despite her tone, I don’t think she’s joking, but that’s okay.I intend to be a good husband.
I might feel a bolt of longing when I witness a couple having an emotional goodbye, but then someone behind me honks, and I return to my senses.
That isn’t for you.You don’t deserve it.
I wince at the thought that pops into my head, unbidden.I didn’t get married to my friend because I don’t think I deserve love.It just wasn’t happening for me, and I wanted companionship and home ownership.So, I did what was practical.
As I get back on the highway, I try to focus on our plans for the day instead.We’re going to Canadian Tire to get a bunch of things we need for the house, including a lawn mower.We have a front flower garden and a back vegetable garden, though it’s a little late in the year to do a lot with those.But for next year…
“I want bisexual flowers,” I say.
“Flowers that produce both sperm and eggs?”Jane asks.“Isn’t that what the word means when you come to flowers?”
“Maybe that’s true.But I mean flowers that can turn both blue and pink, depending on the soil conditions.Sometimes clusters of them look like the bisexual flag.I forget what they’re called.It starts with anh.”
“Bisexual…flag…flowers,” she says.I think she’s typing that into her phone, but I can’t see because my eyes are focused on the road.“Okay.Yes.It’s a type of hydrangea.The color is related to the pH of the soil.”
“What do you want in the garden?”I ask.
“Cherry tomatoes and herbs.Maybe daffodils and tulips out front for early spring—we’ll have to look into that this fall.”
I picture our red-brick house with some cheerful yellow daffodils.I might not be getting romance out of this marriage, but having a place that’soursis nice.
“I like double daffodils better than the regular ones,” Jane says.
