by Jen Knox
She felt it in
her toes that morning, dread that she would shove into ivory heels and dance on
beneath heavy clouds. He felt a surge of adrenaline he thought must accompany
every man on his wedding day.
Everything had
been set in motion four months ago, when they adopted a pug that was abandoned
in a nearby apartment complex. They were unsure they’d have the proper amount
of time to devote to the puppy, but his bunched face and square body seemed
perfect. It would be a responsibility test, a sort of trial run before they had
children.
The pug had
dermatitis between his folds, which cost money to correct, as did his shots and
medications. It was enough to tear a small hole in their new car fund, so they
had to reevaluate the year and model they’d go for. The lesser car they
selected had good reviews, and the salesman even said—when he realized they
weren’t the best negotiators and had told him their actual budget—that it was more durable than the newer models.
The couple’s
fate was sealed when she drove the car off the lot, when he inserted the CD he’d
brought along, just in case. “Ocean Breathes Salty” began the soundtrack. They
drove all day, speeding along the peripheral of the city, and stopped for Jamaican
jerk chicken at a restaurant they agreed they would return to regularly.
They took the
pug to the dog park Saturday mornings. He enjoyed eating and watching Animal
Planet, so they babied and indulged him. They learned everything they could
about the breed and how best to care for him, finally putting him on a diet.
They decided on his name after reading that the strange little forehead wrinkle
that pugs share resembles the Chinese symbol for prince.
Together, they took
Prince on lazy walks after work. They often ate out and met up with friends on
weekends. She got a corporate job that replaced her occasional gigs as a yoga
instructor. She hated the work but made a lot of friends, fast, and thought it
an okay trade for the time being. He got a corporate job; he rather enjoyed it.
She gained five pounds. He gained ten. They joined a gym a few months before the
wedding. They made resolutions often. They both wanted to be somewhere else,
but were unsure exactly where.
They lived near
his family but far from hers, so they often spoke of moving somewhere in the
middle. Her sister would often call, upset about her husband being out late.
She wanted to be close enough to visit, watch bad movies and make orange
cinnamon rolls.
They’d all be
closer soon, the couple decided. This union was an inevitable step toward their
ideal future. The details would work themselves out.
The day of the
wedding, they awoke five hours and twenty minutes before they had to be at the
meeting center by the gazebo. Their wedding would be outside, in a park where
they first met. Both had been joggers. It would be a small ceremony.
She would wear
her mother’s ivory dress, still a touch tight around the hips. He would wear
his OSU pin on his slant striped gray tie. They would have a total of eighteen
family members there; two would attend via Skype, and approximately twenty
friends and acquaintances had RSVP’d. She would pick up her mother and sister
from the hotel they insisted on staying at because the couple’s apartment was
still quite small. Just fewer than forty people would surround them as they
took their vows at Abaline Park at 2PM. It was the perfect wedding size,
everyone agreed.
Prince had a
habit of jumping up and down before treat time, after walk time, and this
always made her giggle. Her giggling always made him want her.
It was wedding
day morning. She laughed at his pitched pants and serious stare when she walked
out of the kitchen. He didn’t laugh. Instead, with only hours remaining, he
rushed her, moved his fingers along her belly beneath her shirt, lifted her
sideways and took her to their bedroom where they would forget the world for
almost an hour. Last time as a single man, he said. She pushed him off and over,
hugged his waist with her knees.
When they remembered
the world, they were frantic. They kissed goodbye. She took the car and thought
about how lucky she was. She had heard horror stories about friends’ weddings but
knew hers would be perfect. There wasn’t a fake or a placeholder in the bunch.
Her mother, an
artist, presented her with a black and white painting of Prince when she
arrived at the hotel. She laughed and loved it. Her sister worked hard to laugh
with them, then explained that her husband couldn’t attend due to work. It had
been last minute. The sisters embraced.
Prince refused
to wear the doggie tux. She understood his apprehension and clipped a bowtie to
his collar. She hoped her fiancé would remember to pack the treats and the
collapsible water dish. His father was picking him up. His mother was in a
wheelchair after having reconstructive foot surgery a few weeks back. They
lived close by, would arrive right before the ceremony. She was a loud, beautiful
woman. Her three grown children, the husband-to-be included, had blinged out
her chair while she was in surgery so that she now called it her throne.
The gazebo was
perfect. His cousin, who had taken on the role of wedding planner, had done
everything right. Nothing was overdone. The couple didn’t see each other until
the vows. The sky was overcast but with no threat of rain.
The clouds
framed them in pictures. The couple kissed. Prince jumped up and down at the
dance after. His mother danced in her chair. Her mother sketched the children’s
faces. Her father smoked cigars with his father as they talked about drone
strikes and then football and then the quality of their cigars.
The recall
notice hadn’t reached them because they’d forgotten to write the apartment
number on the paperwork, and his email had filtered the e-copy to junk. This
would strike the parents as ridiculous after, seeing as how all the bills had
reached them just fine. The recall notice concerned hyper acceleration and asked
that all owners of the make and model and year bring the car in for a free
check.
The parents
would become angry and file suit. It would be a large suit. They would become
quite rich, and they would become angrier that they had to become rich in this
way.
His mother’s
foot would heal perfectly, and she would walk with only a slight limp to the
two graves that sat alongside the back of the yard by an old, abandoned house
that the city was unsure what to do with. The family would gather here on the
anniversary of the couple’s wedding, and they would sob and laugh and smoke
cigars. They would talk about the circumstance of death and fate, what lined up
in order for it to happen on their wedding day. The family would come to know
that it was not the dealer’s or manufacturer’s fault alone. The car had surged
when he hit the brakes; the driver of an SUV had been taking over the lane at
the wrong time.
The family became
rich, so incredibly rich, but it didn’t matter. The money did not reconcile the
odd chain of events, that slight hit that sent their small car spinning into
the median strip. It was instantaneous for him. It was drawn out for her. She
had that brief window, a chance to say goodbye. She’d told her sister that she
knew, somehow, that she had thought it was just cold feet, but she knew.
The family was
smaller now. The sister was alone. Her mother fell ill and no longer painted.
The nieces and nephews were teenagers, unreachable. Her sister became pregnant
after a fling.
Prince would
live with the sister and would rest his wrinkly head on her belly as she
daydreamed about finding love. He would comfort her when she came home with
child, when she spent hours staring at the floor, unable to sleep. He would mind
the child and growl at men she would bring home.
Until his final
days, Prince would continue to comfort her sister, but he would never jump up
and down. Instead, he would conserve his energy and spend his every night at
the door, waiting, unable to believe in fate.
* * * * *After the Gazebo was introduced in Ardor and is also included in Jen Knox's short story collection After the Gazebo.
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