“How did you end up in the organization?” Alice asked.
“I finally ran out of excuses. Jeremy was determined to set a date, so I let him, and everything moved forward rapidly. Two weeks before the wedding, I was away on business. I was sitting in the Virgin lounge in Glasgow, drinking Gordon’s, maybe one too many. I remember sitting alone, crying. Sobbing, actually. Loud enough that people around me got up and moved. Embarrassing. And then an older gentleman, well dressed, nice looking, came over and sat down next to me. He was on his way to see his son at college in Palo Alto. We talked and talked. I told him all about the wedding, and it felt good to be unloading my fears on this stranger, someone who didn’t have a stake in any of it. A volcano had erupted in Iceland, so our two-hour layover became eight hours. But the gentleman was so nice, so interesting, the delay turned out to be a pleasure. A few days later, a wedding present arrived in the mail. And here I am. Happily married for six years.”
She reached for the wooden box, turned the gold key in the lock, and opened the lid. Inside was a set of documents typed in dark blue ink on parchment paper. She removed the documents and placed them on the table. Beneath the documents were two identical small books bound in gold leather.
Alice reached out and ran her fingers over the books, intrigued.
Vivian handed one gold book to each of us. I was startled to see they were embossed with our names, the date of our wedding, and, in large block letters, THE PACT.
“This is The Manual,” Vivian told us. “You’ll need to memorize it.”
I opened the book and began flipping through it. The text was tiny.
Vivian’s phone began to buzz. She pulled it out and, sliding her finger across the screen, said, “Page forty-three: When your spouse calls, always answer.” When I gave her a quizzical look, she pointed at The Manual.
Vivian stepped out onto our front porch, shutting the door behind her. Alice lifted the book, eyes wide, and mouthed the word sorry. But she was smiling.
Don’t be, I mouthed back.
She leaned over and kissed me.
As I’ve mentioned, I proposed to Alice because I wanted to keep her. Since we had returned from the honeymoon, I worried that she would experience a postwedding letdown. Things so quickly returned to exactly as they had been before the wedding, and I was nervous. Alice requires a certain level of excitement. She gets bored easily.
So far, I decided that marriage, in the physical sense, wasn’t any different from living together. In the mental sense, however, marriage was a huge leap. I’m not sure how to explain it, but as soon as the minister spoke the words “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” I felt married. While I hoped Alice felt the same way, I couldn’t be certain. She did seem happier, but happiness sometimes fades.
For all of these reasons, I have to admit I liked this strange thing that Finnegan was dragging us into. Maybe it would bring more excitement to the new state of our relationship. Maybe it would make our bond feel different, stronger.
Vivian returned. “Time flies,” she said. “I need to get going. Shall we sign?” She pushed the parchment documents toward us. The print was tiny, and at the bottom of the form were two sets of signature blocks. Vivian signed her name on the left, above the title “Host.” Below that, Orla Scott had signed in blue ink. The word beneath her signature was “Founder.” On the right side, Finnegan had signed above “Sponsor.” My name had been typed in above the word “Husband.” Vivian handed us the engraved pens that came with our wooden box.
“May we keep the contracts for a couple of days?” Alice asked.
Vivian frowned. “Of course, if you need to, but I’m going out of town this afternoon and I’d really like to get your paperwork started as soon as possible. I’d hate for you to miss the next party.”
“Party?” Alice asked, perking up. Did I mention that Alice loves parties?
“It’s going to be spectacular.” Vivian gestured nonchalantly at the papers. “But I don’t mean to rush you. Take as much time as you want.”
“Okay,” Alice said, turning to the first page. Perhaps she had become more of an attorney than a musician. I scanned the pages, trying to concentrate, to pierce the impenetrable veil of doublespeak and legalese. I watched Alice’s face as she read; a couple of times she smiled, a couple of times she frowned. I couldn’t begin to guess what she was thinking. Eventually she turned the final page, picked up her pen, and signed. When she registered the surprise on my face, she hugged me and said, “This will be good for us, Jake. Besides, do you think I’d miss the party?”
By now, Vivian had started packing away the projector. I knew I should probably read the fine print. But Alice wanted to do this. And I wanted to make Alice happy. I felt the weight of the pen in my fingers as I signed my name.
10
For all of us, of course, there is a gap between who we are and who we think we are. While I like to think the gap for me is small, I’ll acknowledge that it does exist. One indication? I think of myself as a fairly popular, likable person with an above-average number of friends. And yet I haven’t been invited to many weddings. I’m not sure why. Some people, like Alice, for example, get invited to weddings all the time.
The upside is that I can remember every wedding I’ve ever been invited to, including the very first one.
I was thirteen, and one of my favorite aunts was getting married in San Francisco. The relationship had developed quickly, and suddenly there was a wedding date. It was a Saturday in July, the reception at the cavernous United Irish Cultural Center. The floor was sticky, the smell of cheap beer from long-forgotten weddings rising from every crevice. A mariachi band was setting up on the stage, and enchiladas and tortillas appeared from the kitchen. A full bar stretched along the entire back wall, Irish bartenders dashing among the bottles. The place was packed. A guy handed me a beer, and no one seemed to mind. In fact, I instinctively knew it would have been considered an insult if I had refused.