Good Time(30)

You know those people? The ones who sit in coffee shops and drink coffee? Alone. Without a laptop, a book, a newspaper, a notebook, or headphones? Everyone knows those people are weird, just sitting there drinking their coffee in a coffee shop. Hey, I appreciate the irony too, but I’m not in charge of what’s considered weird. I’m not the weird police. Thankfully I have my phone with me so I can pretend I’m texting. It’s still weird but I’ll have to make do.

Or.

Or I could leave. Go home. Leave Meghan to have her life coaching session in the privacy of a half-filled coffee shop. Talk to Vince. Sort out how one goes about annulling a marriage. It can’t be that hard, right? It wasn’t that hard to get married last night, I can promise you that. There wasn’t even a line at the marriage bureau office. Just us and we breezed in and out, easy-peasy. Might have been because they were closing in five minutes and wanted to get rid of us, but it was easy nonetheless.

Looking back, you’d have thought we’d have come to our senses during the cab ride to get the marriage license, but alas, we did not. My memory of that ride is nothing but a blur of back-seat groping I haven’t seen the likes of since high school. I think it was me doing most of the groping because I have a memory of Vince whispering, “Patience, sweets,” in my ear.

He’s so damn cute.

If I can use cute as a word to describe the sexiest, most virile man I’ve ever been in the back seat of a car with.

Anyway.

I should probably skip this life coaching thing and go find Vince. He’s probably still getting dressed or rifling through my stuff. I’m not even mad if he is because I’d be looking through his stuff if he’d left me alone in his place.

I wonder if there’s an annulment bureau office? Maybe this will be easy? Maybe we just go down to the annulment bureau office and sign an annulment license and voilà, it’s undone? Then he’ll realize I’m not completely nuts and really sort of fun and charming in my own way. He’ll ask me to dinner and we’ll live happily ever after.

There’s probably a line at the annulment bureau office though. A long annoying line that will give him too much time to think about the fact that he’s only known me a day and I’ve already caused him nothing but chaos. Chaos and orgasms. And I’m the one who’s had the majority of the orgasms, so I’m not sure that’s a selling point unless he’s got a thing for giving more than he receives. I should try to woo him a little before we dissolve this marriage though, or he might think an annulment is a hard breakup when really we’re just getting started because we have so much potential together.

Right?

Otherwise what was the point of all of this? It’s not random. It cannot be random that I’d see him and feel things and then bam, I walk into Double Diamonds with Lydia and there he is. All that energy and lust between us cannot be random biology. That’s fate. Or the universe recognizing two souls meant to unite, blah, blah, blah.

Besides, we all know that ‘random’ is just a dull word for ‘fortuitous.’ If nothing else this has been a series of fortuitous events that will lay out the course for the rest of my life. And Vince’s. And our future children’s. Sorry to get ahead of myself, but it’s impossible not to look at him and think about the possibilities of commingling our DNA.

The possibilities are adorable, by the way. I’m envisioning they’ll all have dark hair and dark eyes just like Vince. Maybe one of them will look like me, a tiny blonde toddler with wavy hair and big blue eyes that she’ll use against us to get whatever she wants.

Us. There’s no us, I remind myself. There’s not, but maybe there could be? Vince looks at me like he gets me. Like he sees me. Do you know how rare that is? For anyone to really look at you past a cursory glance? To look at you like they see the real you? Like they want to know more than what you’re saying, they want to know what you’re thinking about too?

It’s rare. Like it’s never happened to me before Vince. Not like this. Most people, when you tell them you sang a taco song as a child because you believed that’s where tacos came from—from the song—would laugh. They wouldn’t ask you to sing it. They definitely wouldn’t remember all the words the next day and bring you tacos.

I slap my fingers against my forehead. I cannot believe I told him about the taco song. I told him a lot of things last night.

That’s when I tune in to Carol asking Meghan where she sees herself in five years. I always thought that question was a dumb cliche. Like no one really walks around asking people something so obnoxious, right?

Yet Carol’s asking. She’s really bringing the hard-hitting questions to the Grind Me café on a Sunday afternoon.

You know where I’ll be in five years? Divorced. Annulled, whatever. I’ll be twenty-seven and divorced. Hell, I might be divorced two or three times by then, who knows.

You know where I’ll be in twenty-five years? Mailing wedding invitations to my children. Just like my parents.

I should call my mom and ask her if her first marriage was to a complete stranger she had strong lustful feelings for. A man who made her want to do crazy things like believe in love at first sight and happily ever afters. A man who made her heart race and her stomach fill with swans. I know butterflies is the word everyone uses for that feeling, but swans mate for life so wouldn’t a stomach full of swans make more sense? Besides, did you know that female butterflies mate only once and then die as soon as they lay their eggs, while male butterflies flitter around mating with as many females as they can find until they run out of sperm?