Sing (Songs of Submission #7)(28)

“Can you just bring me something blue, please?”

He started a sentence, but didn’t finish it. Took a breath, started to say something else, and stopped himself.

“Darren?”

“Jesus. I didn’t...I don’t know what to say. I haven’t been there for you, have I?”

“Be here for me tonight. Something reasonably attractive. And blue. And new, if possible. I’m stretching the definition with what I have here.”

CHAPTER 27.

MONICA

Darren arrived just as Irene was telling me to do something with my hair, then come in. He handed me a CVS bag with four blue hair clips.

“Thank you,” I said. He grabbed me and hugged me. It was the only real hug I’d gotten all week, warm and perfect, without expectation or promise. I chose a little rhinestone hairpin the color of the autumn sky and let Darren put it in.

“You’re the maid of honor and the best man.”

“I’m not making a toast.”

“He won’t have the energy. He barely had it in him to ask me to marry him in the first place.”

We walked down the hall.

“I wish you’d told me...asked me for something,” he said.

“You never pick up. I feel like I’m bothering you.”

He shrugged, and we turned into Jonathan’s room. It was lit only by the reading lamp over his bed. I felt Darren stiffen. Jonathan was halfway sitting, but bedridden and pale, connected to machines and IV bags of medicine and blood. The last time they’d seen each other, Jonathan was hale and Darren was threatening to send out wedding invitations if there was another breakup.

“Hi,” Darren said.

Jonathan held his hand up in greeting.

“You look like f**king hell, man.”

“Darren!” I cried.

“And I can still get a knockout wife.”

“Tough to be you.”

People came in behind me. I didn’t see them, I only saw Jonathan. I kissed his lips for the last time as his lover, and turned around. Irene and Gregory were at the foot of the bed, and in the chair I usually occupied, a short woman in horn-rimmed glasses and clerical collar. She was a few years older than me, and had a mop of curly hair held in place with a hip vintage clip. Darren stood behind her.

“Hi,” she said brightly.

“Hi,” Jonathan and I chanted. I straightened and stood on the opposite side of the bed from her, holding his hand. It was cold.

“My name is Sona, and let me tell you, this is not the kind of call I usually get when I do the hospital chaplaincy. I had to dig around for the right prayer book. But, happy occasions are worth the trouble. So, what do we have? Both Catholic, I hear?”

“Kind of,” I said.

“And I hear the groom has a big family? They aren’t here?”

“I’ll tell them tomorrow,” Jonathan said. My sigh of relief must have been audible, because he squeezed my hand.

“Sona,” I said, “Jonathan isn’t up for anything long and involved, if that’s okay. I don’t mean to be disrespectful.”

“Nope!” She smiled with big, white teeth. “You have rings?”

“Crap.” I didn’t. I glanced at Darren. He shrugged, holding his palms up.

“Can we make do with something?” she asked. “People do like the rings.”

“Yes!” I said. “I have it.” I rummaged through my bag and came up with my bunch of keys. Car. House. Front gate. Locker at work. I clicked through them.

“Clever goddess,” he said. “I owe your fingers some jewelry.”

My eyes hurt again, because the odds of him repaying that debt got smaller with each day. I focused on loosing as many keys as possible into the bottom of my bag.

“Let’s do some paperwork while Monica does that, okay?” Sona smiled again, extracting a little clipboard. She asked our full names, dates of birth, addresses, and had us sign on the dotted lines while I untwisted as many silver rings as I could. Darren showed his ID and cracked a joke about being licensed to witness weddings. By the time she was done, I’d released two smallish keyrings. I adjusted one for Jonathan’s hand, and found another for myself. I pressed it into his palm.

“Okay,” said Sona, standing, all enthusiasm and light, as if this wasn’t the most depressing situation, ever. “Groom goes first. You ready?”

“Yes,” he said, and pulled me toward him.

“Can you repeat after me?” she asked.

“I got this.” He was talking to Sona, but looking at me, big, tired, green eyes. Serious, committed. I hoped to God he lived even if it meant he lived to regret it.

“I, Jonathan Drazen, take you Monica Faulkner, to be my lawfully wedded wife.” He paused. I didn’t know if he was weak, or doubtful.

“You sure you want to do this?” I asked. “You can back out. I’ll still love you.”

“Shh,” he said. “Behave.” He smirked at me and took a deep breath. “Left hand, Goddess.”

I held it out for him and he continued as he slipped the keyring on my finger. “To have and to hold, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health to love cherish honor and worship all the days of my life.”

“Excellent!” Sona said. “Monica? You want to do it the same? Or do you want to repeat after me?”