From Playmates to Soulmates

There I was, minding my own business, carefully arranging the buildings in my Lego metropolis, when a knock came from the front door. I ignored it, hoping it wasn’t for me, and continued building.

I heard the door open, and my heart sank as I heard my mother greet the visitor.

“Well, hello, Sophia. How are you today?”

Oh no. Not Sophia.

“Hello, Mrs. Harper. Can Max come out and play?

“Say no, say no,” I silently pleaded.

“Of course, dear. Some fresh air will do him some good,” my mom replied, betraying me with a smile.

“Max!” she called out.

I sighed, taking one last look at my Lego city. I knew Hurricane Mom would dismantle the city before I returned, and there was nothing I could do to save it.

As I passed my mom on the way out the door, I tried giving her a sad face, hoping she might relent. She just responded with that look—the one that says, “Eight-year-olds should be outside, not inside, playing with Legos.”

Outside, Sophia was waiting, wearing a dress—a rare sight.

“Why are you wearing a dress?” I asked.

“I’m going to a wedding, and you’re going to be my date,” she announced with a grin.

“No, I’m not,” I protested.

“Yes, you are. You owe me for not telling Jimmy Stevens that you ratted him out to the teacher,” she said smugly.

I swallowed hard. If Jimmy knew I was the one who told on him, I’d be pounded into a pulp every day for the rest of my life.

“Okay, fine,” I conceded, defeated.

Sophia smiled and grabbed my hand, dragging me across the street to her house.

“Who’s getting married?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s Mr. Stuffen and Lady Whiskers,” she said.

“Your little sister’s stuffed animals?” I asked, recognizing the names.

“Yup. I was against it at first, but then my sister asked me to plan the wedding, and now I’m totally into it.”

“I don’t think boys do weddings,” I said, trying to get out of it.

“There’ll be cake and cookies afterward,” she offered, knowing my weakness for sweets.

I hesitated. My mom was a health nut who never let sugary treats into the house. The temptation was too much.

“Real food or pretend food?” I asked, suspiciously.

“Real food, silly. My mom’s ordering pizza and baking sweets.”

“Pizza too? Best wedding ever,” I admitted.

“Of course it is. I planned it all,” Sophia said, proudly linking her arm in mine.

We walked into her house, where her younger sister, Margaret, frantically ran over.

“Where have you been?” she asked.

“I was getting my date for the wedding,” Sophia explained.

“There might not be a wedding! Lady Whiskers is having second thoughts because her whiskers don’t match her dress. It’s a total disaster!” Margaret wailed.

Sophia rolled her eyes and turned to me. “You can wait in the den. That’s where the ceremony will be.”

I walked into the den, where stuffed animals were arranged everywhere. Leslie, Sophia’s youngest sister, was busy folding tissue paper into flowers while their dad sat in a chair, watching TV.

“Hi, Max. Did you get dragged into the wedding too?” Mr. Evans asked with a grin.

I nodded. “They said there’d be pizza and dessert.”

He chuckled. “The food rumor is true, I assure you.”

“Are you going to watch the wedding too?” I asked.

“I’m performing the ceremony,” he said with a wink.

“Are you doing it for the dessert too?” I asked.

Mr. Evans laughed. “Yes, Max, but I’m in it for a different dessert.”

“Different dessert?”

“Yes, Mrs. Evans promised just me, some of her apple pie if I participated.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t like pie very much, so that’s okay,” I said.

“Wait till you’re older,” Mr. Evans said, laughing again.

I shrugged, not understanding what was so funny.

“Daddy, why do people get married?” Leslie asked, looking up from her flowers.

“All kinds of reasons, honey. Usually because they fall in love,” he replied.

“My mom says marriage is a scam and love is overrated,” I offered, hoping Mr. Evans would explain, but he didn’t.

There was an awkward silence before Leslie spoke again. “Then why are Mr. Stuffen and Lady Whiskers getting married? Lady Whiskers just arrived a few days ago. That’s not enough time to fall in love.”

Mr. Evans looked confused, and Leslie and I stared at him, waiting for an answer. “I don’t know… maybe Lady Whiskers has the best apple pie Mr. Stuffen has ever had.”

“Apple pie?” Leslie asked, puzzled.

“Honey, can you give me a hand in the kitchen?” Mrs. Evans called out, unaware she had saved him from putting his foot in his mouth again.

“Oh, thank God,” Mr. Evans muttered as he got up and rushed out of the room.

I looked at Leslie, but she seemed upset. “Are you okay?”

She shook her head. “No, I think this will be a huge mistake.”

“What mistake?” I asked, but Leslie didn’t answer. She just turned and ran to her room.

Left alone with a bunch of stuffed animals surrounded by pink and white wedding decorations, I sighed and sat down, wishing I was home with my Legos. I accidentally knocked over a cup of juice in the process. I tried to catch it, but it was too late. The juice spilled all over some of the wedding guests and decorations.

Margaret’s voice rang out, “Oh no! The bridal party!”

Sophia came rushing in. “What did you do?”

“It was an accident!” I said, panicking.

“The wedding is ruined!” Margaret cried.

Sophia looked at the mess and shook her head. “It’s not that bad. We’ll have it cleaned up in no time, and the ceremony will go on as planned.”

I sighed in relief, not wanting to be the one who ruined the wedding—or the dessert.

I watched them clean my mess. I asked if I could help, but Sophia assured me they had things under control and instead tasked me with making a tie for myself out of construction paper. It took about twenty minutes, but the mess was cleaned up, my tie was done, and the ceremony was ready to begin.

. Sophia and I sat in the front row. I was admiring my tie when I felt Sophia punch me in the arm,

“Ow!” I yelped. “What was that for?”

“Aren’t you going to say something about all the work I did for this wedding? I always compliment your little Lego villages,” she said.

“Village?” I scoffed. “I build cities and utopias out of Legos.”

“Well, whatever it is, I still compliment you on them.”

She had a point. She always told me I had done incredible things, so I took a minute to look around at the wedding.

I noticed the arranged seating, with all the bears on one side and the cat-like stuffed animals on the other, separating the bride and groom’s guests. I saw the paper vest on Mr. Stuffen, the little paper rings, the flowers, and the list of music to be played later. The more I looked, the more I noticed, and the more impressed I became with Sophia’s work.

But I was eight, and compliments didn’t come naturally to me. So, when I looked back at her, all I said was, “It looks really cool.”

I often think about that moment and wish I’d said more that day because I never forgot how big of a smile those few words caused.

Mrs. Evans pretended to cry as Margaret walked Lady Whiskers down the aisle. Mr. Evans stood at the front, dressed in a black suit, ready to officiate the wedding of the stuffed animals. I remember thinking how strange the situation was, but now, looking back, I see it’s just something parents do when they love their kids.

Mr. Evans started to read the vows, and Sophia whispered, “I helped write them.”

Mr. Evans cleared his throat and began to read, holding a small piece of paper in his hands. "Mr. Stuffen, do you promise to always share your fluff and keep Lady Whiskers warm on cold nights? Do you promise to give her the best hugs and never let her feel alone on the toy shelf?"

He glanced at Sophia, who nodded eagerly.

"And Lady Whiskers," he continued, "do you always promise to keep Mr. Stuffen company during scary movies and make sure he has sweet dreams? Do you promise to share your catnip and always be there to listen when he needs a friend?"

Everything was going perfectly until Mr. Evans asked if anyone present thought the two should not be married. You know the line—it’s always said right before something goes wrong, and that day was no different.

Leslie jumped to her feet. “I object!” she shouted.

Sophia gasped, and I stared at Leslie in surprise.

“Don’t ruin Lady Whiskers’ big day!” Margaret begged, but it was too late.

“These two do not belong together!” Leslie declared.

“And why is that sweetie?” Mr. Evans asked.

“Because Mr. Stuffen should be with Ms. Peanut,” Leslie said, holding up another stuffed animal. “Ms. Peanut is a professional baker, and her apple pie is better than Lady Whiskers’.”

“What?!” Mrs. Evans exclaimed, glaring at her husband.

“Mr. Stuffen will never love Ms. Peanut like he does Lady Whiskers. And if he wants apple pie, Lady Whiskers will give him all the apple pie he could ever want,” Margaret argued.

“It won’t be as good,” Leslie shot back.

“Then she can get her sister to help,” Margaret retorted.

“Whoa, that’s enough of that,” Mr. Evans said, looking sheepish as he tried to defuse the situation.

Mrs. Evans did not look happy.

“Did you know about this?” Sophia asked me, her voice low.

“About the apple pie?” I replied, still a bit confused.

“No, about Leslie trying to ruin all my hard work?”

“No, how was I supposed to know about that?”

“I don’t know, but you didn’t seem shocked when Leslie interrupted.”

“That’s because someone always interrupts at that moment. If you don’t want interruptions, they should leave that part out,” I said.

“Oh yeah, I think you’re right,” she agreed, her mood lightening a bit as the others continued to argue.

A moment later, Margaret stood up in front of the gathered stuffed animals and addressed the crowd. “Dearly beloved, I’m sorry to tell you this, but the wedding is off. Mr. Stuffen needs to decide whose apple pie he likes more before any of this can continue.”

“He’s going to be living up to his name tonight,” Mr. Evans whispered to his wife.

Mrs. Evans slapped him in the arm and tried to hide a laugh, but failed. Both Sophia and I overheard him but didn’t get the joke at the time, but now I can’t help but smile every time I think about it.

“So I did all this for nothing? There’s no wedding?” Sophia asked, her voice tinged with disappointment.

I felt despair wash over me as I thought the wedding falling apart meant there would be no dessert.

Mrs. Evans, always the peacemaker, quickly jumped in. “Is there any other stuffed animal that you think would want to get married today?”

Sophia looked around the room, scanning the various plush toys, then shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t play with stuffed animals like Margret and Leslie do. But I know who else can get married.”

I soon felt excitement back in my veins as I listened to Sophia say she had a way to save the day. I leaned forward, curious to hear who it was.

“Max and I can get married. It’ll be perfect,” she announced, with a broad smile on her face.

I stared blankly, processing what she said.

“Sweetie, I don’t think this is a good idea. You don’t know for sure if Max is the right person for you,” Mrs. Evans said, trying to gently dissuade her daughter.

“Sure I do. He’s funny and will make a good husband because he’s loyal,” Sophia replied confidently.

“Are you sure? He might not want to marry you,” Mr. Evans added, glancing at me with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m sure. If not, then I’ll tell Jimmy Stevens what Max did,” Sophia said, her tone matter-of-factly.

Sophia then turned to me and pointed to the front of the aisle, “Go up there and wait for me.”

I heard her threat loud and clear. Between that and my unhealthy desire for some dessert that day, I jumped out of my seat and ran to the front of the aisle. I wasn’t about to risk getting on Sophia’s bad side—or miss out on those cupcakes.

I saw Sophia smile at my willingness to be her husband.

“Ah, a blackmail wedding. So traditional,” Mr. Evans quipped as Sophia walked down the aisle.

Mr. Evans began reading the words of the ceremony, and when he got to the part about objections, Sophia quickly told him to skip it.

A few minutes later, we said, “I do” and promised ourselves to each other for life, or at least for the duration of our elementary school career.

Not long after the I do’s, I sat at a table with two slices of pizza, a few cookies, and a giant cupcake.

I spent the next few years pretending to be Sophia’s husband to keep her from spilling the beans to Jimmy Stevens. During that time, our friendship grew stronger, almost to the point I didn’t think it could break.

After elementary school ended, Sophia and I just faded away from one another. By the end of middle school Sophia and I would only say hi by waving at each other from a distance as we walked out our front doors. During school hours, we were total strangers.

By high school, I found myself looking at Sophia differently and longing for our once-great relationship. I spent a lot of time trying to mend the gap between us, but it was difficult. New and exciting friends always surrounded her, and I was far from the exciting novelty I had been in elementary school.

By some strange miracle, I succeeded, and we were once again a couple. However, it was short-lived. We got together during the last two months of high school, went to prom together, and had a fantastic time. Then college started, and we separated, each of us traveling to opposite ends of the country, and that gap that we once had between us, returned.

During my sophomore year of college, I received a collect call from someone claiming to be my wife. I accepted the call, only to hear Sophia’s slightly slurred voice on the other end.

“I found a payphone and just wanted to see if it worked. Sorry, it’s so late. Your number is the only one I committed to memory,” she said, unsteadily.

“Are you okay?” I asked, concerned.

“I miss you. I miss us…” she said softly before the call cut off.

I tried calling her back on her cell, but she didn’t answer. The next day, I saw a post on her social media that reassured me she was okay.

I finished school early and moved back home. I ran into Mrs. Evans at a grocery store. We chatted for a bit, and she confided that Sophia would ask about me whenever they talked. She assured me that Sophia had loved me since elementary school and she doubted that it had ever stopped.  

Sophia had never left my mind but hearing that she still thought about me and possibly loved me stirred something deep inside. The week after that conversation was the hardest. I missed her more than I ever thought possible, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to know where we stood, so I got her address from her mom and drove for hours to see her. Yes, I knew calling her was an option, but at the same time, it wasn’t. Some things need to be done in person.

I stood outside her apartment building for an eternity, trying to figure out the perfect thing to say. As I paced, something caught my eye—a payphone under a tree along a sidewalk, in surprisingly good condition. My heart skipped a beat as I imagined Sophia standing there, making that call.

I walked over to the payphone and smiled at the graffiti on it: a heart with the text “Max and Sophia forever” scrawled inside. My breath caught in my throat. I picked up the phone and called Sophia collect, claiming to be her husband.

“Hello?” she answered, her voice tentative.

“I miss you. I miss us,” I said, echoing her words from that late-night call years ago. There was silence on the line for a moment.

“I like the little graffiti you did on the payphone,” I said in a panic, hoping to get something other than silence, but the call timed out before she could say anything back.

I hung up the phone, feeling like an idiot. Unsure about the situation, I considered calling her back from my cell phone. But I didn’t; instead, I just stood there, staring at our names.

Lost in thought I stared at the payphone, when I felt a gentle touch—a pair of familiar arms wrapping around me from behind. It was Sophia. She had come outside to find me. My comment let her know right where I was. Neither of us spoke; we didn’t need to. I turned to face her, pulling her into a hug, and in that quiet moment, we both knew we were never letting each other go again.

Now I stand here, years later, at her perfect wedding.

“Our perfect wedding,” Sophia corrects as she reaches for my hand.

Yes, our perfect wedding. And this time, there’s no dessert bribe needed to seal the deal.