Wedded Bliss Or Blues?

"Jack and Coke.” He leaned towards the bartender, shouting above the poor rendition of Elvis swooning to the crowd.

“Make that two,” I raised my fingers in a mock peace sign which seemed easier than trying to be heard over the crowd of well wishers.

“Don’t you just love weddings?” The Jack and Coke stranger smiled at me while he relaxed against the bar.

“No, not particularly. I avoid them at all costs, but this one was mandatory, unfortunately.”

“Not a big believer in love?”

“That’s not it at all. It’s all the schmoozy oozy I can do without. The pomp and circumstance, the over-the-top expenses of it all.” I squeezed into the spot against the bar left open by the couple who danced away to oblivion.

“Schmoozy oozy? Is that official terminology?”

“You know what I mean. The ‘oh, he’s so perfect for me, she’s my soulmate’ kind of talk.  Is that a result of the whirlwind wedding plans, getting swept up in the moment?”

“I see what you’re saying. Like which came first, the chicken or the egg?”

“Exactly!” I was relieved that he understood. “Is the hype of the wedding getting the couple all giddy or are they getting married because they are already giddy in love?”

“So, you do believe in giddy love then?” He smiled at me, raising one eyebrow.

Feeling somehow as if I was tricked into admitting something, I felt suddenly flustered. “I never said I don’t believe in love,” I stammered. 

The overwhelmed bartender finally returned to our end of the bar, placing two light colored drinks on coasters and smiling at us. I looked at the Jack and Coke stranger that I had been chatting with knowing darn well these were not our requested drinks but as the bartender got swallowed up in the crowd, I claimed one anyway.

“Cheers!” I raised my mystery drink to the mystery man.

“Cheers to love, the giddy, schmoozy, oozy kind of love.” He raised his glass and clunked mine.

I took a sip feeling the very strong Jack and ginger ale have the desired effect as it burned its way down my throat. I swallowed appreciatively.

“So, you believe in love apparently. Do you see many successful marriages? Lots of till death do us parts?” The drink made me bold.  I felt argumentative as I was being held against my will in an overpriced dress and staggeringly high heels. I tried not to think of the cozy sweats and blanket left remorsefully on the couch. 

“I see my share of successful marriages. But it’s too soon to tell if they are till death do us part as they are newlyweds.”

“Ah, newlyweds. What will they do when life hits, when babies puke, when jobs are lost, and utilities are turned off due to nonpayment?”

“Bitter much?” He asked, taking a long gulp of his drink.

“Not bitter at all. Realistic.” I matched his drink, draining half my glass.

“When those events happen they will work together, support one another, get through the tough times. Remember their vows of for better or worse.” He signaled the bartender over again, and was ignored as he had been previously.

“Or they scream and curse and say, ‘fuck you’ and walk out the door.”

“Wow,” the stranger stared at me.

“Yeah, wow.” 

I craned my neck looking for the bartender. Finally making eye contact, I raised my fingers as if hailing a cab on a crowded Manhattan street corner. He nodded and brought two glasses of red wine and placed them down on coasters in front of us.

“This guy is nothing if not inaccurate,” the stranger laughed.

“He’s zero for two, it’s actually funny,” I picked up my wine glass by the stem and swirled it, laughing.

“I’m Mark, by the way,” the Jack and Coke stranger said.

“I’m Michelle,” I reached out my hand to shake his.

“So formal, Michelle,” he teased, grasping my hand in his, a spark of something surprising me.

“Not at all,” I stuttered, feeling flustered for the second time in the span of ten minutes. What was happening?

“Oh look, Michelle, they are about to cut the cake.”

 I glanced over at my boss and her new husband, their hands holding the knife smiling for the sea of cameras. You would think they had never had a slice of cake before in their lives, like they actually discovered the concept of cutting into a cake. Look at me, honey, I can cut cake. Oh, please let me help. It does take two, doesn’t it?

“The question now begs to smear or not to smear the cake?” I asked, picturing my own strong desire to smear the cake just based on the fact that I had no choice but to be there. That was certainly reason enough.

“Oh, definitely smear. She needs to smear his face.” Mark laughed.

“No, he needs to smear her face. She’s the smear-ee to him being the smear-er.” I was laughing now with Mark.

“Wait, who is the smear-ee to you? Because the smear-er is my boss.”  

“The smear-ee is my boss,” I felt tears of laughter come to the corners of my eyes as I drained my red wine and took an unsteady step away from the bar.

“So, we are both employees of the happy couple. What does that make us? There should be a name for that.”

“Yeah, miserable.” I snorted my answer, feeling silly and more than slightly drunk. Mark burst out laughing to my surprise, making me feel a little something something.

“What does your boss do, Mark? I don’t even know.”

“He’s a marriage counselor, as am I. We work together in a small practice downtown.” 

“A marriage counselor. That explains a lot, Mr. Let’s Make This A Perfect Marriage. You do know his new wife’s profession, don’t you?”

“Actually, no.” He looked at me expectantly.

“My boss is a divorce attorney, as am I. We work for a large firm uptown.”

“A marriage counselor marries a divorce attorney. That’s perfect.” 

“Think it will last?” I asked him, signaling the bartender over for another round of surprise drinks.

“I have a hunch it will,” Mark replied with a twinkle in his eye, giving me another unexpected flurry of butterflies in my belly. 

“Time will tell,” I managed to mumble, almost at a loss for words.

“Here’s to wedded bliss,” He raised his can of beer.

“Or wedded blues,” I raised my can and clinked his.