Before her youngest child Callie entered high school, Amanda occasionally imagined divorcing the girl’s father once she had gone off to college. Since her daughter was smart, practical, and conventionally ambitious, Amanda expected college for her, and a great deal more. But with the world being what it was, she kept her mind open. Meaning, with luck, Callie would go to college. With luck, they would wake up tomorrow morning and with luck, go to sleep tomorrow night.
Two years later, when Callie was racking up academic honors, working at the grocery store, and running varsity track, Amanda strenuously denied any divorce fantasies. She banished them from her consciousness: how could she have entertained embarking yet again on such a harrowing ordeal?
Gavin was Amanda’s fourth and final husband, come what may. And so what if these last five years getting along with him had required all her tolerance? So what if she could not foresee mattering to him ever again?
Of course, if those so-whats were real, Gavin might divorce her: At any minute.
Still, judging from her previous marital experience, Amanda saw no signs that Gavin wanted to divorce her. Gratefully then, she hid her discontent from herself and everyone else as best she could.
She had always tried, and in fact, she was still trying within her limits to behave honestly. But again she knew, again from first hand experience, that if she tried too hard, she’d hit that limit where truth and deceit, love and hate—everything blurred beyond recognition.
The way some people acted, if you did it right, marriage could be nonstop bliss. When the truth was—why get married at all? Amanda Hanson-Morrison-Tighe-BergerWilding had always wondered.
*
The first time around, marriage had thrilled her. When she married Mike Morrison, she was a sophomore at the University of Wisconsin. Marrying him because he had asked appealed to her as a uniquely profound act. Simultaneously obedient and rebellious, it elevated her to adulthood.
They were washing test tubes in the science lab when Mike Morrison asked her. Amanda giggled. But then she cleared her throat and waited until he looked her in the eye. He blinked at her and wavered, his whole body shaking with anxiety.
“It would be cool,” he said. “We’re in love. We plan to stay in love, and logically, it’s the next step.”
“Logically?” she giggled again. “Not romantically?” She leaned into him, kissed him, and said, “Sure, I’ll marry you, Mike. When’s the date?”
“Of course, romantically, Amanda.” He held her hand and showed her a little jeweler’s box. Checking her face to make sure she wasn’t playing with him, he put the ring on her finger. He hovered a second and Amanda realized poor Mike was still trembling. The traditions were ridiculous—shouldn’t the guy kneel down? She shook her head gently no, not for hundreds of years.
But this time she didn’t laugh. After arranging a rack of test tubes on the counter, she kissed him and played with his shirt buttons purposefully; that’s how she usually initiated sex. But he pressed her head to his chest. “Let’s talk about this first.”
“You’re right. It’s a big deal. Have you told anyone else?”
“I didn’t dare,” Mike said.
“Were kind of counting on me to say, No?”
“No,” Mike said. “Not at all. I was just worried.”
Amanda nodded. Now that her surprise had come and gone, she worried, too.
No one she knew was married, none of her friends. They would think she was nuts. And her poor mother, who used to confide in Amanda that one boyfriend after another was always about to “propose,” only to find out soon enough that her guess was all wrong, was going to be jealous and mean about this. Oh well. No avoiding, Mom’s unhappiness.
Mike was twenty-one and Amanda was eighteen. Correct ages, correct sexes: For them, getting married was legal.
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