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“I think I’m going to pull the trigger and I’m going to cancel the wedding,” I say, feeling like I’m about to cry. “I just...it doesn’t make sense right now. Not at all, not when half the people I want to be there won’t be able to show up.”
Elena rubs my back consolingly, and I hang my head. Katie brings me a glass of water (I can tell it’s her by her red nail polish that I still need to steal sooner rather than later).
“You do what you think is best,” Katie says, handing off the sparkling water, voice muffled underneath her face mask. I lift my head to see her moving back, six feet away from me. Sera’s sitting six feet away from me and Elena’s sitting next to me because we’re trying to finish packing up all my shit for Beckett to move in finally (instead of the other way around), and for me to move in with Russia, but everything’s still up in the air.
I thought, foolishly, but I still thought about it, that lockdown in Montreal would be done after two weeks, even as the positive cases spiked and spiked and spiked.
Elena’s been working from home, teaching her kids remotely, trying to figure out how to keep a bunch of young kids engaged as spring 2020 swoops in, but none of us can go out and enjoy the nicer weather (unless you’re being careful with your social distancing walks).
But now we’re all sitting outside of the building in the green space where we’ve set up chairs, and keeping our distance from one another, everyone bringing their own blankets if they get cold, all of us keeping our distance from Sera.
I want to bawl my eyes out.
If I let myself think about it, I could get worried that this is some kind of omen that Miss Rona decided to ruin the year in which I would be getting married, that I would finally be getting that honeymoon travelling Europe and then hopping to Moscow to see the small town where Russia grew up before his family moved to Montreal.
I was going to see a part of his life, experience a part of the world that I’ve never been to.
And now?
Now there’s nothing to look forward to. Honestly, there are people dying and I’m sad that I’m not getting married. Shit. How selfish can I be?
“Thanks, guys, for helping me pack as much as you were able. Sera, I wish I could hug you, but accept my ghost-hug from afar.”
Sera laughs, her eyes crinkling underneath her mask, her mouth and nose covered, but I can still tell that she’s smiling at me. Which is nice to know. She groans when her glasses fog up, bringing her hands up to pinch the mask down over the bridge of her nose, adjusting her glasses, sighing again when they still fog up after the adjustment.
“Shit. How am I supposed to see? Damn. I’m sorry I couldn’t help as much as the others,” she says, even though she hefted most of the boxes and moved them down to storage for us, keeping her distance all the while.
“Sophie, it’s not like you’ll never get married, but just...be safe, all right? Right now, you’re not allowed social gatherings of more than fifty people, and yeah, that could change, but I hope you guys can get some of your money back...” Katie says, breathing out a sigh through her mask.
“I can’t believe this is happening. Honestly. What the hell?”
“Yeah, me neither.” Sera adjusts her glasses again, arms flopping down at her sides when they continue to fog up, impairing her vision. “All right, guys, I have to go and see that Matty’s actually doing his schoolwork and not driving his dad crazy.”
There’s a tightness to her voice, a stress, a worry, and I can’t imagine what it’s like to be her right now when I’m having such a shitty time being me.
We all trudge back inside our building, Katie waving goodbye to drive back home to her building, the rest of us taking two different elevators because Sera’s got two people that she lives with who are considered high-risk and she isn’t taking any chances.
With a wave goodbye, her elevator closes and hikes up to the tenth floor, while Elena and I wait to go up to our own place on the sixth, moving into our emptier apartment, wondering with all the stress-eating I’m doing if I’ll need to do another grocery run for us and the MacLaine-Delos household, too.
I slump onto the couch and stare unseeing at our blank TV.
“Just because you’re not getting married this year doesn’t mean you won’t ever get married, Sophie.” Elena repeats what her cousin said.
“I know, I know. It just sucks.”
“Of course it does, of course. I know you were looking forward to it, hell, I was looking forward to it, all of our friends were looking forward to it. It’s okay to be upset or pissed off that you don’t get to do something you were looking forward to.”
“I feel like an asshole most of the time; like, people are getting sick, and getting intubated, and dying, and I’m here pissed off that I don’t get to get married to my fiancé. What the shit? Even if lockdown is going to be coming to a close, it doesn’t mean that we’re going to be able to get married in a couple of months.” I sigh, nodding to myself, coming to that final decision.
“Yeah, I’m gonna speak to Russia, and we’re going to send out a mass email, call as many people as possible to cancel. It’s not worth it. I want people to have fun, to have a good time, dance the night away. I don’t want them to be afraid to come out or worried that they might get sick. No, I’m not doing it.” I sigh, having made my decision but still getting sad over it.
“Come on, let’s go. We’ll use my car and bring all of this leftover stuff to Russia’s. Make your fiancé kiss it better.”
Russia does kiss some of it better, but we make the decision and start the ball rolling by cancelling as much as we can, trying to get as much money back as possible when all of the businesses in Montreal have been hurting.
Russia’s working from home, and I’m...I’m looking for my next step because I don’t know what’s going to happen with my job.
The shop’s been closed for the past six weeks, and if we do re-open (when we’re allowed to, hopefully, please God), it’s going to be very different, and people are going to think twice about coming to the shop—piercings and tattoos are definitely not considered to be essential services by any stretch of the imagination.
It’s stressful, but I’ve got the government benefit helping out with my bills and my nest egg won’t have to be touched unless something catastrophic happens.
Which, you know, I’m not gonna tempt fate here.
No one saw corona coming, no one.
And here she is, changing everyone and everything.
The world has ended as we know it, and we’re still here.
“This the last of it?” Tommy asks, grabbing the box from me as soon as he opens the door after my weak ass knock that I had to re-do twice, refusing to let the box down and admit weakness.
I nod, slumping forward into his arms once he takes care of the last of my stuff, a shocked laugh escaping him as I wind my arms around him and squeeze.
“This sucks and I’m sad.”
“Me, too, meelaya, me too.”
“How did this happen, why did this happen?” I ask, keeping it rhetorical. I don’t expect Tommy to delve into that kind of question today, if ever. It doesn’t matter how or why as long as it’s here.
“We’re going to be fine, you’ll see. The vaccine will be here faster than you know it, and the people we love will be protected and we can get married.”
“Yeah.” I nod against his chest, lean back and pucker my lips in a silent demand for a kiss. Russia leans down, delighted, like he’s never going to stop expecting this from me, demands for kisses and cuddles, like he’s not used to being asked for them, like he’s not used to asking them for himself either.
“We’re going to be fine,” I say, struggling to believe it.
I’m one of the lucky ones, I know.
There’s only eight (and a half) months of 2020 left, and I’ve just moved in with Russia and there’s a lot more questions than answers right now, but that doesn’t mean it’s always going to be that way.
I have one of the most important questions answered already, but still, it doesn’t hurt to ask one more time, just to make sure.
“You still want to get married when all of this is over?” I ask, and Russia holds me tighter to him, looking like he’s about to roll his eyes but stops himself in time.
“This again? Yes, I do. Badly. Tomorrow, if we could go to civil court and get it done, if that would make you happy.”
“Would it make you happy?”
“You make me happy, being with you makes me happy. I don’t care what that looks like—big wedding or not.”
I think about it, just think about it, wondering if I’d be happy with Elena by my side (the witness) for our union, and our parents coming down to City Hall to watch us get married (with a bunch of other couples, too, I would guess).
It feels a little empty to me, less like a celebration and more like a rush job, a tattoo that’ll always have an unfinished portion for some reason or another.
“Okay, okay,” I say, ducking my head, and pressing my forehead against his heart. “Let’s just...wait for now. Please.”
“Of course, anything you want.”
“Okay, okay. I still can’t wait to marry you, Tommy Ivanov,” I say, pressing my mouth against his heart.
“I can’t wait either. I love you, you know?”
I nod, hugging him more tightly to me, scared and worried, unsure of the future, but sure of one thing. “I know.”
––––––––
Fin
That’s it for the Fangirl Chronicles!
Want an explicit epilogue between Sophie and Russia? Get it here
What’s next? Meet the Prewitt cousins who have one hell of a holiday season when the men they least expect come barreling into their lives. Read on for a sneak peek of Get Cuffed.
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