Corinne was picking out a wedding cake with Enoch Miller.
They could have gotten away with a package of cupcakes, but here they were at a bakery, flipping through photos of cakes.
She kept feeling like this was ridiculous. Like someone was going to show up and laugh at her, or pull the rug out from under her. But it wasn’t going to be this bakery employee, and it wasn’t going to be Enoch.
Enoch wanted two tiers, so that they could get two different flavors.
“We’ll have so many leftovers,” she said.
“It’s cake,” he said.
“Cake freezes well,” the bakery worker said.
“Cake freezes well,” Enoch repeated.
They chose white cake because it tasted like wedding cake, and chocolate, because Enoch liked chocolate. And Corinne didn’t ask him what kind of cake he had the first time. (His mom probably made it.) (She probably made cream cheese mints, too. Church weddings always had cream cheese mints.) Corinne and Enoch’s cake was going to have buttercream frosting with pink and yellow roses.
Corinne’s bouquet was going to have blue and green hydrangeas. And Enoch was going to get a pink rose for his lapel. The florist said she could make it all match. Corinne didn’t care whether it matched.
She felt just as silly at the florist as she had at the bakery. But she wanted these flowers; she wanted them, even if it was all a bad joke.
“I should have been bringing you flowers,” Enoch said, on the way out. “All along.”
“I’m going to say something you probably won’t like,” he said one morning. “So I’m only going to say it once.”
They were getting married this week. In four days.
Corinne lived with him now. She worked at his kitchen table. She needed him to get better internet service.
Enoch sat on his bed. (Their bed?) (Not quite.) “I think we should have our reception at Natalie’s parents’ house.”
“I don’t even know Natalie,” Corinne said. “Never mind her parents.”
“It’s a nice room. It will feel special.”
“Have you been there?”
Enoch shrugged. “I went to their Christmas party two years ago.”
“You’re a conundrum, Brother Miller.”
“I know you don’t like Shannon,” he pressed on, “and maybe it would be too much. You can decide. But it’s a nice room. It’s the right size. And then we could just stop worrying about it. I feel like we’re going to end up having our reception here, and it won’t feel special.”
“Would we have to, I don’t know … decorate the room?”
“Nope. It’s like the Conservatory. In Clue. With windows and plants. Shannon will set up a table for the cake, and I’ll bring a boom box. And that’s it, we’re set.”
“I guess Shannon and Natalie will be there anyway…”
“They don’t have to be.”
Corinne sighed. “I don’t want to have to ask someone who’s at the courthouse for their arraignment to sign our marriage license.”
“We could just eat cake and dance in your apartment,” he said. “Just the two of us. There’s plenty of space.”
“No.” Corinne made up her mind. “It’s fine. We can get married in the Conservatory. With your first wife. And the revolver.”
“Hey.” Enoch laid his big hand on Corinne’s thigh. Over the blanket. “Stop calling her my wife.”
“I’m just kidding.”
“You’re not,” he said. “You’re venting anxiety maybe, but you’re not kidding.”
“I’m just stating a fact,” Corinne said, lying. “She was your wife…”
“She was. She’s not anymore.”
Corinne didn’t argue.
Enoch squeezed her leg. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
They picked out rings, too. Gold bands. Corinne was going to wear hers all the time, and Enoch would put his on after work, so that he didn’t accidentally “deglove” himself. (A concept just as horrific as it sounded.)
Corinne told Enoch he could choose a song for them to dance to. Enoch cared more about music; he’d had to fight harder for it.
Corinne bought a new dress. It wasn’t a wedding dress. It was a dress from the plus-size corner of a department store. But it was pretty. It was flowered silk, burgundy and blue, with a high, buttoned neck and gauzy sleeves. And she bought a very twee pair of high heels that she would never wear again. (Royal-blue leather with a T-strap. She bought them at a store aimed at young goths.)
Enoch was just going to wear one of his church suits. He asked Corinne which one, and she picked the brown one. She bought him a dark green shirt to wear with it, one that he could never, ever wear to church.
“With the pink tie, Corinne? Are you sure?”
“You’re going to look like the king of the forest.”
On Friday morning, Corinne got ready in the bathroom, with the mermaids, and Enoch got ready in the basement.
Corinne took time to actually put on makeup and to pin her hair back properly. She should have gone somewhere to have it done, but it was too late now. She put on lipstick the same shade as her lips. And dangly earrings. Then looked at herself in the mirror—she was completely recognizable. She looked the same way she always had. Unremarkable. Round. Disgruntled.
How could she look so much the same, when she was so changed?
Maybe she hadn’t changed at all. Maybe the world had changed around her.
“Corinne?” Enoch called from the hall. He’d gone to pick up the flowers. He must be home now.
Corinne walked out of the bathroom. Enoch raised his eyebrows when he saw her. “You sure clean up nice.”
She shook her head.
Enoch himself looked very nice. Like he’d spent a little more time on his hair than usual and shaved a little more carefully. The green shirt was a good choice. And he was already wearing his pink rose boutonniere.
“Come here,” he said.
Corinne went to him. He took her hand and kissed her cheek. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you. You look very, very handsome.”
“I look like a tree.”
“King of the trees,” she said.
His voice dropped: “You nervous?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Are you?”
“Yeah.” He hunched lower. He smelled like Polo aftershave. “I’m so nervous.”
She laughed out a breath and rested her cheek against his.
“I feel like Pinocchio,” he said. “At the end, when the fairy makes him real.”
Corinne shook her head. It was too much. “I need to get my shoes.”
“Hold that thought,” he said. He dropped slowly to his knees.
“Enoch—” Corinne tried to hold him up. “—be careful.” He was already down. She looked at him, confused. “We already did this.”
He gazed up at her. “You did it.”
“And you said yes. We’re locked in.”
“Let me have this, Corinne…”
She looked down at his long face, his long nose, his wire-framed glasses. She cupped a hand under his jaw. “All right. Fine. Go for it.”
“Corinne?”
“Yes.”
“I love you completely, and I want to share my life with you. Will you have me?”
She brushed her thumb over his chin. Time was trying to stop on her. Time was trying to slip and spin. Her brain wanted more frames of this. Enoch Miller on his knees for her. Enoch Miller offering himself up. It was different from him consenting; she was glad she’d let him drop.
Corinne thumbed his chin again. She nodded. “Yes.” She brought her other hand to his face—she kept nodding—and bent over to kiss him.
“Yes,” Enoch agreed, nodding with her. He backed up, reaching into his pocket.
“Save the rings for the wedding,” Corinne said.
He shook his head and held out one of the velvet boxes. “I know we skipped over the engagement pretty quick; you don’t have to wear this, but—” He opened it.
It was a gold ring with a clear violet stone and two smaller gems that were probably diamonds. It was nothing Corinne would have picked out for herself, but once she saw it, she wanted it. She held out her left hand, and Enoch slid the ring on. It fit perfectly.
“It’s lovely,” she said. “How did you know what size to buy?”
“Honey, we picked out rings together…”
Corinne crunched up her nose. She was blushing. “That’s right, we did—that was sneaky of you. It’s beautiful.” She held out her hand to look at it. She felt overcome for a second. She should have painted her nails. “It’s beautiful, thank you.” She looked at his face again. “Come up here and kiss me.”
Enoch stood up. His knees cracked. He kissed her. “Let’s go get married.”