Fun With Wolves

by Amira Rain

  The next page of the form didn’t require quite as much writing. At the top, it said: Please tell the committee about your family. Be as brief or as detailed as you’d like. I simply wrote: Please see the ‘Who makes you cry?’ page.

  The next page of the form inverted that question, asking: Who, in your life, makes you smile or laugh? If no one currently, who has made you smile or laugh in the past? I wrote a full page about the students I helped teach, my friends, and my lifelong best friend, Bethany, who’d died in a car accident about two years earlier. Her death had devastated me, and I still missed her terribly, but I’d gotten to the point where I could think of her and all our good times and smile instead of cry.

  The next several pages of the form vacillated wildly between general questions such as Do you prefer tea or coffee? and Do you give the committee permission to run a criminal background check on you? to highly personal questions such as If you were to die tomorrow, would you consider your life to have been a success or failure, and why? I wrote: I’d consider it to have been a success, because I think/hope that I’ve impacted the world positively in various tiny ways, like being a good friend and helping kids through my work. If I died tomorrow, I’d consider my life to have been unfulfilled, though, because I’ve always dreamed of being a mom.

  The last page of the form contained just a single question, and an instruction that made me chuckle out loud briefly. Do you have any pets? If so, what kind, and please rate their cuteness on a scale of 1-10. I wrote: I have two cats, Plum and Quiet. Cuteness ratings: Plum- 11/10; Quiet 11/10

  After putting all the form papers in a large manila envelope, I searched my apartment for two pictures to include, as requested on one page of the lengthy form. One of the pictures was supposed to be “any picture of yourself” and the other, cryptically, was supposed to be “a picture of yourself that is not yourself.” The latter was supposed to come with a written explanation.

  For the “any picture of myself,” I selected one of the very few printed photos of myself that I had in my apartment. It had been my “school picture” for the previous school year, and although I normally disliked my “school picture,” I’d actually loved this one and had worn the required black-and-white scan of it on my school staff I.D badge with pride. In the photo, I was smiling wide, my green eyes were sparkling, and my long, honey-brown hair was draped over one of my shoulders in what I thought was a pretty sort of way.

  For the “cryptic” picture, I selected an up-close snap of a large basket of homemade candy that I’d brought to a friend’s baby shower a few months earlier. The picture was a duplicate, and I’d used the original in a baby shower scrapbook that I’d made for my friend.

  On a sheet of paper that I wrapped the picture in, I wrote my “explanation.” This is “me.” Candy-making is one of my hobbies, and it’s even a passion of mine really. I made this big basket of candy for everyone to share at my friend’s baby shower. I ended up getting at least a half-dozen “orders,” and I had to explain that I don’t actually have my own candy-making business; it’s just a hobby. I learned the “art” of candy-making from my paternal grandma, Margaret, a wonderful, loving woman who sadly passed away when I was fourteen. Now I’m thinking that I should have definitely written something about her on the “family” page of the form because she was a huge part of my life growing up. I loved her so very much, but I guess including this about her here is probably fine, too.

  The next day, I talked myself into an “emergency non-emergency” visit with my gynecologist, who filled out the form I needed from her, telling me I was “incredibly brave” to be “taking a leap” by applying to become a bride to a complete stranger. I left the office with a little spring in my step, marveling over the fact that it was true. I was actually “taking a leap.” For the first real time in my entire life.

  For some reason, though, I was unable to mail my manila envelope full of forms on my way home. I just felt somehow physically unable to pull my car over to stop at a public mailbox. Tomorrow, I thought. No need to rush. You might think of something you forgot to include in the meantime anyway. In my gut, I knew I hadn’t forgotten anything. And the next day, I was again unable to mail the envelope. Same thing the next day. The day after that, I knew I had to get the damned thing mailed and postmarked or else my application wouldn’t be considered. And despite my weird inability to mail it, I still wanted it to be.

  Finally, just an hour or so before the big, blue, public mailbox at the strip mall was scheduled for pickup, I managed to pull my car up beside it. A minute or two of me muttering and hesitating about putting the envelope in the mail slot ensued. But then, a light horn honk behind me broke me out of my hesitant musings, and I soon heard a woman’s voice.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m in a bit of a hurry! Could you please drop your envelope or pull to the side so that I can go through and drop mine?”

  I glanced in my side mirror, saw a woman with curly blonde hair leaning out the driver’s side window of a minivan, and waved at her. “Sorry! Just one second!”

  “Okay, but please hurry!”

  Suddenly breaking out in a light, all-over sweat despite the fact that icy March air was blowing in my open window, I glanced down at the envelope in my hands. Just put it in the box, Julia. You can do this. Just for once in your damned life. Leap.

  “Will you please just pull ahead?”

  I suddenly thrust my arm out the window, jamming the envelope in the mail slot as I did so. Then, immediately, I just let go. My envelope was still sliding down the chute when I threw my car in drive and hit the gas to speed away.

  *

  Three weeks after I’d mailed my application, I received an email from the selection committee, and I read it with my heartbeat hammering in my ears.

  Dear Miss Watson,

  We are pleased to inform you that we have selected you to help populate the sovereign nation of Denton. We invite you to join us in our capital village, Briarwood, where it has been decided that you will be married to Commander Ryan Wallace, our nation’s leader. Further information, including the date you should plan to arrive in Briarwood, will be emailed to you soon. Congratulations, and best wishes for the happiest of futures.

  Sincerely,

  Hillary Martinez and Jill James- the population growth partner selection committee

  With my heartbeat hammering in my ears even a little faster now, I lifted my gaze from the computer screen, incredulous.

  “I’m going to be a mom.”

  My voice had come out in a shaky whisper. I might have added, “I’m going to become a wife,” although since the marriage I was going to be entering into was just one of convenience, this didn’t seem as crucially important to me as motherhood did.

  A little breathless, I quickly returned my gaze to the computer screen; there was a lot of additional text beneath the body of the email.

  PS- My word, girl…you’ve been waiting for a chance like this your whole life, haven’t you? Your handwriting honestly made me sit back in my chair, like, WOW. This is Jill writing this, by the way, and I’m part handwriting expert, part “demi-psychic,” as I call myself. I get feelings about people. It’s very complicated. But as far as your handwriting, I’ve never seen someone so “pent up” and yet just so “bursting out” at the same time in my entire life. You try so hard to control it, which makes me think that you’re totally used to reigning yourself in and/or playing things safe. Are you? Is this the first time you’ve ever gone out on a limb and done something kind of crazy before? You can tell me later, but I’m guessing yes. I’m also guessing that you’re a brave sort of woman even though you may not even know it yet, but it’s great that you’re probably brave because bravery is definitely required here in Briarwood. Not that it’s a dangerous place or anything, even though the Graywolves *do* bother us a bit, but *our* shifter wolves always fight them off. What I mean about “bravery is required” is just that it seems like women *need* to be brave to come here and jump right i
nto these marriages with men they don’t even know. We’ve gotten our first two waves of wives already, and we’ve had a few freak-outs already. Nothing major, just some general nerves and cold feet. Most of the “newbies,” though, as I call them, are thrilled to be here, though, and I don’t mean that sarcastically. Briarwood really is an awesome place, and we have tons of quality men here. Anyway, can’t wait to meet you. You seem so nice and interesting. Can’t wait to meet Plum and Quiet, too. I love cats.

  Warmly,

  Jill James- selection committee member. And honestly, if you want to know the truth, I *am* the selection committee. I do all of the selecting; my sister Hillary just does all of the wording on the forms and emails and all that because she’s better at it. *I’m* the selector and the matcher, though, and it was me who matched you up with Commander Wallace. You can thank me later once you see him. ;-) *Wink* Do you get what I’m trying to say? Basically, I’m trying to say he’s hot. I don’t even think my husband would mind me saying that because it’s such an obvious, well-known fact around these parts that Commander Wallace is hot. In fact, my husband, David, would probably even admit that he’s hot, and David is a pretty “straight arrow,” if you get what I mean. By the way, David wouldn’t be jealous if he saw what I’m writing in this email because he knows that I think that *he* is the hottest out of anyone, and he really is. But like I said, when you see Commander Wallace, you’re probably going to look at me and just be like, “Good work matching me up with him.” (Obviously, you probably wouldn’t say this out loud if he’s within earshot; I just mean you might be thinking it in your head.)

  PSS- Before she left our little selection committee office here in the town hall, Hillary specifically told me to just hit send on this email, specifically without writing a PS and definitely not a PSS, but here’s one thing about me: I never listen to Hillary. Life’s too short to not be friendly and tack on a PS and even a PSS to an email if you feel like it. Right? If you agree, we should be friends once you get here. Anyway, we’ll send your arrival date and all that soon. We’re doing all the arrivals in waves so that all of us in town can get everyone acclimated slowly with personal tours and stuff like that, and also so that everyone can have their own special wedding at the town hall without it being just one of a hundred happening that day. Right now, we’re doing maybe five a day, which is plenty, what with switching out everyone’s choice of flowers between the services and all that. That was my idea, by the way- each of the brides getting to pick their own flowers to decorate the hall for their own weddings. The weddings happen fast, the very next day after a woman gets into town. Because there are so many weddings, and because there’s not much time for planning, they can’t be very personalized. Also, since the brides’ families and friends aren’t here, it can be kind of strange and unexpectedly hard for some people to get married among complete strangers, I think. People also don’t get to take honeymoon trips here because the men are always busy with village defense. So, I had the idea that brides should at least get special flowers to make their weddings memorable and unique. See, pretty soon after a wave of brides gets here, they each make their flower choice, and the orders are called in to the biggest florist in the FDS. Then, one of their dragons flies in all of the orders to Briarwood, or wherever else in Denton the wedding is to be held, the very next day, all nice and fresh, just in time for the weddings, one right after the other. A lot of people have been doing roses, of course, although calla lilies and orchids are also proving to be pretty popular, too. Oh, and also Gerber daisies and peonies. One girl even wanted gladiolas. And no matter which flower you pick, you can order your own special color and everything. You can even get a combination of flowers and colors if you want. By the way, Briarwood is a BYOWD kind of village- bring your own wedding dress- because we don’t have a dress shop here. Commander Wallace will get your engagement ring and wedding ring, and his own wedding ring. You probably won’t get your engagement ring first, though. The men have all just been putting the engagement and wedding rings on their wives’ fingers all at once at the weddings.

  PSSS- You’re so teaching me how to make homemade candy. ;-) The candy in the picture you sent looked amazing. We have our own little grocery store here in Briarwood; you could probably even sell your candy in it if you wanted. We have a couple entrepreneurs here doing stuff like that. One of us dozen or so “original wives” (meaning we were already married to our husbands when they became shifters, so we came here with them a year or so ago) has her own little clothes store in town with imported clothes from Canada; another “original” opened this nice little café place; and one of the “newbies” says she wants to open a spa-type place for hair and nails. Oh, and another “newbie” is opening a boutique just for baby clothes and kid’s clothes. Smart girl. She’s going to make a fortune, I’ll bet, once all you “newbies” really start baby-booming. But back to what I said about you possibly selling your candy- don’t let me boss you around; do whatever makes you happy. I just said what I did about your candy in case you want to make extra money with your own business. Me, I’m perfectly fine just spending most of the money David earns for us. ;-) Ha ha. See, all the shifters here get paid a salary to defend our new little nation, just like regular military men. Commander Wallace got some loans from the Canadians and the FDS to get everything set up here at first, but then he started everyone on this community logging business that all the men do, and we export most of the logs to Canada. Sometimes we even export orders to the US, and all of the money from this goes to all the men’s salaries. I’m just saying all of this so you know that we have some money up here in Denton and we’re not all a bunch of wild country people running around penniless and barefoot, haha. David and I even just got a massive outdoor hot tub built behind our house. It’s the kind of hot tub you can just about literally swim laps in. We thought it would be nice to have for barbeques and parties. We’ll invite you and Commander Wallace over, for sure.

  PSSSS- Speaking of him, I should really tell you that he’s not only hot, he’s also a very strong, kind man that I think will make a great husband and father. This isn’t to say that he’s not also a pretty stern, serious type of man a lot of the time, but he kind of has to be. He’s in charge of growing an infant nation from the ground up. But for an example of how *not* stern he is sometimes, listen to this. Once, a garter snake got into the conference room where he was meeting with some of his men, and one of them wanted to just step on it and throw it in the trash, I guess. But Commander Wallace wouldn’t let him. He picked up the snake and took it all the way back outside to the woods, saying that there was no reason to kill a creature when it could just as easily be taken outside. David told me all this, and he said Commander Wallace was even kind of pissed at the guy who wanted to just stomp the snake. Then, get this. Once when the commander was out with his elite pack (it’s made up of twelve wolves, including the commander, and David is a part of it, which is kind of a high honor since he’s only twenty-two and the youngest), but anyway, once when Commander Wallace was out with his elite pack, they came across this badly wounded, emaciated dog. To this day, no one knows where it even came from, because it didn’t have tags or anything, and it might have even been one of the animals left behind when all the original inhabitants left the U.P when the dragons came in. But anyway, this poor, scrawny dog was terrified by the pack and nearly killed itself trying to outrun them, sprained both of its back legs and everything. Commander Wallace shifted into his human form, picked the poor little guy up, and carried him all the way back to Briarwood in his arms, just like a little lamb, and Briarwood was three or four miles away. Then, Commander Wallace nursed this poor dog back to health, and now the dog is his dog Jake. He was so filthy and scrawny that the commander couldn’t even tell he was a golden retriever until he’d given him a bath. So, do you see what I mean? It’s not like I know him that well, but I think Commander Wallace has a good heart. Well, see you soon. I hear footsteps coming up the long hallway, and just in case H
ill forgot something and is coming back here into the office, I’m going to hit SEND right now. BYE.

  Stifling a laugh, I closed the email, wondering just how much longer it might have gone on had Jill not heard footsteps. Not that I would have minded it going on longer. I’d enjoyed hearing about Briarwood, and I’d enjoyed getting to know Jill through her writing, feeling as if I were making a friend. I couldn’t deny that I’d also enjoyed hearing Jill’s comments about “Commander Wallace.” I had to admit that I was more than a bit intrigued about the man I’d be blindly marrying, at least blindly as far as not knowing how he looked specifically. Making my imagination wander, Jill had already made it clear that he was “hot.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  That night, I barely slept. Tossing and turning, for the first time since I’d sent in my application, I began wondering what the likelihood of my new husband and me actually falling in love might be. When I’d been filling out my application, the possibility of falling in love hadn’t even crossed my mind. Or, it had, rather, but I’d immediately dismissed the thought almost before it had even fully formed. After all, it seemed near-impossible that two people who’d never even met would somehow end up being a love match. I’d heard of people from different cultures just happening to get lucky as far as arranged marriages turning into love, but for some reason, it hadn’t even entered my mind that there was any real way I could have the same experience. I was a woman who’d historically had a difficult time even managing mutual chemistry with men who friends thought would be just perfect for me. So, I’d figured the best I could hope for in my arranged marriage was mutual respect and possibly warmth and friendship. Maybe eventually, the kind of platonic love two people could develop when bonding over a shared child. I’d thought this was the best I could hope for, and this was fine. A tiny part of me lamented that I might miss out on true love because of this arranged marriage, but I hadn’t dwelled on that. The way my dating life had been going, or hadn’t been going to be more precise, I figured the chances were pretty slim that I was ever going to find true love anyway. I figured I’d probably be damned lucky just to enjoy a platonic sort of love while in an arranged marriage.