Lau kept her arms crossed.
“I don’t want you to marry me as a favor or because it’s convenient. I’ve had boyfriends suggest it in the past and I’ve never wanted to do it that way.”
I hadn’t expected to have to convince Lau she should marry me and stay in the country.
“It’s true that if it weren’t for the outside factors, I probably wouldn’t be proposing this soon. But that doesn’t mean it’s a ‘favor.’ Us getting married feels like a matter of when, not if. I’ve spent the last two weeks trying to convince myself that it’s idiotic to marry someone I’ve only been with four months, but I can’t, because it feels right. I know it’s a little crazy, but I don’t care. I’ve found the woman I’m supposed to marry. I have no doubts about you or us or getting married.”
Lau finally let the veneer fall. Her mouth widened into a smile as she sprang from her chair and grabbed me in an embrace.
“I don’t have any doubts, either,” she said. “I love you so much.”
“So are we doing it, then? We’re getting married?”
“Yes!”
We hugged and cried and called our (somewhat surprised) family. After things had settled down a little bit, I apologized for the informal proposal. Not only was it missing the traditional accompaniments—flowers, a ring, a bended knee—but I’d been in the middle of cooking. There’s a reason Uncle Ben’s Wild Rice has never made an appearance in a fairy tale.
“I’m sorry this wasn’t more romantic,” I said.
“It was perfect,” she responded. “Proposing to me so soon has to be a little scary, but you did it anyway because you love me and you believe in us. There’s nothing more romantic than that.”
In this book, I’ve spent a lot of time explaining how things don’t happen like they do in the movies, but you know what? Sometimes they do.
28
* * *
THE OPPOSITE OF A VERY LONG ENGAGEMENT
In order to apply for Lau’s Green Card, we needed to get married right away, which meant a courthouse wedding, just like the one my stepbrother had had two years before. I guess I was ready to admit that love just might be real.
The courthouse wedding process in Los Angeles is very easy—a few simple forms, no blood test, dates available within a week. And it only costs $149.50. This was like an infomercial product too good to be true. For this low, low price you get fifteen minutes in a courthouse chapel, a certified judge, and we’ll throw in not one, but TWO, official copies of the marriage certificate. Operators are standing by to make your love eternal.
Lau and I had envisioned a tiny ceremony to make it legal, followed by the “real” wedding a year or so later, but everyone wanted to be there for the first go-round. Most of our family was going to make it, mine flying in from Colorado and Lau’s from Spain. So many friends wanted to attend, we surpassed the twenty-person capacity of the small chapel, necessitating an informal “reception” of sorts. We didn’t rent out a banquet hall or event space, or even make a reservation. Instead, we told everyone to meet us at a Mexican restaurant that had a nice patio and a hell of a deal on Happy Hour guacamole. Having seen friends lose a year of their lives and most of their bank accounts to wedding planning, I highly recommend the “We need to make this legal as quickly as possible” approach to marriage.
At first, our wedding didn’t seem much different from a visit to the DMV, complete with lines full of people sporting bureaucracy-inspired blank stares. While we were there to sanctify our love, everyone else was waiting to file construction permits or pay parking fines. We checked in with an impatient employee who ended our interaction with the official slogan of government offices, “Go stand over there and we’ll call your name.”
The wedding party before us emptied from the chapel and someone called, “Perry party? Are you ready?” as if our table had been wiped down at Red Lobster. I took Lau’s hand and we entered the chapel, though it was a “chapel” in name only. The room had a hung tile ceiling, fluorescent lights, and a carpet that had probably outlasted many of the marriages performed on it. A small wooden arch strewn with fake purple flowers served as the only decoration, and as we entered, prerecorded organ music started up. So, all very similar to a royal wedding.
A tiny woman, no more than five feet tall, waited at the front of the room in a black judge’s cloak. She had to be at least eighty years old and her wrinkles, produced by decades in the California sun, were dark and numerous.
“I’m going to be marrying you today,” she said, sounding like a grandma welcoming her grandkids to Christmas. “Isn’t that wonderful?”
Her smile melted away all the government coldness we’d experienced up to this point. It was wonderful!
I glanced back at the assembled party. It was standing-room only, packed with all the people I loved most in my life. Our parents stood next to each other in the front. Grant darted around the room acting as our official photographer and Kurt stood in the back. One important person was missing, though: Evan was running late. And this was more than a sentimental problem. He was supposed to sign the wedding certificate as our official witness. We’d asked him to do the honor because of the integral part he’d played in the formation of our relationship. Proud to make the rare jump from cock-block to wedding witness, he had accepted readily, but now someone else would have to sign. It was a shame, but the $149.50 only got us fifteen minutes. We couldn’t wait for him.
“A ring has no beginning and no end,” the judge began. “It is endless, just like your love for one another. It is a symbol of your commitment to your relationship, a commitment that will last FOREVER.”
On the final word, forever, the judge locked eyes with me, implying via stare that, despite the modest stature of the ceremony, I needed to take my vows seriously, OR ELSE. In addition to legally wedding us, the old lady may also have been casting a Gypsy curse.
As the judge gazed into my soul, I felt the full weight of what I was doing. Lau and I had been together for only a few months, engaged for just two weeks, but that didn’t make this ceremony, this marriage, any less real. We were getting married today and there was no way to know if our marriage would be a beautiful story or an epic disaster, whether it would last decades or days. But the uncertainty didn’t scare me.
In my life I’d made so many choices based on fear—fear of being alone, failing, being uncool, not getting laid, being unworthy, losing control. But this choice was not based in fear. I wasn’t marrying Lau because it felt like I “should” or because she’d be mad if I didn’t or because I feared being alone. I was marrying Lau because I wanted to make her my wife, because I felt ready for and worthy of both her and the institution. I didn’t know how our marriage would end, because no marriage has a guarantee, but I knew how it would begin: without fear or trepidation. And that’s the best anyone can hope for.
The judge got to the end of her speech and we both said “I do.” It’d been eleven years since I’d met Lau, a year and a half since we’d messaged online, four months since we’d started dating, two weeks since I’d proposed, and twelve minutes since we’d entered the chapel/conference room, and, with those two words, we were now husband and wife. It was a whirlwind romance twelve years in the making.
The last step was to sign the marriage certificate.
“Who’s going to be the witness?” the judge asked.
We started to wave over our friend Olivier, Evan’s backup, but before he could stand, there was a shout from the back.
“I’m the witness. The witness is here!”
Evan strode to the front.
“Wouldn’t have missed it,” he said, like an action hero arriving to save the day just in the nick of time. Four signatures and two minutes later Lau and I were married and the room erupted into applause.
EPILOGUE
Well, I really lucked into the happy ending I’d been trying so hard to convince myself was nonexistent. I mean, we were one rush-to-the-courthouse-on-the-back-of-a-moped away from
this being exactly like the end of a romantic comedy. But, of course, weddings aren’t an end, but a beginning.
* * *
A few months after our wedding, we had our Green Card interview. Seeing as our marriage was real, the interview was a formality, but it was still terrifying to know that our fate lay in the hands of a government employee.
I’d expected someone in a suit or a uniform, but our case agent wore a tank top and a government-issued Windbreaker. Because Lau had lived in the country more than fifteen years, her case file was frighteningly thick, rising three inches off of the desk. We’d come armed with dozens of pictures of our time together, from our camping trip to our wedding, along with a printed screenshot of our Facebook page showing our status as “Married.” If there was any doubt, that would clinch it—people might move in together to pull off a fake marriage, but who would lie on Facebook?
The questions started simple—how’d we met, where’d we gone on our first date, what was our wedding like—but soon things got intimate. The agent leaned forward in her chair and looked at me.
“So how did you know Laura was the one?”
This didn’t seem like a question a government official would ask, but rather, something Oprah would pose to a guest. If only I’d had this book completed then—Read this and you’ll see the emotional and spiritual journey that led me to falling in love with Lau. It’s kind of like Eat, Pray, Love, but by a dude. Please give it a good review on Amazon if you like it!
I tried to summarize my feelings for Lau, but it’s hard to do that without sounding like a dumb athlete talking about winning the Super Bowl. You end up saying things like “amazing” and “hard to describe” and “just knew.” I could tell this boilerplate material didn’t impress the agent, so I dug deeper.
“I think, besides the general feelings of love, I knew Lau was the one because we were friends first.”
Lau squeezed my hand when I said this. Not in a that’s-so-sweet kind of way, but in a what-the-fuck-are-you-doing kind of way. When trying to assure an immigration agent you didn’t fake a marriage as a favor to a friend, it may not be best to mention how you started as friends. But I was going somewhere with this, so I continued.
“In the past I’ve had relationships where I thought it was love, but with time it faded and I realized it had just been attraction and infatuation, rather than a true connection. But I knew Lau well before we dated. She was a friend I valued. So when the romantic feelings came, it was a wonderful combination of romantic love and friendship, which is what I think truly makes someone a soul mate.”
The agent gazed at me as she formulated her response. Shit—was she not buying this? Had I screwed up so badly that I’d convinced her my real marriage was a fake marriage?
Finally she spoke.
“I hear that. You’ve got to have a solid base, because the other stuff fades. Mmm-hmmm.”
She nodded emphatically, making it clear she was speaking from experience. We were no longer government official and investigation subject, but rather two best girlfriends gabbing at the hair salon. Ten minutes later Lau was officially granted her Green Card.
* * *
As I write this, Lau and I have been happily married for over two years. Pretty quickly we abandoned the idea of throwing another wedding; it’s hard to dedicate the time and money required when you’re already married. Instead, for our first act as responsible, married adults, we quit our jobs and took a two-month honeymoon to Europe and Asia.
I’ve claimed to learn a lot of things in this book, but if I can impart just one thing, it is this: marry someone from Barcelona. We spent two weeks in Lau’s hometown on our trip and it was so choice. For the rest of my life, instead of going to, say, Albuquerque, to visit the in-laws, I get to go there. I will constantly be saying things like We just got back from such a lovely holiday in Europe. Holiday is what we call vacation in Europe. You simply must join us next time, old sport. Will my friends find this annoying? Sure. But I don’t care, because I’ll have better, tanner friends in Barcelona.
We still see Kurt and Evan almost every week for drinks, dinner, or brunch (Bros’ Brunch gained a gal). Kurt remains happily single, open to meeting someone, but not worried about it, and Evan is still Joanna-free. As he braves the waters of online dating I act as his consigliere, even when he hasn’t asked for the advice. (Approximately 80% of my advice is unsolicited.)
Grant is up the road in San Francisco, having settled with a wonderful woman after going on a journey of his own. He spent a year traveling the world, doing everything from drinking ayahuasca in South America to summiting peaks in Nepal. And he is now a Drug Spirit Guide to the world as one of the hosts of a podcast about psychedelics.
Brian is in Toronto, so we’re doing the long-distance thing. It’s hard, but he’s worth it. (Lau is amazingly accepting of our relationship.)
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’d like to thank the following people without whom this book would not have been possible:
My wife, Laura, for being my happy ending.
My mom, Krista, for always being my protector and supporter.
My dad, Jim, for inspiring me to be a writer by filling my childhood with stories and a love of books.
Katelin, for doing her sisterly duty of keeping me grounded with reminders that I’m not that great.
Sarah, Chris, and Stephen for the love and support.
Becky Sweren, my agent at Kuhn Projects, for believing enough in my writing to take on the gargantuan task of selling a book by a first-time writer. And, more importantly, for doing her best to make sure I didn’t come across like a douchebag.
My editor, John Glynn, for the sound advice that made this book better at every turn and for understanding and believing in me and the material.
Everyone at Kuhn Projects, for working so hard to ensure the success of this book.
The whole team at Scribner, for helping me put together a final product of which I’m immensely proud. It’s a true thrill to be under the banner.
Paul Shirley, for being a wonderful coffee shop writing buddy. I’m lucky to have him as a reader and friend.
To Brad, Carnie, Charles, Craig, Cuyler, Galen, Jay, Jesse, and many other close friends, who heard me tell the original version of these stories countless times.
Everyone in DeMentha, for the inspiration and an immeasurable amount of fun.
Ingo, for lowering himself to read this American love dribble and not completely crushing me with his feedback.
Jason Richman, for being an early believer in this project and a great agent.
Daniel Jones, the editor of the New York Times “Modern Love” column, for selecting my essay. Being published in “Modern Love” was the first step toward this book existing.
The Moth organization, and Gary Buchler, Kerry Armstrong, and Jenifer Hixson in particular. Many of the chapters in this book started as stories I told on the Moth stage.
Finally, thank you to all the women in this book. I hope you don’t hate me.
© STEPHANIE NELSON
MATTESON PERRY is a screenwriter, performer, two-time winner of the Moth GrandSLAM storytelling championship, and the host of the monthly Moth StorySLAM in Los Angeles. His writing has appeared in the New York Times, McSweeney’s, College Humor, and other publications. His work has been featured on NPR and Funny or Die. A Colorado native, Perry lives in Los Angeles.
MEET THE AUTHORS, WATCH VIDEOS AND MORE AT
SimonandSchuster.com
authors.simonandschuster.com/Matteson-Perry
We hope you enjoyed reading this Scribner eBook.
* * *
Join our mailing list and get updates on new releases, deals, bonus content and other great books from Scribner and Simon & Schuster.
CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP
or visit us online to sign up at
eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com
Scribner
An Imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
1230 Avenue of th
e Americas
New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
Copyright © 2016 by Matteson Perry
Parts of the prologue were originally published in “Uh, Honey, That’s Not Your Line” by Matteson Perry in the New York Times on July 26, 2013.
Certain names (including those of all women I dated but did not marry) and identifying characteristics have been changed, and some events have been reordered and compressed.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Scribner Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.
First Scribner hardcover edition May 2016
SCRIBNER and design are registered trademarks of The Gale Group, Inc., used under license by Simon & Schuster, Inc., the publisher of this work.
For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949 or [email protected].
The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.
Interior design by Jill Putorti
Jacket design by Alex Merto
ISBN 978-1-5011-0143-4
ISBN 978-1-5011-0145-8 (ebook)
Available Page 18
