

### All Married Together

### J.A. Pak

### Eden Street Press

Copyright 2013 J.A. Pak

Smashwords Edition

Cover: art courtesy of Geoff Sisson

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the writer.

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For Taksa & Misha

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Table of Contents

All Married Together

Author Notes

Other Works by J.A. Pak

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All Married Together

### Times Weddings Section

Chess Sommer and Will Nickel

Marriage was the last thing on their minds when Chess Sommer and Will Nickel first met. Which was in the middle of a freak snowstorm that left them stranded for two days at the Denver airport. Neither had ever been married, nor had really expected to marry. They were two very busy modern-day CEOs and romance wasn't a part of their hectic schedules.

Ms. Sommer, 42, a chemist, runs her own company developing eco-friendly cosmetic lines. Her friends claim she was born to run a company, she's so scarily organized.

Mr. Nickel, 47, is a co-owner of Mito Mufflers, a chain of automotive repair shops. Too busy to even eat regularly, their chance meeting at the airport was the first date either of them had had in five years. Some would call this fate; they called it opportunity. Within a month they were married.

Jane Nickel, Mr. Nickel's only sibling, said, "It was a complete surprise to all of us. We'd all given up hope that Will would ever get married."

Mr. Nickel admits that he was a bit of a confirmed bachelor. But Ms. Sommer's expressive eyes quickly won him over. It was clear, almost from the first, that the two of them were soulmates.

"We had this instant shorthand when we talked," Ms. Sommer remembers. "As if we knew just what the other was thinking."

"Maybe it _was_ fate," Mr. Nickel said when he'd thought it over. "After all, if we hadn't gotten snowed in, we'd never have made the time to talk. Chess would have been just another beautiful woman walking past me through the airport."

The two held hands, as if blessed by Fate.

The Plan

It was one of those thoughts, one of those crazy thoughts, but inside two people whose loneliness had become a character trait, the thought made an irresistible kind of sense.

And too, their lives had reached a similar dead end even though their beginnings could not have been more different.

Willow Nickel co-owned a small regional chain of automotive repair shops called Mito Mufflers. He was forty-seven, single, a never-been-married, and fond of a small growing beer belly. His only hobby was playing electric guitar.

Chess Sommer was also an entrepreneur. She owned a boutique lab that formulated cosmetics. She was forty-two, single, a never-been-married, and so busy, she'd forgotten what her hobbies were.

Neither had had a vacation in over fifteen years.

They met in the dead of winter, at an airport during a raging snowstorm that proceeded to shut down more than half the US, from New England to Utah. They should have been on the same connecting flight home, her seat 5D, his 22A. Instead, they sat opposite each other in a claustrophobic waiting lounge, their eyes connecting, their mouths smiling. Chess was an attractive woman and Will possessed a strong magnetic charm.

The reason why Chess and Will were so good at business was that they were masters of seizing opportunities. Neither was going anywhere, trapped as they were, except for quick trips to the restroom or the vending machines (which were quickly running out of junk food). Why not an impromptu date? They even ended up sleeping in each other's arms, sprawled on the floor next to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, a vast vista of blinding white. For two days there was nothing to do but talk. Theirs went from casual/flirtatious to contemplative and philosophical. Lack of sleep, stifling air, a diet of soda and candy bars, the scene a little post-apocalyptic—whatever they would have planned would have seemed reasonable. After all, it was reasonable what they wanted.

Will first verbalized the desire: "So why don't we just get married."

"Would it even be a marriage?"

"Close enough. It might be the best we get."

"I _am_ tired of waiting."

"It wouldn't be forever. We'd have an exit plan."

"How long?"

"Three years." Will was always quick in negotiations, his instincts for numbers and clauses sharp.

Chess thought about all those times she'd wanted to say that she was married, or had once been married. To feel joined in. Sometimes she felt like she was the only woman past thirty who didn't know what being married was like.

"So, let's get married," Will said. "See what we've been missing out on. After three years, we shake hands, say goodbye."

If Will had been an impetuous person, he would have asked Chess to marry him in the ordinary way, and Chess, being in that wrinkled state of mind, might have said yes. There was that chemistry between them, of like minds meeting, only their minds were more used to business ventures than romantic love.

"Three years?" Chess repeated, weighing the years. She liked the weight.

"Anything less and it won't seem like a marriage."

"You're right." Chess liked Will's thoughtfulness. "Who knows when the real thing will come along. What if we meet someone? While we're still married?"

"Then we shake hands right there."

"I don't want to die never having been married. Let's think about it for three weeks. If it still sounds like a good plan, let's go ahead and sign the contract."

"I will call you in three weeks."

City Hall

Chess didn't think she'd ever hear from Will again. Occasionally she'd think about him, with a smile, but he was already a memory.

In three weeks, just as previously arranged, he did call.

It was a surprise to him too. But the week before, he'd had dinner at an old friend's house, a friend dating back to his high school days. Ian was married. His wife Lynne was warm and cheerful. They had four kids. Two dogs. Three cats. A TV in every room. And there was something about the way the house smelled, the way a happily-married couple belonged together. Just once, he wanted to feel what all that was like. He'd sort of felt it, at the airport, Chess and Will against the world. He wanted to feel it again. And again.

Chess and Will didn't care about the actual marriage ceremony. If they could have skipped ten years into a relationship, they would have. So they agreed to a City Hall wedding, just the two of them at the courthouse—a quick ceremony with a somber judge presiding.

Only there wasn't a judge or the courthouse. City Hall weddings were held at City Hall, in a large room that was more like a holding tank for the matrimonially determined. For privacy's sake, the actual ceremony took place inside a large cubicle. The entry to the cubicle had an arch of plastic flowers.

Chess and Will had dressed smart casual, Will wearing a tie and jacket over jeans, Chess a dress with a matching jacket that often took her from office to cocktail party. But some of the couples were in full White Wedding regalia. One young Hispanic couple was accompanied by the entire extended family, the bride laden with fresh flowers, her skirt 360 degrees of pinkish tulle, mothers on both sides fussing and crying. And then there was the couple who'd come in their gym clothes: black spandex shorts and tank tops.

Three dozen couples were ahead of Chess and Will. The weddings were easily an hour and a half behind schedule. "Like a visit to my gynecologist," Chess remarked. It turned out that City Hall weddings were a one-man operation. Performing all the ceremonies was a very young City Official in a baby blue three-piece tux. It was the kind of tux boys used to wear to proms. Perhaps it _was_ his prom tux. Every time he shouted for quiet, his arms shot up and there, right under his jacket, the butt of a gun would thrust into view.

Chess was getting hungry so she started eating an energy bar. Blueberry oatmeal. She always had a couple in her mammoth bag in case of emergencies: her schedule was hectic, her blood sugar level a constant worry.

"Want some?" she asked, offering the bar to Will.

"Yeah. Thanks." Nervous waiting always made him hungry.

Will took a bite. He was liking Chess more and more; she was elegant and yet so sweet in her chestnut brown shift dress and matching jacket. He felt out of place beside her, with that longing of wanting to feel at home. He hadn't expected her to feel so much like a stranger to him.

"How often do you think he has to use that gun?" Chess wondered.

"I dunno. You think priests wear a gun now too? We live in rough times."

"Maybe it's just City policy?"

"Gives shotgun wedding a whole new meaning."

Chess didn't have time to demonstrate her appreciation for Will's wit—a fight had broken out. Quick shouts turned insane. A groom was hit over the head with a folding chair—he was instantly knocked out. A bride, screaming and kicking, was being dragged across the room by her hair. Will jumped in, shocking Chess. He disengaged the bride from the jilted lover with a fierce punch to the jilted lover's shoulder. The jilted lover jumped on top of Will. The two bear hugged it to the floor and then back up again.

The young City Official burst out of the cubicle with his gun in the air, screaming, "Break it off! Break if off! I _will_ shoot!" Will and the jilted lover continued to slug it out. The young City Official didn't shoot but did pistol-whip Will in the head while simultaneously kicking the jilted lover down to his knees. Will was knocked out cold.

His name was Stevie, the City Official, and he was profoundly apologetic about hurting Will. He even came to the hospital with donuts. Stevie must have come straight from work because he was still in his baby blue prom tux.

"We were wondering if the gun was ceremonial," Will joked.

Stevie blushed.

"I guess no wedding today," Chess remarked. Will looked like he'd been beaten up by a gang of drunken bikers. Chess brushed some hair out of his swollen eyes.

"I can still do it," the City Official said, wanting to make things right. "Right now. You guys wanna get married right now? I'm still all dressed for work. I can do it. Still have all my vested powers. You know, like a superhero."

"Okay with me," Will said. He turned to Chess. "What about you, Chess?"

"Sounds good to me. Frankly, it was hard enough getting away today—I'm not sure when I'd be able to reschedule."

"So, let's do it," Will said.

"You guys got rings?" Stevie asked.

"Shit. What did we do with the rings?" Chess asked. She began to think they might have gotten lost in the chaos.

"Didn't you put them in your bag?" Will asked.

Chess looked through her mammoth bag—it was the size of a small suitcase. "I can't find them—" She dumped the contents on the bed and the three of them went mad looking for the little boxes.

"We don't need rings," Stevie said. "I mean, there's no regulation that says you need rings. A lot of couples don't come with rings. Some cultures don't have wedding rings. I learn a lot on the job. Should we just go ahead?"

"Shoot," Will said. Chess laughed. And then Stevie, because it took him a while to catch on.

"Okay, okay," Stevie said, blushing all over again. "Ah, shoot! I don't have the paper I usually read. But I should be able to wing it. You'd think I'd be able to say it in my sleep by now. I was never good at memorizing things. Okay. Let's see. Ladies and Gentlemen, we are gathered here today—this evening—this lovely evening—to wed these two lovely—beautiful people as man and wife. Chess, do you take Will to be your husband, through good times and bad, in sickness and in health?"

"Yes."

"Will, do you take Chess to be your wife, through good times and bad, in sickness and in health?"

"Yes."

"Then by the power vested in me by the state, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride."

The ceremony was repeated a second time; rings were not needed but a witness was. A nurse came, the vows were repeated. They had frosted donuts instead of wedding cake. The nurse cried and suddenly the vows were very real.

Will later found the rings in his jacket pocket.

Living Arrangements

After the wedding, Will and Chess momentarily forgot they were now married people. Mito Mufflers recent expansion into an adjacent state was forcing Will to take on more debt than he'd expected and all his concentration was absorbed in finding new sources of cash flow. Chess too was involved in business struggles. A demanding client was launching a line of biodynamic cosmetics and sourcing supplies was a constant nightmare. She'd had to fly to Réunion twice. It was three months before they talked again.

"We have 33 months left." Chess was anxious.

"I can't believe it's been 3 months already. Did we say your place or mine?"

"I don't remember discussing living arrangements."

"I don't think we did. My place is out. I live in the back of my little sister's house."

"Mine is barely 700 square feet. The furniture would have issues."

"New place then. Rent or buy?"

"Buying would be more married, but—"

"So we'll pretend the rent is mortgage. My sister is a real estate agent."

"Fine. Call your sister and let's get the ball rolling."

"Haven't told her yet."

Chess laughed. "I haven't told anyone either."

"Should we gather them all in one room and drop the bomb?"

"I'm seeing it in my head and I'm not liking it. Let's just approach and tell on an individual basis."

"Sounds like a plan."

The next morning, Chess went to work with her engagement and wedding rings on. Her eagle-eyed assistant spotted the set immediately and started screaming, "Boss! Boss! You're married!"

Chess was chagrined. Her assistant Akara usually came to work half an hour late. Of course today she was half an hour early. This was not the plan. But Chess was business savvy enough to know how to quickly adapt to changing circumstances.

Chess quieted the girl with a quick explanation and then swiftly went down the hall to see her head chemist, who was also her dad.

His door was open; he had his head deep inside a thick report.

"Married?" he asked, looking half at the report, half at Chess.

"Instant attraction. Pheromones, oxytocin. Vegas, alcohol, too many wedding chapels."

"Pheromones are dangerous chemicals."

"Who'd get married without them?"

Chess's dad grunted, acknowledging the expediency of pheromones in evolutionary development.

As expected, a cake arrived at lunchtime and the entire staff celebrated the wedding of Boss, as they now called Chess thanks to Akara. Chess's hand turned a little numb with all the girls grabbing it to examine her rings in that microscopic way girls do. This made Chess squirm because the rings were from a discount warehouse store—Chess and Will had picked up the rings right before the wedding. They'd gone dutch. Everything in their life together would go dutch, they'd amicably agreed. After all, this was a cooperative venture and not a romance.

That night Chess met up with Will and his real estate agent sister Jane. Jane was ecstatic at having acquired a sister-in-law and pounced on Chess as soon as she saw her, hugging Chess close and giving her several kisses on both cheeks.

"Congratulations! I'm still in shock. I didn't think Will was ever going to get married. I didn't think Will even knew that such a thing as marriage actually existed outside of fairy tales. I'm still in shock! Look! I'm trembling! Oh! I've always _longed_ for a sister!"

"Dial it back, Sis," Will warned. "Come on. Let's see this apartment. We need a place ASAP."

They'd met in front of the apartment building. Once Jane had Chess inside the apartment, with all the lights on, she scrutinized Chess the way the office girls had scrutinized Chess's rings.

It was a nice apartment. Two bedrooms. Good sized living room, small kitchen and dinette. They saw five more. And then they went to dinner. Jane wanted to know all about the wedding.

"So you didn't even have a honeymoon?" Jane cried. She had a dainty little voice, like wind chimes. In fact, Jane herself was a lot like delicate wind chimes, ready to blow away with any insistent wind.

"No," Chess admitted.

"I told you, we didn't have time," Will impatiently interrupted. "We don't even have time to do this."

"Well, you'll have one soon. I hope. Did you even have a wedding dress?"

"No," Chess said, shaking her head.

"So what did you wear?" Jane asked, horrified.

"She had a very nice dress on," Will said, hoping curtness would stop Jane from being so nosy.

"I wore my brown silk-wool shift," Chess said. "With a matching jacket. I had it custom-made when I was in Hong Kong last year."

Jane looked into Chess's eyes with great compassion, wanting Chess to know that she, Jane, really knew what was in Chess's heart, brave and sad. "I hope my brother didn't bully you in any way."

"Jane!"

"You _can_ bully. Sometimes."

"Not at all," Chess said, wanting to reassure Jane. "I didn't really want the fuss of a White Wedding."

"Really?" Jane wasn't buying it.

"Really. We just wanted to be married."

"Ohhh. Well, maybe in three years you can have one of those lovely renewal ceremonies and we can make it like a second wedding, with a dress and cake—you know, Will looks gorgeous in a tux. Well! You really do! Did you call Mom and Dad like I told you? Good. How did they take it?"

"I think I'm grounded. It was just like that time I took the joyride in Dad's new Mercedes convertible."

"Will was only twelve," Jane explained. "Nothing happened because Will is a really good driver. It turned out he'd been joyriding for over a year. I'm afraid Will doesn't really get along with my parents. They live in Mexico now. In a nice retirement community right on the beach. They have _so_ many new friends! Golf, cruises—they're never home—"

"Why were they so upset?" Chess asked Will.

"Oh—they would have wanted to meet you first," Jane explained. "And your family. And they would have wanted an engagement party and a bridal shower and a wedding. Yes, I'm afraid my parents are very traditional. Very old-school. You seem surprised, Chess."

"I am," she admitted.

"Why?" Will asked.

"Because they named you Willow," Chess said.

Will laughed. "You thought Willow was a hippie name? You thought my parents were a bunch of commune-living, pot-growing hippies?"

Jane even laughed, blushing behind a napkin.

"Willow is my mom's maiden name. Just a very conservative tradition in our family to give the firstborn son the mom's maiden name. No matter how ridiculous."

"Oh!" Jane exclaimed. "Your last name is Sommer, Chess! Your son would be Sommer Nickel! How lovely!"

"No," Will said. "That tradition dies with me."

"Oh, Will, mom and dad would be _so_ disappointed."

"They expect to be disappointed," Will said. "They haven't had one good thought about me since I dropped out of college. When they calm down, I'll tell them Chess has a PhD in chemistry. That's something they won't expect."

"A PhD!" A barrage of questions followed, the usual about occupation, schools, hobbies, favorite foods, pets—Jane was turning out to be more of a first date than Will had ever been. But Jane was never really focused on the actual conversation, her mind swirling in several different directions which eventually came to this conclusion. "Well, I don't think you should rent. I mean, I can show you several more nice condos and houses. But that's so temporary. And you see, there's this lovely house that just came on the market yesterday and this house—well, there's something about this house that suits the two of you. Let's skip dessert and go see the house."

Jane was right. It was an unusual house, but it did suit them in some inexplicable way. It'd been recently built, with an East-meets-West fusion mindset. There were no doors inside the house, just large wall-like panels that slid, revealing space after space until the eye was led outside, to a wooden deck, a thin edge of water, and a wall of green.

"Of course, you'll get a better look in daylight," Jane said. "But, I dunno, it's lovely the way it is, right now. Don't you think?"

There was a full moon.

Will and Chess discussed it after dropping Jane off.

"In three years, we'll sell it. Split profit or loss fifty-fifty," Will said.

"33 months."

"Meet you at the bank first thing in the morning?"

"We don't have time to think about things, do we? You want to come home with me tonight?"

"I'd like that."

101 Things A Husband Is Good For

1. Vermin removal.

They looked at the dead mouse. It was in one of the storage closets. Their new house had mice.

"It looks like it's been dead for a couple of weeks," Will thought.

"So how are you going to get rid of it?" Chess asked.

" _I'm_ getting rid of it?"

"It's what husbands are good for."

"Says who?"

"It's in the book: _101 Things A Husband Is Good For_." Akara had given it to Chess as a wedding present. Akara had thought the book was hilarious. It wasn't really Chess's thing, but for Akara's sake, she did read the first page, Akara reading along, laughing and laughing. Chess had laughed too because Akara's laughter was infectious. Akara's laughter was the prime reason Chess had hired her.

The number one thing in the book was vermin removal.

"Well, if it's in a book," Will said. He didn't look so good.

"Just throw it in the trash."

"Do we have any plastic gloves?"

"Somewhere." Neither Chess nor Will had figured out where all their things were. They'd unpacked but hadn't really started to live in the house yet.

"Just do it," Chess said, because Will just kept staring at the dehydrated mouse.

"I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?"

"To get some stuff."

Will drove to a hardware store and came back an hour later with disposable plastic gloves and a long pole-like contraption with a grabber on one end. This way, he'd never have to touch the dead mouse.

But the mouse was gone.

"What happened to the mouse?" Will asked Chess, who was out on the deck, reading _101 Things A Husband Is Good For_.

"It's in the trash."

" _You_ put it in the trash?"

"Yeah. I found a dustpan."

"So you just removed reason number one for having a husband."

"I certainly did."

Will made a kind of choking sound.

"You okay?" Chess asked.

"Getting a beer!"

"Can you get me some white wine? There's an open bottle in the fridge."

He made that choking sound again. But he did get her a glass of wine. And they read the book together. Will didn't think the book was funny either. But both Will and Chess thought it was interesting that everybody else thought it was so funny.

Marriage Means In-Laws

Jane liked to come over several times a week. Sometimes twice in one day. She had her own set of keys and habitually left little presents behind, like a bowl of fruit or cupcakes from her favorite bakery. Once, even a whole set of towels, Egyptian cotton, 28 ounces. Chess wasn't comfortable with the situation but Will wanted Jane to have the keys in case of an emergency. The likelihood of both Will and Chess losing their keys seemed low but Chess decided this was one battle not worth fighting (one of her marriage books had advised that wives should choose their battles wisely). And it was only for 32 months.

At first Chess thought Jane missed her brother and that was why she came over so often. And then she thought it was curiosity. Jane seemed fascinated by every aspect of her brother's marriage.

"You guys have separate bedrooms!"

"Just easier," Chess said. "We come home at really odd hours and this way we're not constantly waking each other up. Is that too modern?"

"Actually, it's very old-fashioned. Once upon a time, only the poor shared bedrooms. Queen Victoria and Prince Albert had separate rooms. When Queen Victoria wanted Prince Albert to visit her, she'd put a bowl of oranges outside her door."

"Oranges?"

"Isn't that cute? If it'd been medieval times, pears would have been more appropriate. Because they thought of pears the way we think of bananas, only pears represented the female anatomy and there were lots of references to pears being so ripe and juicy, you see." Jane giggled. "I have a graduate degree in medieval history. I seem to collect degrees and certifications. I was a dissertation away from a PhD in comparative religion but I woke up one day and suddenly lost interest. Oh, I just can't believe Will is married! I just never, ever thought he'd get married. I cried when he told me. Just cried and cried because it was so shocking and so wonderful!"

"Why didn't you think Will would ever get married?"

"He's just so careless with people," Jane explained. "With relationships. He thinks you find the right girl and that's the relationship. And it doesn't work that way at all. Not at all, does it? Oh, I'm so glad we can talk like this. Will never says a word. About anything. Does he talk to you?"

"Like have a real conversation?"

"Yes."

"We've been so busy. Once. When we first met."

"Can I say something? Please don't take this the wrong way, but, well—the two of you don't seem like, well, you're in love."

"Oh?"

"Why did you get married?"

"Why? Let's say it was a moment of insanity. Complete insanity."

"Maybe it was fate," Jane said. "Sometimes, souls are drawn together, and of course nothing seems to make sense but it does, really."

"Perhaps."

Later, Chess told Will that Jane had found them out.

"This is why I never talk to her," Will explained. "You say just one word and she finds everything out. I'm warning you: don't talk to her. About anything."

"We should have one story. About how we met. I wasn't sure what to tell Jane."

"We should stick to the truth as much as possible," Will thought. "Less chance of getting caught out."

Chess agreed.

"We met during a snowstorm," Will began.

"We were married in Vegas," Chess added.

"Nice and simple."

"Easy to remember."

"Vegas explains the insanity."

The snowstorm was fate.

"Now we need to solve our core problem," Chess said.

"We don't have history; we don't have chemistry," Will agreed.

"To compliment our verbal story, we need a nonverbal story."

"We're going to have to look more married," Will agreed.

"Let's establish some guidelines," Chess suggested. "Figure out things to do so we look like we belong to each other, and not just in a contractual sense."

"Agreed."

"Here's a scenario. We agree to meet at a restaurant. I'm already seated, so you come and kiss my cheek. And if you're already seated, and you see me coming, you stand and hug me and we kiss. No. Wait. If I'm already seated, and I don't see you—maybe because I'm waiting with friends and we're talking—you put a hand on my shoulder and I look up and we kiss warmly but quickly on the lips."

"Wait—wait!" They refined and refined, practicing the seating and the kissing, shoulders and hugs and the multiple visual cues that couples in love instinctually understood.

"How about when we're out walking together?" Will asked. "Do we hold hands? That seems more like a young love sort of thing."

"What do old married people do?"

"Maybe I put my arm around your shoulders?"

"This is going to require further investigation. Let's go out tomorrow and observe."

What they found was that the most easily identifiable married couples had children. And instead of the bond of flesh touching flesh, they had the bond of children, the bond of screams and threats. Every once in a while, they saw elderly couples holding hands. But, these days, it was presumptuous to think they were married. At other times, even when a couple didn't have children, there was a distinct married look to them, the way they stood and walked, half a foot apart, the way private space had merged. And they talked without even really looking at each other. This had nothing to do with happiness or love.

"How long do you think before you get that way?" Will asked.

"I don't know. It seems frightening."

"Like turning into zombies."

"I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing."

Will and Chess started to walk closer together. At home they practiced sitting through each other's private spaces. There was so much missing between them.

Imitation and Flattery

And then Will and Chess received a dinner invitation. From Will's old friend Ian and his wife Lynne.

"They're the perfect married couple," Will told Chess. "It'll be good research."

"What do they do?"

"Ian's an accountant. Lynne does freelance writing, writing for fashion magazines mostly. That way she can stay home with the kids."

"Are we up for an intimate dinner party?"

"If we aren't, we need to be."

"Then we'd better have our stories absolutely perfect. Because you know they'll ask how we met and how we fell in love and all that."

"I guess we need to create a mythology."

"Mythology?"

"Yeah. I read somewhere that the most successful couples create a mythology of their relationship."

"Like how their relationship was fate?"

"Yeah. And you have these stories you tell over and over again."

"Like the founding of a church."

"Exactly."

Will and Chess's creation myth: in the middle of a catastrophic blizzard, they found each other, mutual lost souls whose hearts opened with one touch of Fate.

Two Couples

Creation myths require new hairstyles. Chess decided to get her hair cut. She'd had the same style for many years—an area of her life she'd lost to routine—it was so easy not to think. Chess bought a dozen different fashion magazines. She methodically studied them like an analyst's report. Amused, Will joined her. Glad for the help, Chess divvied up the magazines for maximum efficiency.

"This would be radical," Chess said, showing Will a picture of a pixie cut.

"Don't get anything too short," Will thought.

"Men like long hair."

"It's an Eve thing."

"Or Venus."

"Eve and Venus. Hey, what about this?" Will suggested. The style wasn't too different from what Chess had, slightly more layered, more soft, more sexy.

"Now that's a winner," Chess agreed; she wanted to feel comfortable in her new hair.

Chess was able to set up an appointment for the next evening. As soon as her hair was cut and styled, she snapped a picture of her new married self and sent it to Will. He sent her back a thumbs up. His approval made Chess feel more anchored to their creation myth.

This dinner with friends was a performance and as the curtain was about to rise, Will and Chess trembled.

"Remember we have a creation myth," Will said as he was about to ring the doorbell.

"We'll hold hands a lot," Chess repeated.

"And gaze into each other's eyes," Will reaffirmed.

But it wasn't like that at all. Ian and Lynne had known Will forever and their affection for him flowed seamlessly into Chess. Lynne was an excellent cook too, and that helped. Eating coq au vin and drinking nice reds, they talked aimlessly, enjoying themselves.

"You don't mind if I call you once in a while for work?" Lynne asked Chess. "I'm always looking for new sources to quote for beauty articles. And new ideas. The biodynamic cosmetic company sounds so interesting."

"Of course," Chess replied. "I'll send you samples."

"Oh, how I love samples!"

"Lynne hasn't had to buy moisturizer in ten years," Ian said.

"Chess keeps Jane pretty well stocked too," Will said.

"How's Jane?" Lynne asked. "Not too grieved at losing her only brother?"

"Are you kidding?" Will said. "She's absolutely in love with Chess."

"You know, we never thought Will would ever get married," Lynne commented. "In fact, when we heard the news, we were a little worried."

"Why would you be worried about me?" Will asked, astounded.

"Not you," Ian said. "We were worried about Chess."

"You are an old, confirmed bachelor way too set in your ways," Lynne pointed out. "And you have your vices. I wouldn't marry you."

"Friends are your worst enemies," Will protested. "So, what? You don't think we'll make the long haul?"

"We're giving you three years," Ian joked.

Chess laughed harder than anyone else. Will blushed a little.

"So any advice?" Chess asked.

"About marriage?" Lynne asked. "No. We're still trying to figure it out."

"How do you get to this?" Chess asked, her hands rippling through the atmosphere of love and home.

"This?" Lynne asked. "Oh, you mean the years and years of tears and screams."

"Happy wife, happy life," Ian glibly quoted.

"God, I hate that saying," Lynne protested. "Really, all the old advice is the best advice: be patient and kind and say 'please' and 'thank you'; try not to hold grudges or keep a scorecard. Fuck. I can't believe I'm spewing this crap. Here's the hard truth. Marriage is like a marathon. Just hope you don't puke and die. Cancel that. Way too dramatic. Marriage is just an endless series of shopping lists. Yes, that's it. Toilet paper, toilet paper, toilet paper, toilet paper. Endless."

That night Chess dreamt she and Will were in a small wooden boat, floating along on a narrow river. They were both lying flat on their backs, the sky achingly blue, the long grass along the edge of the river drenched with green. No clouds. Just blue and green, the boat slowly disappearing, Chess skimming the top of the water, Will's head against hers.

Birthdays

Jane liked to throw large parties on her birthdays. She'd invite everyone—old teachers, new clients, the girls at the checkout of her local supermarket, staff at her bank, anyone she could think of.

"On my birthdays, it just makes me happy to be surrounded by as many people as possible," she confessed to Chess. "I don't know why. It just does."

She'd come over to ask Chess to help her plan the party. She had a big organizer where she had her notes and things like samples of paper napkin patterns.

"Oh—before I forget, tell me when your birthday is—I'll write it down right here where I keep all my important dates."

Chess told Jane her birthdate and Jane gasped.

"But that was last week!" Jane looked down at her calendar. "Last Tuesday!"

"Was it?" Chess had been in Shanghai on a business trip. She'd completely forgotten that her birthday had come around again.

"Will should have told me!" Jane lamented.

"Oh, I don't think Will knows. As a matter of fact, I have no idea when Will's birthday is either."

Jane fell back on her chair.

"Birthdays haven't come up yet," Chess tried to explain. She felt silly for having been caught out like this. She and Will should have covered birthdays.

"Maybe you don't celebrate birthdays in your family?" Jane tried to ask. She was concerned but nonjudgmental. Her bright eyes glistened. "Because people like the Jehovah's Witnesses don't celebrate birthdays, do they?"

"Oh, we don't have a set policy," Chess said lightly. "Except my mom. She stopped celebrating her birthday after she turned forty-nine. She thinks birthdays are detrimental to her career. My dad and I usually celebrate birthdays by going out to dinner together, but, you know, I always seem to be away on business these days. I'm not even sure how old I am."

"Why are birthdays detrimental to your mom's career?" Jane asked, excited.

"She's an actress," Chess explained.

"An actress! Is she famous? Will I know her?" Jane asked.

"You've probably seen her on TV," Chess said. "But you probably don't know her name. She's a character actor. She always pops up whenever I turn on the TV. In fact, I think I see her more on TV than in real life."

"That is just so neat! So your parents are divorced then?" Jane didn't want to pry, but she did want to know absolutely everything about Chess. Chess was fascinating.

"Yes. My mom ran away to New York with this wannabe actor. That was years ago. The wannabe actor is now a producer. Mom's the actor. They've been married twice. To each other. It's the House of Drama."

"You have such an exciting family. I love birthdays. When I was growing up, it was the only day I was ever allowed to feel special, like a real princess. It was _my_ day. That's what my parents would say. It's Jane's Day. It was the one time out of the whole year when they were totally devoted to me and I really felt love. I guess that's what made things so hard, because I knew they could feel that way, you know, feel love for me, but they never would except on my birthday—I always manage to disappoint them in some way or another. And I got the whole works. Huge party with clowns and balloons and everyone had to come dressed up in party clothes. I always got a new dress and a pair of patent leather shoes. Would you like me to throw you a party? I know it isn't your birthday anymore but it could be a belated birthday party? Or maybe we'll just throw one big birthday party for the two of us! Wouldn't that be wonderful?"

"It's a lovely thought, Jane, but I'm not used to birthday parties. And I'm about to leave for New York."

"But you'll be back for my birthday party?"

"Yes. I should be."

"Oh, that's a relief. I so want you to be there. I suppose we're still in that stage where we find out a lot about each other. But, it's okay, isn't it? If we celebrate your birthdays from now on?"

"Yes, of course. But I'll probably be out of town again."

Jane sighed. "You and Will. The more I think about it, the more I know that you and Will are a match made in heaven. How in the world did you find time to even get married?"

Jane's Birthday

It seemed to Chess that her first birthday present to Jane was significant.

"Any suggestions?" Chess asked Will.

"She'll like whatever you give her," Will answered.

"What are you giving her?"

"I always get her tickets to the Philharmonic. Usually the holiday series for her birthday, the recital series for Christmas."

"Oh. That's nice."

"You want one too?"

"I don't have the time."

Will laughed. "I sometimes forget your life is as crazy as mine."

"Jane doesn't seem to think your parents love her."

"They don't."

"They don't?"

"As far as I know. They don't love me either. You've seen what Jane's like. She's a little needy. My parents are the 'be self-sufficient' types. Which only made Jane needier."

"And they don't love you either?"

"No. I think I'm too self-sufficient. I think they'd like it if I'd need them a little bit more. Look—I should have told you about Jane before we signed on the dotted line. I'm sorry. I just didn't think she'd become this much of a presence in our lives."

"Don't apologize. I like Jane."

"Thanks. Thanks for that."

Chess ended up going to her favorite jewelers and buying a charm bracelet for Jane. Charms were just what Jane needed, Chess thought.

Rattle & Roll

The weather was perfect. Beautiful, sunny, not too hot, not too windy. Chess had brought home work but she did it out on the deck, near the pool, her body stretched against the lazy recliner. Her eyes were closing, her mind drifting into soft sleep when the recliner began to shake. The ground too. And there was also a strange, growing rattling sound. The narrow rectangular pool turned into a mini ocean, waves and waves crashing against the thin strip of lawn.

Earthquake. The most frightening part of an earthquake was in not knowing how long and fierce the earth would tremble. There was one last horrific sound of glass crashing and then nothing. Just calm.

Will came running out of the house.

"You okay, Chess?"

"Yes," she answered. "How about you?"

"Fine."

"And the house? I heard something bad. Some really bad crashing sound."

"Yeah, me too. But the house seems okay. Nothing major."

They decided to investigate. It was the house across the street. A giant old tree had crashed into the living room, its roots beseeching the sky for help. The neighbors, an elderly couple, were okay. Just stunned.

"We were in the garage, getting ready to go out," the husband said. "Otherwise we would have been in the living room watching TV."

"God was looking out for us," they kept repeating.

There wasn't much they could do for their neighbors, so Chess and Will went back to the house to see what they'd have to clean up. They'd been very lucky. Some glass tumblers had fallen off a shelf but that was about it.

"Let's turn on the news," Will said. But they couldn't turn the TV on. Or the lights. The electricity was out. Luckily they'd just bought a hand-crank radio, part of their growing emergency kit: a 5.5 earthquake was being reported, but they were well away from the epicenter.

"How long do you think the electricity will be out?" Chess wanted to know. She had so much work to do.

"Maybe a couple of hours?" Will speculated.

The news began reporting water main breaks. One was near them. Will turned on the faucet. After a minute, the stream of water began to sputter.

"Damn. No water."

"And how long will that take to fix?" Chess wondered.

The best estimate from the water department was a week. Maybe more. The pipes were over ninety years old. It just made sense for Will and Chess to check into a hotel.

Chess laughed as Will filled out the hotel registration.

"It's the honeymoon we never had," she said to Will.

The receptionist heard, but what she heard was "It's our honeymoon."

"Your honeymoon!" she exclaimed. "Congratulations! That calls for an upgrade. Let me see what's available. Oh, good. There's a suite on the top floor. Let me just finish checking you in. There. All set. Here are your keys. Please enjoy your stay. And if there's anything we can do to make your stay even more memorable, please don't hesitate to contact us."

"We certainly won't," Will said.

In the room there was complimentary champagne. And a big fruit basket. Chocolate too.

"I think the Universe wants us to have a honeymoon," Chess concluded.

"I think you're right. Then let's do this thing right."

"Champagne first and let's see what follows."

Will slid onto the sofa and starting opening the champagne. Chess started giggling. Uncontrollably.

"Hey, what's up?" Will asked, puzzled.

"Don't laugh, okay?" She couldn't stop giggling. "All of a sudden I feel like a blushing bride."

Will did laugh. And then he stopped. "Man, I feel really nervous all of a sudden too."

They giggled all the way through the champagne. And then they were fine.

How Are We Doing?

After six months, Will and Chess did a quick evaluation of their marriage. Occasionally, they had little spats about trivial things involving dishes and garbage. And, of course, they didn't spend as much time together as they should due to work obligations. But they did go out most Sunday nights, hoping for relaxing date nights.

"All in all, I think things are going really well." Will was pretty proud.

"It's going too well. The first year of marriage is supposed to be tough. Maybe we're giving each other too much space. We have separate bedrooms and separate bathrooms. How are we going to fight about toilet seats and snoring?"

"Do you snore?"

"I don't know. Do you?"

"No. I see your point though. What do you want to give up? The bedroom or the bathroom?"

"Bedroom."

"Okay. We can try it out. For a month."

"Your room or mine?"

"We can switch. One night my room, one night yours. That way one person won't have an advantage."

"Done."

Neither slept much the first week. It was inevitable that one would go to bed later than the other, which meant lights flashing on and off, drawers and closet doors opening and closing. In bed, they both tossed and turned, eight limbs kicking and bumping. Sometimes Will would smack Chess in the face as he turned from back to stomach. Sometimes Chess would elbow Will. They were black and blue. And tired.

"Throw in the towel?" Will asked.

"I hate to give up so early. Let's try another week."

"Okay."

They were now sleeping as far away from each other as possible. The no-man's land was so large, a third adult could have slept between them. One night, as they were lying in bed, too anxious to fall asleep, Will said, "I have a crazy idea."

"Okay."

"Why don't we try sleeping like this?" Will moved to the center of the bed. He grabbed Chess and pulled her almost on top of him.

"I'm afraid," Chess said.

"I think this will work. It's like in boxing. When two boxers hug, there's no room to swing."

Sleeping like boxers was claustrophobic and uncomfortable. There was one dangerous moment when Will rolled right on top of Chess and Chess could feel all the air draining out of her lungs. "So this is how I die," she thought. Luckily, Chess was too bony for comfort and Will rolled right back, Chess still lodged in his arms. They survived the night, and from then on, things started looking up. The other side of claustrophobic was cozy.

The Bar Is Open

Out of nowhere, Will got this surprise package from one of his aunts. She'd decided to send them a wedding present. This was an aunt Will saw maybe once every ten years.

"So what is it?" Chess asked as Will opened up the package.

"A cocktail set?" Will said, puzzled.

It was an expensive cocktail set, with tongs and a shaker and muddler and measuring cups—a complete set for the DIY bartender. It even came with a little book— _1001 Cocktails_.

Moved by the spirit of the gift, Will and Chess went and bought bottles and bottles of alcohol. Lemons, limes, pickled vegetables and maraschino cherries too.

"Should we start with number one?" Will asked, opening the cocktail book.

"Yes."

"I sorta feel like I did when I was nine and got my chemistry set for Christmas." Will's eyes were full of demonic glee. That made Chess laugh.

They liked number one and number two and number three. So they made number four, five, six and seven.

"I like cocktails," Chess decided.

"Yours are better than mine."

"I have a PhD in chemistry."

"So right. Are you a doctor? Do I call you a doctor?"

"I dunno. Do you _want_ to call me a doctor?"

"No. No Doctor Chess for me. I'm glad you're not a doctor."

"Should I make us another?"

"No. I'm starting to see double. Double doctor."

"Good 'cause I don't think I can get up."

"Neither can I."

They laughed.

"I like you, Chess."

"I like you too—what's your name?"

"What's my name!"

"I'm just joking. Will. I like you too, Will. Willow. Willow Lee Nickel. Just like the willow tree even though you weren't named after the willow tree because your parents weren't hippies."

"I like _you_ , Chess."

"Only because we're not really married."

"Why's that?"

"Because if we were really married and we were in a real relationship and I was falling in love with you, you'd hate me."

"I wouldn't."

"Would. Because I wouldn't be like this. Not like this at all. As soon as I start really liking a guy I start doing things, because love makes me anxious and weird and I start worrying he won't like me and then he doesn't like me and can't wait to get away from me and that makes me psycho. Sad. Psycho. Pathetic. In a PhD kinda way."

"I can't figure out what girls want anyway."

"What do you _guys_ want?"

"I dunno. What do you _girls_ want?"

"I dunno."

And they started laughing again.

Birthday Wishes

Chess decided she'd make a birthday cake for Will's birthday. She hadn't baked a cake since she was a teen, and that was boxed cake mix. It was an ambitious undertaking, but she was a chemist and baking a fundamental act of chemistry.

Why did she long to bake a cake for a husband? It seemed so primal, so basic an act of love and togetherness. She didn't want to leave the marriage and then think, "Oh, I forgot to bake him a cake."

On a magazine website she found a recipe and a video. She shopped for cake pans and icing kits. The cake was easily made in an hour. The cooling time was three. She assembled the cooled cake and gave it a preliminary frosting, just as she'd been instructed to do on the video. And then she rolled out the factory-made fondant and dressed the cake. It was so white, the cake. Perfect, but so stark and white. A tabula rasa.

Chess made the baby blue icing. With steady hands she wrote "Happy Birthday Will" on top of the cake. She went back and inserted a comma between "Birthday" and "Will". There was room on the cake to be grammatical. The final decoration was a matching baby blue ribbon for the base and a circle of colorful candles all around the top.

Laundry

Jane was still dropping by several times a week. Once, Chess came home and found Jane folding laundry. Chess's laundry.

"Oh, I hope you don't mind. I saw the bag of laundry and I couldn't help myself," Jane explained.

"Oh, you didn't have to do the laundry. I always take it to the cleaners."

"Just like Will!" Jane exclaimed. "You are just so much like Will, I can't believe it. The first time I met you, I felt so comfortable around you—like I'd known you my whole life. At the time, I couldn't figure out why. But then that night, I woke up and realized it was because there's something about you, some signature of yours, that's so much like Will. Like you guys emit the same wavelength or something. Maybe you guys are spiritual twins. Do you guys find yourselves finishing each other's sentences?"

"No." Chess had always fantasized about being in that kind of relationship. It seemed so romantic, finishing one another's sentences.

"Well, you should be finishing each other's sentences. You just should," Jane declared.

Chess still thought Jane came over out of a kind of busybodyness, but the truth was that Jane liked talking to Chess, that she absolutely loved talking to her. Chess didn't realize how profoundly Jane was disappointed when Chess wasn't home. Sometimes, in the middle of the workday, Jane would have a sudden, undeniable urge to visit Chess at her office, but she was still too intimidated, too worried that Chess wasn't as in love with the sister-in-law relationship as she was.

Jane continued to fold Chess's laundry, her thoughts wandering—she was in a mood which invited in feelings of inadequacy and she couldn't stop thinking about her parents.

"I suppose I should go visit them. Maybe you could come with me. Sometime. Maybe. I went last year but I'm not ever sure if they're really happy to see me. They seem so unhappy with me. And Will. Of course they were model children so they can't figure out how we can be so unmodel. I've tried and tried to think what I've done to disappoint them so, but I really can't figure it out. Except maybe I'm so very ordinary but I don't think they wanted extraordinary children, just model children. I'm sorry. Self-pity isn't too attractive, is it? You, though—your parents must be very proud of you. You're so very model."

"My parents? I don't think they think I'm very model. I don't think they think that way."

"That's so lovely."

"Well, I'm not sure that it's lovely because there's nothing much intentional about it. Just that, well, they're very much into their own lives and that doesn't give them much time to think about us and whether we've disappointed them or not. My parents are supreme narcissists. But in a good way. It keeps them working on themselves which keeps them away from us. I guess we were lucky. We had so much freedom really, from things like that. Expectations."

"You think that's what's wrong with my parents? Their lives aren't full enough?"

"I don't know. But don't people try to live a second time through their own children, and if that's the case, then being disappointed in their children is really disappointment in themselves."

"I hadn't thought of it that way. I'm going to think that, next time I feel so very unmodel. Maybe it'll make me feel more generous. It's hard to feel generous towards people who are so very disappointed in you. Sometimes. Isn't it?"

Chess nodded sympathetically.

"Chess, would it be okay if I threw you and Will a first anniversary party?"

"A party?"

"Oh—do you have other plans?"

"No."

"Then let me throw you a party. Just a small dinner party. First anniversary is paper, isn't it? We'll have a paper party! I'll get those lovely paper plates I saw at that little boutique downtown, and paper hats and rice paper you can eat!"

"What about Will?" Chess had quickly learned that Will was reliably unenthusiastic about anything Jane wanted to do. A balancing act from childhood.

"Oh, Will! But you didn't even have a wedding and this will be sort of like a wedding, the reception part, I mean. I could get a priest in—my next-door neighbor is a priest—if you'd like a ceremony like a renewal of vows or something."

"A dinner party would be great."

Surprising Things Discovered After 1 Year of Marriage

Chess sometimes laughed while she was sleeping.

Two people plus takeout can be surprisingly fun.

When the other person wasn't there, the house was very forlorn. It seemed to want two people.

You can fight about peanut butter.

How easy it was to feel smug about single people, even when you were just faking a marriage.

That they always ended up sleeping in Chess's room.

Buying anything for the house was excruciating since they both had to agree. (And there was an element of sadness in buying an item for a temporary marriage.)

How much another person's habits can change yours. (Chess was now eating cold pizza for breakfast, a specialty of Will's.)

That Will was always happy to open stuck jar lids.

That Chess was so adept at taking care of the painful ingrowns on Will's face.

Of course, both knew that having someone watch your back was crucial to survival, but who knew that having someone scrub your back was so delightful?

That on a cold night, the bed could be a very cozy place when there was someone pleasant beside you.

How much more garbage two people produce vs. one.

How they now looked forward to vacations instead of avoiding them in preference for work. A whole new world had opened up: the couple vacation, romantic islands and cute B&Bs, ordering a bottle of wine instead of glass by glass.

How nice it was that people thought you were finally happy and deserved to be so.

How easy it was to believe in something that wasn't real, especially when other people thought it was real, even with that shadow of guilt.

That time goes so quickly. Only 24 months left.

Happy Anniversary

Although Will and Jane were mostly at odds with each other, there was a great deal of love between them. It was just the expression of love that was embattled.

Still grieving that Will and Chess had been deprived of a White Wedding, Jane ended up spending quite a bit of money on a lavish catered buffet.

"Caviar! Lobster! Champagne!" she gleefully announced to her guests.

Her guests were close family friends. Gathered together, they marveled at how long it had taken for them to finally meet Chess. And they ribbed Will about the Vegas wedding and how Chess was the best jackpot he'd ever won. Through this Chess found out that Will loved to gamble, blackjack his great sin. It wasn't unusual for him to lose twenty thousand at one sitting.

"He wins more than he loses," Jane quickly added, worried about the stunned look on Chess's face. "Once, Will won sixty-three thousand dollars! Can you imagine that! Sixty-three thousand dollars! He's a very good gambler. Really."

"He's won more than that playing roulette," his friend David added. "He is one lucky bastard, let me tell you. He's won a helluva lot more than he's ever lost."

Chess wasn't sure how she should feel. She wasn't fond of gamblers, but she did like the idea of being with someone lucky. Someone who could take big risks and win.

Will just sat, looking slightly chagrined.

"We didn't think he'd ever get married," his friend Stacey suddenly added.

"Why does everyone keep saying that!" Will protested. His temper was slowly, persistently rising.

His friends looked at one another, nervous. Chess was beginning to realize that Will wasn't someone you wanted to make truly angry. All this time, through their short marriage, Will had always been in control of his emotions, Chess realized. But then, so had she.

The ringing doorbell interrupted their conversation.

"Good heavens! Who can that be?" Jane wondered aloud. She went to answer the door. And then they heard her scream a little.

Will immediately went to her aid.

"Go away! Go away!" they could hear Jane saying. "I'm having a dinner party! What are you doing here!"

"I'm sorry," a male voice answered. "You won't return my phone calls. I didn't know you were having a party."

Will interceded. "Dylan, come back tomorrow."

Everyone began whispering.

"Dylan is Jane's husband," Stacey explained to Chess.

"Husband," Chess repeated. This was the first time she'd heard Jane was married.

"They're separated," Stacey elaborated. "About three years now."

"Four," another friend corrected.

"Has it been that long?" someone else said.

While Will walked Dylan back to his car, Jane ran into the bathroom.

"It's getting late," Stacey signaled to everyone. "We should get going."

Everyone agreed. They hugged and kissed Chess and promised to call so they could all get together again soon.

After all the farewells, Chess went to the bathroom and knocked on the door.

"Jane?"

The door opened.

"I'm all right," she said brightly. "Just freshening up! Oh! Where did everyone go?"

"It was getting late..."

"Oh, I see. I see. You and Will should go home too."

"We can stay."

"No. No. You have busy lives. Go home."

"Are you sure?"

"Oh, yes. Please. Please. Just go home."

Driving home Will explained Jane's complicated situation. Dylan had been Jane's first real boyfriend. They'd only been married a year when Dylan asked Jane for a separation. Things had been fairly quiet between the two until about a year and a half ago when Dylan asked Jane for a divorce. He'd met someone. Only Jane had this romantic idea that marriage vows were real and that only death should legally and morally sever a marriage. That was one of the things that had attracted Jane to Dylan—his serious commitment to marriage. In fact he had been the one to introduce Jane to this idea of an indissoluble marriage. He had strict philosophical views. Or liked to think he had.

"Fucking asshole," Will said. "He completely messed up my sister's head. Now he's in love? Now?"

Chess had grown so quiet. So quiet, Will had to ask, "Penny for your thoughts?"

"I was just wondering when was the last time I'd seen my brother," she said.

"You have a brother?"

"Hayden. Hayden went to live with my mom when he was fifteen. I think he's in Indonesia. He's traveling the world one country at a time."

"You must miss him."

"It's hard to miss Hayden. He's a very detached person. You'll see if you ever meet him. Every once in a while I'll get a postcard. But there's never a return address. I think he was born a little lost."

"Chess—"

"Hmm?"

"I lost what I was going to say."

It had seemed important, his thoughts, his feelings. All that was left was the slight tinge of sulphurous smoke in the back of their noses.

Jane's Dilemma

The next day was Sunday. Will and Chess, as usual, went to work. The weekends were the only real productive times since there were no meetings or appointments. Chess worked a half day on Sundays so she came home first. She wasn't surprised to find Jane greeting her at the door, but she was surprised to see Jane's luggage in the hallway.

"Oh, I hope you don't mind," Jane said apologetically. "I'll just stay here a few days. Just a few days. You won't notice me at all. Really. Not at all. Really."

She was running away from Dylan. And the few days turned into twelve.

Chess didn't like to be involved in irresolvable issues. So she sat Jane down.

Jane looked at her hands; they were neat and manicured which gave her a sense of peace. "Marriage is a concatenation of experiences; it isn't a state of being but a state of sharing. That's what he told me. Isn't that beautiful? He always said the most beautiful things. But we didn't end up sharing very much."

"Is getting a divorce so bad?" Chess asked Jane.

"When you solemnly swear that once you marry, you'll stay married, yes. Then yes, divorce is bad."

"Even if the marriage is causing unhappiness?"

"But life isn't about happiness," Jane protested. "It's about living with integrity and sincerity. Dylan told me that."

"But Dylan's a shit."

"He is less than perfect. That's true. But his words still have merit. Don't you think, Chess? Everything he said was so beautiful. They touched me so much. Don't you think they're so beautiful?"

"It's hard to let go," Chess admitted. "Women seem built for pining. My record is six years. I couldn't stop thinking about him and dreaming about him and talking about him. And then one day a friend, a male friend, said to me, 'You know, when you're like this, you're telling the rest of the world you're not available and so you're going to lose out on other relationships.' Or something like that."

"And he meant him, didn't he?" Jane's face lit up.

"He did. I guess he'd been interested in me for a long time but I didn't notice until he said that, which only made me realize how true his words were."

"So you two went out?"

"Yes."

"And what happened?"

"Oh. Well, one of his ex-girlfriends turned up and there's no competing against a history of smoldering desire. So that was that."

Jane sighed with all her heart. And then she said, reaching out with a hand towards Chess, "This is so wonderful. To be able to talk like this. I've never had girl friends and I've always, always wanted to do this—sit around and have girl chats. I don't know why, but girls have never liked me. Even when I was little. I'd try to participate, but I never seemed to say the right things. I only said stupid things so they just ignored me. And then puberty hit and that was that. If you don't have a boyfriend by the time you're fourteen, you're totally lost, aren't you? Boys and makeup are the entire conversation. Unfortunately, the boys thought I was stupid too. And I couldn't even fake being interested in boys because I just wasn't. When I was fourteen I was obsessed with Mikhail Baryshnikov. I'd watch that solo he did, in the _Corsaire,_ over and over and over again. It seemed to me phenomenal that anyone could fly like that. And I didn't think it was just muscles and training. There was something about him, his soul, that let him just lift into the air and then—just hang there, as if he had the power to control time."

Jane started crying. "It's all right. Don't mind me."

She cried for about twenty minutes, repeating over and over again, "Don't mind me, don't mind me..." even giggling from time to time as she simultaneously wept.

Chess handed her tissues and let her cry.

The next day, Jane packed her bags and went home. She called shortly after lunch to tell Chess that she'd done it, she'd signed the divorce papers.

"I wish him all the happiness in the world," she said, the chimes ringing in the wind.

Chess called Will to tell him the news and the three of them had dinner together at Jane's. It was a somber dinner.

Back at home, Chess and Will sat down with a bottle of whiskey.

"So what are we doing?" Chess asked. "It seems so obscene and stupid, what we're doing. This whole marriage thing. What in the world are we doing? When it's all over, are we going to be friends? Are we even going to ever see each other again?"

"I hope so. I haven't regretted it."

"There's so much I wanted to know."

"Studies show that even if you fake a smile, you still get all the benefits."

"What?"

"Smile," Will said. "Come on. Just lift up the corners of your mouth. Studies show that eventually it'll turn into a genuine smile."

"I can see why no one thinks you'll ever get married."

"But I am married and it's all good."

Will smiled and she had to laugh.

Sleep Therapy

Will began talking in his sleep. He seemed to be deep in conversation—something to do with business. On the third night, Chess decided to participate.

She said: "It does seem foolish to open another branch when the first one is having so much difficulty."

"Jerry won't listen. I say give it more time. We have to establish ourselves slowly, city by city."

"Why won't Jerry listen?" Jerry was Will's partner in Mito Mufflers. It'd been his idea to expand into another state, a much more competitive state where Buddy's Auto Shop was king.

"He thinks we've been too slow to expand as it is. But the stripes on the shoes need to go right, not left."

"The shoes?" Chess asked, barely able to suppress her laughter.

"The shoes. The shoes! The solution was right there! In the shoes! The aliens will be wearing shoes." Will's conversation turned into a mumble and then he was quiet again.

"How'd you sleep?" Chess asked the next morning as they were getting ready for work.

"Great! Great!" He was wolfing down half a box of cereal.

Chess smiled. "Glad to hear it."

In this way, Chess held Will's hand several times that month. It was doing wonders for Will but Chess was suffering. At work, around six o'clock, she'd hit a wall and then a nap was inevitable. One evening Chess fell asleep with the phone still in her hand. As she lay sleeping, Will felt an irresistible urge to visit Chess. He picked up two roast beef sandwiches on the way. They'd done that before, sharing dinner before going back to work afterwards. When Will saw Chess so soundly asleep, he wanted to pick her up and carry her all the way home. It was then that he realized how truly out of shape he was.

The next day he called up a personal trainer. Six-thirty every morning, they met at the gym for a full hour-and-a-half workout. It took Chess six weeks to notice.

"You've been going to the gym."

"Yeah. I thought I should work out. In case I ever have to carry a woman across the threshold."

"You're sounding very optimistic these days!"

"I know. I really feel optimistic. I guess it's all this practice at being married. Practice does make all the difference. I feel confidant that maybe I really will get married someday."

"Good for you."

Will was feeling so energetic, he started cooking dinner. He was a fabulous cook.

"So where did you learn to cook like this?" Chess asked, dazzled by Will's culinary skills. She was liking him more and more.

"Old girlfriend."

"Was she a chef?"

"No. Just a really good cook. And a really good teacher." He smiled, remembering all the good times with his old girlfriend.

"So where does she fall, chronologically?"

"First really serious girlfriend."

"In love?"

"Yeah." He nodded, those terms agreeing with him.

"How old were you?"

"Twenty-one."

"And how long did you go out?"

"Three years."

"Why did you break up?"

"She wanted to get married and have kids. She was older."

"How much older?"

"She was thirty when we met and she knew I wasn't ready for all that. She had this smile—it just made me feel all warm inside."

"Tell me more."

"More?"

"Yeah. I want to know what made you all warm and fuzzy when you were twenty-one."

"Well, she was a tiny little thing. I don't think she weighed more than ninety pounds. And you didn't want to be anywhere near her when she lost her temper—man, she could really throw a punch. She grew up with three brothers. And one's in prison. I shouldn't have let her go. I wouldn't now. If it were now, and we were going out, I wouldn't let her go."

"Gotten married? Had kids? The whole works?" Chess was fascinated. Will didn't seem like the kind of man who'd compromise for love.

"Why not? I think I'd be a good dad."

"You'd be a great dad."

"I would, don't you think?"

"A great dad."

"Really?"

"Really."

Hummingbirds

A week when Will was out of town, Jane came down with the flu. Chess dropped by every day with chicken soup from Jane's favorite Chinese restaurant.

"I can't remember the last time I had the flu," Jane said. "I hope you don't get it."

"If I haven't gotten it by now, I don't think I will. You seem much better. You actually have some color in your cheeks."

"I do seem to be getting better. I am a little sick of chicken soup and lemon tea though," Jane admitted.

"A clear sign you're getting better. What do you feel like eating?"

"Oh, gosh, what do I feel like eating? Nothing to do with chicken. I'd love to have a hamburger. With absolutely everything on it."

"I'll go get us some."

"Chess!"

Chess went to a gourmet burger bar and ordered two quarter pound burgers with everything on it, along with a mountain of sweet potato fries, which Jane adored. Jane had also requested cream soda. Chess added two giant chunks of brownies.

The hamburgers were so thick with filling, an avalanche of goo fell out with every bite. Jane laughed giddily as she ate. She could only eat a quarter of it, and the cream soda made her hiccup. But she insisted on nibbling a small piece of brownie for dessert.

Jane and Chess sat in the living room with their brownies. Outside, the hummingbirds were fighting over the feeders.

"I didn't realize hummingbirds were so vicious," Chess said, impressed by the high-speed assaults.

"Oh, the stories I could tell! Sometimes, they really get into a punch-up and start slamming each other against the windows! I once saw half a dozen birds go at it. And it lasted for the longest time. Two even drove each other to the ground and back up again. Such silly birds—I mean there are three feeders! Will got them for me. He was reading about hummingbirds and he thought I'd get a kick out of them. First it was just one, and then I asked him for another and another. It's quite a production filling them all up—you have to make the sugar solution and let it cool and wash all the feeders. But I love it. Sometimes Will can be just so thoughtful. He really is the best brother."

The red hummingbird feeders had four cheery plastic flowers each. At times, twelve birds would settle down to feed, wings humming as they sucked the sugar water.

"That's Tiny. And that one I call the Masked Marauder because of his colorful head." The bird looked right at Jane, its multi-colored head flashing in the sun. "Oh—here comes Butch! I call him Butch because he's such a bully. It's incredible how much personality they each have. And they are so smart! They actually know who I am. They probably even have a name for me. And if I forget even for a day to fill up the feeders, they knock on the window. Quite angrily too! Except for Isabella. Oh, she's so sweet. My best friend. She followed me all the way to the car once and when she got my attention, she just bowed her pretty little head and pointed her beak at the empty feeders. Well, I just went straight back and filled the feeders. Sometimes, when I'm sitting outside, she'll come and say hello. I'll be reading and just out of the corner of my eye I'll see her humming away just waiting for me to look up. And when I do, there's the most darling look of mirth in her eyes. It's wonderful how they can fly like that, just hovering in one place whenever they feel like it, their wings humming the air—and then they'll just whiz away in the flash of an eye. We must seem so slow to them. So slow and stupid. Especially me."

The sun was beginning to set between two tall palm trees, the horizon hot pink and floaty. They watched the hummingbirds until it was too dark to see.

One + One

Chess's assistant Akara was generally a chipper girl. But lately, she'd been looking glum.

"You haven't been yourself lately," Chess remarked as she handed back an expense report.

"I don't think I'll ever find a place to live," she answered. Her language was that of a drama queen but she spoke that language with flat calmness.

Akara lived with her parents. The whole family, Akara included, had always assumed she'd live with her parents until she married. But Akara was now twenty-eight and she'd turned down five offers of marriage (mostly arranged through family and friends). She was beginning to think marriage was not her fate. Despair aside, she also thought she wanted what every young woman wanted—some independence and privacy.

"No luck with those girls?" Chess asked. Akara had answered an ad: five single girls in large house want female roommate of same age.

"Those girls! They're absolute pigs. If I moved in, all I would be doing is cleaning up after them like Cinderella only there wouldn't be a fairy godmother. Why are rents so high? Boss, you wouldn't want to double my salary so I can get a place of my own?"

"Sure. If you'll double the work."

Akara stuck out her tongue. Akara wasn't exactly a workaholic. She did just as much as she needed to and not an iota more. But she was a charming girl and did her work with admirable proficiency. And she told the most amazing stories. The office favorites were the stories about Akara's mother, the Cambodian princess. As a little girl her mother had spent three years in a refugee camp, fleeing from the insanity of Pol Pot.

"Can you imagine?" Akara liked to say. "She was the most loved and pampered little girl and suddenly she's living alone in a squalid refugee camp in Thailand, afraid for her life."

"Where were her parents?"

"In the U.S. They got separated in the whole Pol Pot mess. It just took years to get her out of that Thai hell. To this day she sleeps with a dagger under her pillow—every night the Thai army would come and rape women and girls. She spent three years pretending she was a boy. The stories my relatives tell! You wouldn't believe them. _I_ don't believe them! But it happened."

One afternoon, while listening to Akara ramble on and on about a bad manicure she'd just gotten, Chess had this strange feeling that she'd heard this story before. But she hadn't. The familiarity was in the ramble, the feel of the story, like pilled velvet. And it suddenly occurred to Chess that Akara was a lot like her sister-in-law. That they would really like each other. So she called Jane and asked if Will's old rooms were available.

The previous owners of Jane's house had divided the house into two separate living quarters. The front of the house was a large two-bedroom. The back was a granny apartment with just one small bedroom. But it had its own bathroom, a tiny kitchen and a small verandah. An odd mixture of privacy and intimacy.

After Will had left, Jane had had one other tenant, but he'd vanished after six months with three months rent still owing. And he'd left behind bedbugs. So upset by this, Jane had left the granny apartment empty. She didn't need the money. She did very well as a real estate agent, and now she was branching out into feng shui (she'd just gotten her certificate). But she did like company. And Akara sounded so very charming.

"Of course I'd have to meet her," Jane said tentatively. She was wary, but she did so want to please Chess.

Chess treated the two to lunch at an expensive Italian restaurant. The first thing she ordered was a bottle of Amarone. But alcohol wasn't necessary. Chess had never seen two people become friends so quickly. They liked the same movies and the same books. They liked linen dresses and Earl Grey tea with extra bergamot. Chicken soup was best for colds and a good soaking rain lifted their spirits. Listening to _Clair de Lune_ made them cry; the _Minute Waltz_ made them squeal with laughter. By the end of lunch, they were debating on whether to adopt a cat together.

In the end, they didn't adopt a cat, but Jane herself was adopted by Akara's family. She was so loved by them that they felt Akara was just temporarily moving in with an older sister rather than moving away from home. Just as Jane used to visit Will and Chess several times a day, Akara's extended family was visiting Jane and Akara.

"It's so thrilling," Jane reported back to Chess. "They're like the family I always dreamed of having!"

And it was that dream which suddenly made Chess envious of Jane and Akara.

Past & Future

About once a month, Chess and her father tried to have dinner together. Because her father had come to rely on familiarity, they always ate at the same small diner, a place which was like a second home to them because Chess's father had been bringing Chess to eat there since she was three years old.

Chess's father was not a verbal person; they conversed about work and updated each other on personal matters; mostly they shared memories, through the food, the comments the food evoked, thoughts frog-leaping thoughts, time twisting and breaking off into chunks. The menu never changed. On the old black chalkboard:

Blue Plate Specials

Sunday

Roast Beef Plate

Monday

Spaghetti and Meatballs

Tuesday

Meatloaf with Mashed Potatoes & Mushroom Gravy

Wednesday

Braised Short Ribs

Thursday

Chicken Pot Pie

Friday

Lasagna

Saturday

_Fried Chicken with Buttermilk Biscuits_ _and Milk Gravy_

With whatever she was eating, Chess always ordered a cream soda, her father root beer.

"Well. Judy and I broke up."

"When?" Chess was surprised. Her father had been with Judy for more than twelve years.

"Last week. She said she was tired of not talking about the same things."

Chess laughed. Judy was a very wry woman and Chess had liked her a lot. She'd made her dad smile, which was not an easy thing to do.

"Maybe you should have asked her to marry you," Chess said.

"She would have said no."

"How do you know?"

"I know. Anyway, I didn't want to ask."

"Did Judy find somebody else?"

"Probably."

"I don't suppose you asked."

"No."

For Judy, it was probably the easiest breakup she'd ever done:

" _I want to break up."_

" _Okay."_

"Couldn't you have fought a little harder?" Chess had always wanted to say this to her father; she was startled to hear herself finally saying it.

"Yes."

For dessert, they ended up having strawberry pie. It was what Chess's mother had always ordered, mile-high glazed strawberries smothered in whipped cream, barely held together by fat and flour in chemical infatuation.

Chemical Infatuation

Akara and Jane decided they wanted a girls' night and they weren't happy until they'd finally persuaded Chess to come over. As girls, they popped open sparkling wine, dipped things like strawberries and marshmallows into melted chocolate, swayed to music and lounged on the living room rug. The music in the background included "Never My Love", "Seasons in the Sun", "Rhythm of the Rain", "All I Have To Do Is Dream", "End of the World".

"Have you ever wanted to be a boy?" Akara asked.

"Oh, no!" Jane said. "Never!"

"No," Chess agreed.

"Me neither," Akara agreed. "Well, once. There was this boy I wanted to beat up."

"Akara!" Jane giggled.

"I wanted my brother to beat him up but he was bigger than my brother. He was bigger than the two of us put together."

Jane was in hysterics.

"Oh, honey, you have chocolate all over your hair." Chess had Jane bend her head so she could wipe away the chocolate.

"Oh, did Akara tell you we're finally going to get a little kitten?" Jane asked Chess. "A little Tonkinese. Akara's cousin breeds them. Oh, Chess, they are _soooo_ adorable!"

"What's a Tonkinese?" Chess asked.

"Half Siamese and half Burmese. They are just so precious! Love at first sight."

"That's because Jane was a Tonkinese in another lifetime," Akara explained.

"Akara has this fascinating thesis that people who look like dogs or pigs or cats were dogs or pigs or cats in their last lifetime."

"Would explain a lot," Chess agreed.

"That's why they're attracted to them. I mean, haven't you ever wondered?" Jane asked Chess. "Like when chicken farmers look like chickens and pug owners look like pugs!"

"I knew a parrot trainer who looked just like a parrot," Akara added. "It was unbelievable. Her nose looked just like a beak!"

"What do you think Chess was in her last life?" Jane asked Akara.

"I don't know. I think Boss is a very old soul and with very old souls it's hard to know, they've been so many things during so many lives."

"Interesting." Jane scrutinized Chess. "You do seem like a very old soul."

Now Jane was even more in awe of Chess.

"Freudian, Jungian or Buddhist?" Chess joked.

"Just crap from the _Book of Akara_ ," Akara laughed.

Jane fell to the floor laughing again.

"I feel like something different," she said, looking up at the ceiling. "I'm going to change the music. Anyone mind?"

No one did, so Jane looked through her CDs to see what music would match her new mood.

"We're like this all the time," Akara told Chess. "I'm almost never in the granny bunk. We even fall asleep here, watching TV. Last Sunday, we didn't even get out of our pajamas. Jane is so much fun."

"Maybe it wasn't such a good idea putting the two of you together," Chess wondered.

"I'm _so_ glad you did. We're inseparable. It's like we're twins or something. I just adore Jane. Absolutely adore her. Sometimes we don't even have to speak—we just know exactly what the other is thinking."

The music started up again. Bach partitas for the piano.

Jane sighed. "Isn't it so beautiful?"

"Who's the pianist?" Chess asked Jane.

"Piotr Anderszewski. He's absolutely magnificent. There's something about his music, the way he plays—it makes me want to have sex!"

Chess looked at the CD cover. "He _is_ pretty hot."

"Oh, not with him!" Jane exclaimed. "With his music! I want to have babies with his music!"

This time, Akara fell over laughing. "You are crazy, Jane! Absolutely, adorably crazy!"

"Oh!" Jane stood up with a dizzying quickness which made her turn twice with irresistible momentum. "I completely forgot! I got this out for you!"

She brought Chess a thick photo album. "I thought you'd like to see pictures of Will growing up. I'm in there too and mom and dad."

"Oh, let's see!" Akara demanded, crowding Chess. Akara enthusiastically flipped the pages, Chess trying to absorb all the information Jane was giving her. This was a cousin, this an aunt, this a granddad who'd died years ago, a friend, Will when he was five, when he was thirteen, Jane at her first birthday party—

"Who's this little boy with Will?" Chess asked. There was a brightness to the boy, a brightness that complimented Will, but also overshadowed him even though he was clearly younger.

"That's Ryan. Our brother," Jane said softly. "He died. Meningitis. He was only seven."

"You had a second brother."

"I don't remember him very well. I was only three. You won't find many pictures of him. My dad burned every picture of Ryan he could find. I found this in a huge pile of photos Mom and Dad left behind when they moved to Mexico. Duplicate photos mostly, but somehow this one of Ryan got lost inside them."

It was too much to absorb.

"Why don't you stay over?" Jane said to Chess. "It'll be like an old-fashioned pajama party. Please! I never got invited to pajama parties. It'll be so much fun!"

"Do, Boss!"

"I didn't bring anything over," Chess protested.

"I've got everything."

"We're not exactly the same size."

"Oh, just sleep in your underwear," Akara said.

Chess capitulated with a lazy smile. "I'll call Will."

Will laughed when Chess explained the situation.

"You'll never get out of there alive," he joked.

"That thought did cross my mind."

"You want me to bring some things over?"

"Could you?"

"Least I could do. Jane is my sister. I owe you."

Chess started giving him a list.

"Is Will coming over?" Jane asked, interrupting. Chess nodded.

"Can I talk to him?" Chess surrendered the phone. "Will, if you're coming over, can you _please_ stop at the store and pick up a big box of chocolate bon bons? The frozen kind with the ice cream inside?"

"Pizza!" Akara chimed in.

"Oh, yes! Pizza too. Stop by at Pietro's. They're open till midnight. Get the really large one. Because you'll probably want some too. Well, you will! With lots of garlic and sausage and olives—"

"Mushrooms!" Akara shouted out.

"—and mushrooms and onions and green peppers! Oh, and get some cola too!"

Will hung up before Jane could think of anything else.

"Oh, this is so much fun!" Jane exclaimed. "Akara! Invite some boys over so we can play Spin The Bottle!"

"You are getting crazy, girl!" Akara laughed.

"New music! New music!" Jane ran and changed the CD. Funky dance music came on.

Chess sat on the sofa, lotus position, while Jane and Akara danced around the living room, spinning each other around like five-year-olds.

The curtains were still open and in the darkness Chess could see a car's headlights coming up the driveway.

"Will!" Jane exclaimed as she ran to the front door. "It's not Will's car."

Akara ran to the door. "That's Aron! Oh my god, that's Aron! Close the curtains! Quick!"

Akara ran around the room and closed all the curtains.

"What's going on?" Jane asked.

"Turn off the lights! Are all the doors locked?" Akara went running around again, this time checking locks and windows.

Jane, in distress, stared at Chess.

"Akara!" Chess shouted. Akara froze. "Who is Aron?"

"Ex-boyfriend. Fiancé. We were only engaged one day! Just a day! It was a terrible mistake!"

"Why are we afraid?" Chess asked.

"He's a little bit psycho. You guys are okay. It's _me_ he wants to kill."

"Is this you being a drama queen or do we have something serious to worry about?" Chess asked.

"I don't know! I don't know!"

"He's just standing there." Jane was peeking through a corner of a curtain. Chess joined her. Aron was leaned against his car, a hulk of simmering hurt and anger.

"Maybe we should invite him in for some tea," Jane said.

"No!" both Chess and Akara shouted.

"I thought maybe he'd feel better, more welcomed, and then he'd go away," Jane reasoned.

"That's not how these things generally work out," Chess remarked.

"Shouldn't one of us go and talk to him?" Jane asked.

"I think we should call the police," Chess said.

"No, not the police," Akara protested. "I don't want to get him into any trouble. He's like a big brother to me. My dad will kill me if I call the police!"

"He isn't really _doing_ anything," Jane said in agreement.

"He's trespassing," Chess said. "And stalking."

"Really, more sulking," Jane thought.

Another set of headlights came up the driveway. It was Will.

Chess called his cell phone. To her relief, he picked up.

"What do you want me to get now?" he asked, in a good mood.

Chess explained the situation. "Should I call the police?"

"Not yet," Will thought. "I'll see if I can't scare him off. But have the number ready just in case."

"Keep the testosterone low."

"You bet."

Will got out of the car and gave Aron a friendly wave. The girls watched through the curtains.

"I take it Aron was a Doberman in his last lifetime," Chess remarked.

He did have an attack-dog stance.

Will was using up a great deal of oxygen talking to Aron. Weary from the adrenaline he committed a strategic mistake: he stepped towards Aron, disrupting the balance. Aron reacted immediately, a butterfly knife shooting out of his hand. Will instantly stepped back, his hands in the air. Stunned, Chess forgot to call the police.

And then the knife drooped. Something about the knife and the alarm on Will's face had snapped Aron back into sanity. He drove away and Will came into the house.

Jane jumped on him, crying.

"Dial it back, sis," Will said.

"I thought you were going to die!" she cried.

"Everything worked out. Everything's okay. But I think you girls should come home with me for the night. Just to be on the safe side."

Jane and Akara began packing their overnight bags.

"You okay?" Chess asked as she and Will waited.

"Heart's still pounding."

"What did you say to make him pull a knife?"

"No idea. I don't remember anything I said. Something about how this was no way to win a girl's heart or some shit like that."

Chess laughed. She hugged Will close to her.

"God, I needed that," he said, hugging her even closer.

"I should have called the police."

"You really should have. I'm never doing that again."

Wish Upon A Star

Will looked up from his laptop.

"Hey, it's supposed to be optimum conditions to view the Perseids next week," he said to Chess.

"What's the Perseids?" Chess asked.

"Meteor shower. You've never seen the Perseids? They're pretty spectacular if the conditions are right. Last year it was a full moon so pretty useless."

"I've never seen a meteor shower," Chess admitted. "Can we see them from here?"

"Not very well. Too much light pollution," he said. "But we can go out to the desert."

"Okay."

Chess hadn't been to the desert in ages. She'd forgotten how deadly the heat was in summer. On their way to Joshua Tree, they picked up some beers and a large sausage-and-onion pizza. The heat didn't dissipate until after nine. In the darkness they waited, sitting on folding chairs, binoculars around their necks, eating pizza. Will had driven them deep into the park, wanting to be as free from other humans as possible. But they weren't alone. Strange animal noises circled around them.

"Look over there," Will said, pointing up at the sky. There was a hazy band of light, slightly ghostly. "The Milky Way."

"That's the Milky Way?" Chess asked.

"Pretty amazing, huh? We couldn't have asked for a better sky. Amazing how clear the air is in the desert. There! Did you see that?"

"What? What?"

"Meteor! Right over there."

"Oh, I missed it," she said, disappointed.

"Don't worry. They'll be plenty to come."

Around midnight the meteors began appearing at regular intervals. It wasn't a shower the way Chess had imagined but they did come frequently enough that she had to keep her eyes on the cloudless sky. For the first time she understood what a shooting star was. Some of the stones had burning tails miles and miles long.

"The real meteor activity won't be until three in the morning," Will said.

"Three?" It'd already been such a long night. She was too old to stay up until morning. "You don't mind if I take a nap?"

"No. Go ahead. I'll wake you when all the action starts."

"Thanks."

Chess got in the car, rolled down the seat as far as it would go and closed her eyes. She was asleep for about an hour when Will jumped in the car, starting the engine.

"What's up?" Chess asked.

"Tell you later," he said. The car screamed out onto the main road, a sudden thud following the screeching tires.

"What's that?" Chess asked, alarmed.

"Pizza box. I had it on the roof of the car."

Chess looked out the window. There was a black SUV parked where they'd been.

Will drove for about half a mile before stopping.

"That SUV drove slowly past us, circled around, took a good look at us and started parking," Will explained. "Don't know what it wanted but I wasn't going to stick around and find out."

Chess adjusted her car seat.

"So how much pizza was left?" she asked.

"Two slices, I think."

"What time is it?"

"Almost two."

"Should we start back for home?"

"I guess so. I'm going to drive back and see if the SUV is still there."

The SUV was gone. Undisturbed were their two folding chairs and the pizza box. Will got out of the car and fetched the box, which was in the middle of the road unscathed.

"Still perfectly good," he said, showing Chess the opened box and the two slices of pizza.

Chess began laughing. Will joined in.

"What a night," she said.

Up in the sky, meteors were still burning their way through the atmosphere.

"One, two, three," Chess counted.

"Another one there. Four. Five."

The desert air was chilly now. Chess was glad they'd thought to bring a thermos full of hot coffee. They ate the remaining slices of pizza, drank black coffee and made wishes on falling stars.

Static

The murkiness of fall, light getting tossed and lost. The days cut off by damp chill with every thought a different variety of protection.

Things to buy:

winter socks

a humidifier

electric mattress pad

wood for the fireplace

automatic timer for the porch lights

but only thinking about

warm, creamy soups

romantic movies

tropical islands

with all the things to do

get the gutters cleaned

chimney too

replace the shower head in Will's bathroom

air out all the wool sweaters

dry clean coats

yet nothing gets done; need the invigorating frost of true winter.

That Old Black Magic

For two days Chess had had a funny sensation at the top of her throat. Every time she swallowed, she felt a slight niggling sensation. Looking closely in the bathroom mirror, she needed a flashlight to see the cause: a wisp of wood, anchored in all improbability to her left tonsil.

"Oh, yeah," Will said, looking down Chess's throat with the flashlight. "I see it. Wait." He got a long pair of tweezers and deftly removed the wisp. They examined it together.

"I think it's from a chopstick," Chess speculated. They'd had Chinese takeout recently. She remembered how cheap the chopsticks had been, the slightest friction splintering the wood.

"I think you're right." Will looked at Chess's tonsil again, just to make sure everything was okay. "Slight inflammation. But otherwise, it looks good."

"I feel better already," Chess said, testing her throat by swallowing a couple of times. And then she laughed. "That is so weird."

"It must happen," Will said. "Think of all the chopsticks in the world. All the billions of people who use them."

"And it happened to me."

They looked at each other and laughed. It was warm, laughing together.

"Want to go see a movie?" Will asked. There was an action flick everybody was talking about. It was supposed to be very funny. It wasn't as funny as all that, but they had a good time sharing popcorn. Afterwards, they took a long drive to a gelato place Will had read about. The owner had trained in Rome and his cantaloupe sorbet was already legendary.

"I had lunch with Lynne the other day," Chess told Will as they shared three scoops. Since that first intimate couples' date, Chess and Lynne had met several times for lunch. They emailed frequently too and sometimes talked on the phone, trading industry gossip or advice. Lynne said Chess was her only non-mom friend now, and it was wonderful, being Lynne and not a mom.

"How's she doing?" Will asked.

"Good. She's in Scotland doing a travel piece. She told me the most extraordinary thing: last Wednesday she and Ian decided to meet up after work for a date—she was running a little late so Ian got there before she did—he was already seated at their favorite table—she said as soon as she saw him her heart started to pound and she felt dizzy. It was like she was on a first date—that's how she put it. All through dinner, she had butterflies in her stomach and she kept blushing. What was even more strange was that as they were driving home, Ian said the same thing, that as soon as he saw Lynne walking towards him, _his_ heart started to pound and _he_ got all nervous. And he used the very same words: he felt as if it was their first date."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know. Lynne said it was like they were falling in love all over again."

So incomprehensible, it was beyond envy, beyond aspiration. Instead, there was this lovely feeling inside of them, like hearing about a mystical land that was full of thoughts and feelings too fantastic to imagine.

Driving home, they glanced at each other and smiled.

Blossoming

Will had just finished up a meeting and he was on his way back to the parking garage when he walked past a flower shop. He had no idea why, but he felt compelled to walk back and enter the flower shop.

Flowers made him feel powerless. There were so many varieties to choose from. Roses, lilies, tulips, peonies, dahlias, freesias, gladioli, orchids, camellias, everything double blossoming and in an infinity of colors. What would be the perfect flower for a woman like Chess? That's what made him feel powerless.

He spent the next two weeks researching. Asking Chess what kinds of flowers she liked, going through flower catalogs, wandering in and out of flower shops, talking to florists. He asked Ian what flowers he gave Lynne; Lynne liked pink roses. Will rejected pink roses for Chess. Every flower seemed wrong.

Thanksgiving

Jane wanted to have an old-fashioned Thanksgiving with as much family as possible. As she saw it, the newly-extended family would sit around her large dining room table bursting with gratitude as the giant bronzed turkey steamed merrily before them.

Having agreed to a Thanksgiving dinner, the first formal one Jane and Will had had in years, Will dictated that the dinner would be at Will and Chess's and that he, Will, would do all the cooking.

"That's cruel, taking it away from Jane like that," Chess remarked.

"She will burn the turkey. It will be black on the outside and raw in the inside. There will be tears. Followed by food poisoning. She has the dream but not the ability to deliver. I am delivering her dream."

"You're not just a hero, you're a saint."

"Don't give me a hard time. And for once, I'd like you to be on my side, not Jane's. I suffer too."

"I can see that."

"You are my wife. Not Jane's husband."

"It's not even the holidays and we're fighting already."

They suddenly realized what this meant, the novelty of their first fight about family.

"Hey!"

"Hey!"

"I love you!" With that, Will gave Chess a big smack on the lips.

Jane was allowed to come up with a menu. She sat down with Chess and Will two weeks before the date and agonized over every dish. It wasn't a family-holiday dinner she longed for but a religious experience. Chess kept Will in check.

The guest list was small. Chess's father Stu, his new girlfriend Mattie, Jane's co-worker Josh, and Mary, a Nickel cousin. Akara was coming, but late, since she was also spending Thanksgiving with her own family.

The dinner was around four and the atmosphere formal. Chess had hired a college girl to help Will in the kitchen. Her name was Rachael.

"A little ridiculous to get all dressed up," Will complained. Chess didn't like it either. But they greeted the guests with warm smiles and cold champagne cocktails.

This was the first time Chess had met Mattie. There wasn't very much to like or dislike; Chess always wondered at how easily a near-autistic man like her father could attract women. But then, in some ways he wasn't hard to get along with; he demanded nothing living in his own world. He used to be very different, her mother liked to say. Her mother sensed she'd pushed him over the edge. It didn't occur to her that she'd been the one who'd kept him on that edge (her life to her seemed so weightless).

Akara arrived just in time for pies: apple, pumpkin, and pecan, bought by Jane at her favorite bakery. Will supplied the boozy whiskey ice cream, a concoction he liked to reformulate every winter.

Akara ate her ice cream and pecan pie in a kind of trance, falling more and more in love with Will. She'd loved him since that night with Aron. She didn't realize it was love; it was more like poison, slowly paralyzing every part of her being—even her breaths were like powdered stone. She hated being in the same room with him, and she hated not being in the same room with him. She hated Jane and Chess and herself and Will. The air was sharp in her lungs, her skin alive with anguish. She'd lost the power of speech. And in her head, the voice of Will echoed continuously.

Attenuation

Akara fell more and more ill. One day she didn't come to work. And then a week went by.

Chess went to visit her.

"Don't get up," Chess said as Akara struggled to move her body. She was in bed, her eyes burning, her body pale and anorexic. "Jane says that you can't eat."

Akara nodded. "I'm going back home. My mom is going to take care of me."

"I'm glad."

"It's karma. For the way I treated Aron. I liked him. And I thought I wanted to marry him. But the more he liked me, the more he loved me, the more he revolted me and I wanted to be cruel. He should have killed me and then I wouldn't feel this way. It's horrible, feeling this way."

Chess sat with Akara until Jane came home. Jane hoped that Akara would make a quick recovery, that her family would be able to help her. But a month later the family came and took all of Akara's things with them. They were going to send her away, to stay with relatives in France. Jane had lost her roommate. And a family.

"I suppose it had to end," Jane said stoically. "They won't even let me talk to her. Or even write to her."

Soon after Jane had lost Akara, Jane made an uncharacteristically impetuous decision to sell her house. Jane had gone to an open house for a new residential complex. Thirty modern condos surrounding a landscaped courtyard. The open house was an answer before she'd had a question: the granny apartment was making life difficult, because now that it was vacant, a hollowness was creeping inside Jane. And she had given up on tenants.

She bought a two-bedroom, one-and-a-half bath with a wraparound balcony—the views were absolutely gorgeous, she kept saying. Jane gave away all her furniture and had an interior decorator buy her new ones. When her condo was ready, she bought two Tonkinese kittens from Akara's cousin. She named them Ares and Eris.

Pattern

Toby, Chess's new assistant, was straight out of college. Stylish, good at the job, he was warm and friendly. Within three months, he'd totally transformed the office with new and better spreadsheets. His parents were delightful, his girlfriend perky. Toby seemed to be the darling of every circle he touched.

Chess missed Akara. Akara had been her assistant for five years. What amazed Chess was how quickly those five years had gone by and how she still saw Akara as that young girl who'd battled with computer programs and broke copy machines. Chess and Akara had worked together, day after day, never considering that things would change. What a shock how things had changed.

Chess and Will's second wedding anniversary quietly arrived. Jane threw them a party at her new home. It was Jane, Chess, Will and the two cats.

Her gift to them was matching bathrobes: "Cotton is the traditional gift. It symbolizes durability and versatility. I was going to get you a tablecloth with matching serviettes, but then I thought bathrobes would be more practical. I'm trying to be more practical. More thoughtful. And I wanted to get something you would use every day. No one has formal dinner parties anymore. Not really."

"Are you happy here?" Will asked. The condo was so unlike Jane, everything balanced and designed like a magazine spread.

"Yes. I am," Jane replied. The two cats were all over her. "Tonkineses need lots of love and attention. They even sleep with me on the bed."

She held them up so their faces rubbed each of her cheeks. Her eyes were closed.

"Leather is the third year's gift," Jane said.

"More interesting than cotton," Chess offered.

"Or it could be crystal," Jane continued. "There are two sets of lists, customary and modern. China is the modern second anniversary gift but everyone advises not buying a couple china unless they have a pattern and the two of you don't have a pattern yet. Everything gets so much more difficult, doesn't it, always having to choose this over that? I wish we could free ourselves of this. Or that. Sometimes."

Jane sighed and it was as if she'd been holding all the air in the universe.

Will & Jane

It was rare, but sometimes Will and Jane had dinner alone together. Chess was away for two weeks, traveling through South America on business. Will was doing the cooking, spaghetti puttanesca and a salad; Jane brought a large loaf of Italian bread and a bottle of Brunello.

"I bought the second most expensive one," she told Will. "I thought that was just the safest bet."

Will took a look at the label. "You did good."

"Oh, what a relief." She hated disappointing Will more than anyone else in the world.

Jane sat in the kitchen while Will cooked.

"The house seems sad," she said, wrapping herself with her arms. "I suppose because Chess isn't here."

Will surprised Jane by saying, "It does."

"Shall I open the wine?" Jane asked.

"Good idea. The corkscrew is in the bar, the top drawer." To go with the cocktail kit Will's aunt had sent them, Chess and Will had bought a small bar. It was a beautiful box of warm acacia wood and brushed metal steel. They didn't make cocktails anymore.

Corkscrews always confounded Jane. She was fine until she had to pull, then Will came and aided her, holding the bottle while gently pulling with Jane.

Will plated the spaghetti and, as they ate, said, "Let's say Chess and I were to get a divorce. You'd dump me for Chess, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, Will, I'd never abandon you. You need me. I know you don't think so, but you do. Really. And you need Chess, so don't divorce Chess."

"Isn't one woman in a man's life enough?" Will joked.

"You're the type of guy who needs as many women surrounding him as possible. Anyway, Chess and I are so different. You need both of us. Chess is good for us, Will. She acts as a kind of buffer, between you and me, so that you can tolerate me better. Before Chess, the only time you'd do anything with me was when I was having a meltdown. Like that time the IRS audited me."

"You really scared that guy shitless."

Jane had cried hysterically through the whole audit.

"I really did. Poor guy. I just had no idea my accountant was such an amateur!"

"He should have been jailed for criminal incompetence."

"He really should have."

It began to rain outside. The room got colder. They drank more wine, Jane and Will with thoughts they did not share.

Ceremonies

"Do you think we should have a divorce ceremony?" Chess asked Will.

"A what?"

Chess handed Will the divorce ceremony invitation she'd just received. It was from her friend Carly. Friends throughout their twenties, they'd lost touch shortly after Carly's wedding and had only just recently found each other again.

"So just what in the world is a divorce ceremony?" Will asked. "Is this serious?"

"It is," Chess answered. "Carly said it's like a wedding only you're celebrating the end of the relationship. Or commemorating or something. She even registered so we can all give her presents."

"So it's just an excuse to get more friggin' stuff?" Will said.

"Seems so."

"But don't you already have stuff from the marriage?"

"She's giving everything away. She wants a rebirth. Everything from the marriage has to go. Especially in the bedroom. No bad karma or something like that. I put us down for pillows."

"Am I going?" Will asked.

"The invitation is for both of us," Chess said. "Of course if you're too busy with work—"

"No—I'll go. But I'm going to have a hard time keeping a straight face," Will confessed.

"Hmm."

Chess had hoped Will would be too busy. The thought of introducing Will to all her old friends made Chess a little nervous. She wasn't sure if she could fool them. Wouldn't they all know that she and Will weren't really married? She wasn't happy about needing to fool them either.

The ceremony was being held at a restaurant. The large outside patio had been set aside for the roughly fifty or so guests. The divorce ceremony was identical to a wedding ceremony. The happy couple stood on top of a platform with a minister, the minister blessing them as they vowed to be kind to one another. To make it symbolically official, the couple placed their wedding rings in an empty champagne bottle and smashed the bottle with shiny silver hammers. Now they were legally and emotionally free. Carly cried. Her ex-husband cried. And then Carly thanked the guests and asked them to enjoy themselves.

"Plenty of food, everybody! Help yourselves to the buffet!" she cried out.

At first the atmosphere was awkward. Should they be happy or sad? Carly didn't seem to know either, alternating between tears and laughter. But the bar was free and the awkwardness quickly disappeared.

Chess had dreaded coming to the ceremony but now she was glad she'd come. It was fun catching up with old friends. Some had divorced, some had remarried; there were pregnancies and kids off to college. Sad tales too, of cancers, deaths, remissions, hope. Her friends seemed delighted with Will; he seemed to be enjoying all the female attention. She hadn't realized before what a ham he could be.

Her old friend Gabbi was especially impressed by Will.

"I was so disappointed when I found out Chess got married," she told Will. And then she turned to Chess. "I was really depending on you. Now I'm the only one who's never been married. Sucks."

"It was totally unexpected," Chess offered.

"Did you sweep Chess off her feet?" Gabbi asked Will.

"Snowstorm did," Chess said. And then Chess and Will launched into their creation myth.

"So romantic," Gabbi automatically chimed at the end. She'd heard so many creation myths. "So, is this your first divorce ceremony?"

"It is," Chess replied for both herself and Will.

"My third," Gabbi said. "Carly and I were doing a count last night and you know what? Carly and I have been to more than a dozen weddings and they've all ended up in divorce except one! Frightening. Talking about divorce—guess who I came with? Neal Shepherd! He just got divorced too."

"You guys aren't going out?"

"God no. He's just addicted to estrogen and mine is as good as any."

Will laughed.

"It's true. Chess will tell you. We're just friends. I've always been Neal's in-between-girlfriends/wives friend. He's my best friend until he finds a woman and then I don't hear from him until he gets dumped. And he always gets dumped. Sooner or later. Wait—didn't you go out with him, Chess? Like years and years ago?"

"I did. Right out of college."

"You dumped him, right?" Gabbi asked.

"No. He dumped me. We went out for three months and then an ex-girlfriend wanted him back and I got dumped."

"He's very good at the wooing thing. But sucks at the ever-after. I shouldn't be so mean. Neal's a great guy, everyone's best friend, but he's such a fantasist. No wonder he always gets dumped. What woman wants to marry a guy totally living in his own fairy tale?"

Chess and Gabbi continued to gossip about mutual friends. Will felt like stretching his legs so he wandered off to refresh his glass of wine.

"I like Will," Gabbi said. "You did good. Does he have any available friends? Friends like him? Can you set me up?"

"All his friends seem to be married."

"Figures. Listen, if you and Will end up getting a divorce, promise me you'll call me first with the news? I like Will a lot."

Will was standing near the bar, talking to an attractive woman Chess didn't know. She couldn't help but admire him. To her, he was the only man at the event worth talking to. He must have sensed that she was thinking about him. He looked at her and winked.

Happiness

It was incredible pain. Waves and waves that had Will rolling on the ground screaming. After an hour of mental handholding, Chess took him to the emergency room.

The pain was centered in the lower right quadrant of his abdomen; Will was sure it was appendicitis. He had to lie down. The waiting-room chairs had arms so he went flat on his back on the hospital floor. The pain was slowly progressing into unbearable territory; Will thought he was going to throw up. The restroom was two yards away. There was constant traffic between Will and the restroom.

Chess knelt beside him. The nurses weren't happy that Will was on the dirty floor but they left him alone. The big clock above him ticked away as the large double doors near his head opened and closed, gurneys with injured people sliding past him.

They'd been in the emergency room for almost an hour: there was a baby that couldn't stop screaming and the faint smell of vomit in the air. A group of Japanese came in, all wearing face masks. The emergency room was just half full. Patients seemed mostly healthy except for the baby and a young woman who was burning up with fever. Her boyfriend had her wrapped up in his arms. Mysteriously, the Japanese were herded away into another building.

Through an intercom Will's name was called. Chess helped him walk through those large double doors and into an examining room where a male nurse had him change his clothes before helping him onto a bed. Will shivered fiercely in the hospital gown.

"Let me get you some blankets," the nurse said. "There. Better? Good. We tend to keep things cold. I know it's awful but it keeps the germ count down."

Will kept gripping the metal guards surrounding the bed, half rising in pain, almost as if he were about to give birth.

"We'll get the doctor to see you as soon as possible," the nurse said. He was so cheerful, so patient, so reassuring, so familiar. "And then we'll pump you up with meds and get you as comfortable as we can. Just hold on a few more minutes."

Will nodded.

Meanwhile a hospital staff officer came with a thick packet of financial and legal paperwork to be signed. Will was in no state to read legalese, so Will opted to give Chess his power of attorney.

"You're sure you want her to have it?" the officer asked. "Because she'll make all the decisions from now on."

And Will said with contentment, "I can't think of anyone better."

"We're married," Chess explained. The officer smiled, happy with the answer.

The doctor came. He asked Will five questions. He seemed to have diagnosed Will's condition with one look, the questions basic and redundant. "Kidney stones, most likely. But we'll get you scanned just to be sure."

The diagnosis was a go signal for the nurse. Within five minutes, Will was pumped full of Toradol, Dilaudid and Zofran.

"Dilaudid," Will said, giving a thumbs up to the nurse.

"Almost worth getting kidney stones for that," the nurse joked. "Now how do you feel? On a scale of one to five, one being no pain and five being pretty lousy."

"I'd say three. Going on two," Will reported.

"That's what we like to hear," the nurse said, happy. "If the pain gets to four, call me, and we'll get you back down to three. We want you to be comfortable but we don't want you floating off to space, if you know what I mean."

On the drugs, Will felt very calm. He'd thought the drugs would make him drowsy but he felt fully alert and at peace. Will wasn't sure if he'd ever felt like this, his thoughts remarkably tranquil.

"I'm surprised I'm not still in the waiting room," he said to Chess. "I got treated so quickly."

"You jumped the line. There were several people ahead of you, including the screaming baby and a woman who was burning up with fever. I think it was because you were lying on the floor moaning. That really helped your cause."

"I'll have to remember that the next time I'm in the emergency room. I don't think I could have planned it any better."

"Kidney stones. I thought it was going to be something serious. I was sure they'd be wheeling you off to surgery. You had me really worried."

"Me too. I had no idea kidney stones were this painful."

"I think we must have the world's most cheerful nurse," Chess remarked.

"Is it the drugs or does that nurse seem really familiar?" Will asked. "I feel like I know him or something."

"I keep thinking the same thing," Chess said. "Oh! I know. He looks just like that actor—you know, the one we saw in that movie last week. That comic."

"Yeah. He could be the guy's twin brother," Will agreed. "You don't think it's the actor doing research?"

"Maybe that's why he was so liberal with the drugs," Chess joked.

Will held Chess's hand with gratitude and love.

"I've put you through a lot," he said. "You must be tired. You haven't even had a chance to eat dinner. Why don't you sit down. It might take a while to get the scan."

Chess agreed. There was a chair near the foot of the bed. She was still feeling jet-lagged from her trip to South America—she'd met so many people, visited so many farms and factories—her body buzzed with the trip's vibrations and she couldn't keep her eyes open, thoughts lost in the background noise of the hospital.

The tiny examining room was near the ambulance entrance. The corridor was busy, firemen and police, people in traumatic distress, gurneys and the sound of their wheels against the hard floor. Nurses and paramedics joked about sandwiches, their attempts at sneaking away for late dinner breaks, a quick smoke. Will's first wave of pain had attacked him around five that evening. It was already ten.

Outside, in the corridor, a new struggle was beginning. There was an elderly man, six foot two, weighing maybe two hundred and thirty pounds. He kept arguing with the nurses: "Where's my sweater? Someone took my wallet. Someone took my wallet! Where's my sweater?"

"Sir, you have to stay on the gurney. We don't want you to fall again."

"I know what's going on," the man said. His voice was choking with anxiety. "You're all in on it. Someone took my wallet."

"Please get back on the gurney!"

He struggled to find himself. The nurses tried to soothe him; they asked him questions about where he lived: "Yes, yes, I live alone. My wife died. That was years ago. I live alone now. I used to teach. At the college. I have an apartment. I've lived here a long, long time. But it's not really an apartment."

Several times the man tried to force himself out of the gurney, but lacking strength, became entangled instead. Frustrated, the staff began threatening him, treating him as if he were a very large, very naughty child. Terrified, he refused to speak again, moaning, "Leave me alone, leave me alone."

After this, for a long stretch, there was only quiet.

Will watched Chess. She was soundly asleep, fatigue creating shadows on her face. He remembered that first time she was asleep in his arms, on the floor of the airport, the blizzard raging away. They shared so many memories now, Chess and Will, tiny unremarkable memories that came surging through him as pure joy. His sorrow was that he hadn't married Chess years and years before. Then regret dissolved and time was no longer relevant: in a total compression of heart and soul, his memory claimed Chess from the very beginning of his birth. Yes, he'd known Chess all his life and he was going to know and love her for a fourth year and a fifth year and a sixth year and on and on until all the years were a suspension of love and happiness.

A young orderly came in and asked, "So, you ready for a ride?"

Chess woke up. She felt as if she hadn't slept at all, just merely floated along with the consciousness of the hospital.

"Is it all right for me to come?" she asked, gathering all their possessions.

"Sure," the orderly said, getting ready to push the hospital bed out into the corridor.

Chess walked alongside the bed as Will and the orderly cheerfully bantered together. Will was still hooked up to his meds, still calm, still relaxed. Chess couldn't help smiling. Which was strange. Everything felt strange, like she was hooked up to Will's meds too. Maybe she was dreaming. But she liked it. Because for the first time, she actually felt married. To Will. That she and Will were really married. And she smiled and smiled. She and Will were all married together now.

"What are you laughing about?" Will asked.

"Nothing. I'll tell you later," Chess said. "Later, when we're home."

"Home. I can't wait."

Their home together.

###

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Other Works by J.A. Pak

Anchored Leaves

More and more, for Megan LeMaster, each beginning was its own end. She couldn't bear to buy flowers or dresses that seemed too beautiful. Friendships formed, endured, gave out in a handshake. Each deed in life had an immediate, inescapable circumferencing, beginning becoming an ending, becoming a beginning, as if it were all one and the same like a Gordian knot she couldn't undo.

Megan stared at Waldo's little body. The pink satin was quilted, the casket a pale-colored wood. The Pekingese looked content. Why did people buy pets knowing they were going to die? A little line shivered up her back every time Stella showed her a new dog.

"I've lost track. Which Waldo is this?" Stella's neighbor Mrs. Abernathy asked. Each of Stella's dogs had a different colored ribbon but was always called Waldo.

"Waldo the Seventh, I think," Megan answered.

"You'd think she would have learned to pick dogs with healthier constitutions by now. Tell her next time to get a German shepherd."

"Stella's afraid of big dogs. Waldo was healthy. He just got into some rat poison."

"Little dogs have short lives. German shepherds live forever," the woman flatly declared.

Megan secretly admired people whose certainty was so level.

Josie Abernathy had never been to a Waldo funeral before; she'd been very much surprised when Stella had asked her to come. Of good Calvinist stock she didn't approve of funerals for animals. And a Waldo funeral was more extravagance than anything ever allowed inside a tepid imagination. She'd come early—she was a habitual early-arriver—stunned by the animal chapel's transformation into a microscopic Eden, with lush grasses at her feet, tender palms above her head, flowers exotica sprouting thickly all around her, their seductive whispers smoking the air. There was even a waterfall where the altar should have been.

When Megan had arrived in an enormous black hat and veil, Mrs. Abernathy had thought her very foolish. But then the others came, less subdued, outfitted in hats with foot-long black feathers, serpentine gloves, long chains of oyster grey pearls looped three, four times, satin dresses, morning coats, and veils, black veils, billowing all around the chapel, some as dark as liquid night, some too light to see except in movement. It was like some macabre costume party, Mrs. Abernathy fascinated in spite of herself.

Seal Skin

I had told myself that I would not cry. That I would hold on to my anger so tightly, there would be no space for pity. And I did not cry, until the plane was in the air, and I was alone, and he was with her.

It was just a single tear, dropped because of a second of distraction—the remembrance of how much he had loved me.

And then there was another tear, and another, and another, and the man sitting next to me told me it was not an uncommon thing. People often cried on planes. Human migration tended to coincide with physical and emotional turmoil. It is not an uncommon thing, broken hearts, he said. His voice was like the waters surrounding a sacred temple, ancient, primordial; his voice was that ancient thing inside of me. I needed to hold him.

He asked me my name. Lily. He laughed because he could have guessed it, it was so natural to me, and for the first time, I felt it was my name and I was glad.

His name was Brenn. There was so much of him that seemed old, so much of him that seemed young, I could not guess his age. He was a beautiful listener and he listened to every part of me so that I was telling him my entire story.

I was all brittle fragments:

