Free Goodbye Without Leaving by Laurie Colwin Page B

couples loaded with money who had bought charming old farmhouses. Her annual cocktail party was as regular an event as the bake sale, the Memorial Day parade or the Volunteer Fire Department chicken fry.
    Yes, there was a trick to it. You inherited your life, or you invented it. You figured out what you wanted life to be and then somehow or other you made it that way. Then, miracle of miracles, you liked it! I sat in Dolly’s efficient, neat house, the material representation of her very being, in fact, and saw what would be laid out for me if I married Johnny. All I had to do was slip quietly into place.
    I would help Dolly every year with her party. Johnny and I would eventually buy a sweet little old farmhouse nearby. Soon Dolly and I and my numerous children would do the annual party together. As time went by, I would take over and Dolly would supervise. My children would eventually take it over from me. We would all live together in a pattern as sure and unchanging as the seasons, if I would only knuckle under and get married.

19
    â€œWhat’s your rush?” I said.
    â€œListen, sweetheart. We’re not getting any younger.”
    â€œWell, we’re not getting any older.”
    â€œArrested development is not the secret of eternal youth,” said Johnny. “This is getting silly.”
    â€œIn other words, you want to get married because it looks better,” I said.
    â€œI want to get married so I can begin my life.”
    This brought me up short. It was the beginning of his life, he felt, and the end of mine, I felt. At the moment I was nothing in particular, which was at least something. Being somebody’s wife did not strike me as a role, an occupation or an identity.
    â€œListen,” said Johnny. “We love each other. We’re a good team. We even learned how to make pot roast together. We’ve confessed to each other that we admire Archie Bell and the Drells. Let’s get on with it.”
    The corner I was being backed into got smaller and smaller. I hadn’t any legitimate excuse. It was a question of how I felt, which had never been considered a valid reason for anything in my family.
    â€œYou said we would get married when you got a job you liked,” Johnny said. “You’ve been at the foundation for over a year. You’ve catalogued every single female singer and now you’re into blind guys. How much longer to we have to wait? Blind Lemon Jefferson, Willie McTell—what’s next?”
    â€œBlind guys with one leg,” I said.
    â€œGet serious,” said Johnny.
    â€œOkay,” I said. “I will get serious. Here’s the deal. I will marry you but we have to go to City Hall. Please, Johnny. I just can’t take the white dress. I don’t want my father to give me away. If we’re gonna do it, let’s just do it. Our parents can give us a party after, but I simply cannot go through one of those demeaning traditional weddings.”
    â€œCan I have the judge play ‘Chapel of Love’ before the ceremony? It only takes two minutes and fifty-two seconds.”
    â€œThe ceremony?”
    â€œNo, the song.”
    â€œHe can play ‘It’s Been a Drag’ by James Wray, for all I care. I just want it over with.”
    At this Johnny looked sincerely hurt.
    â€œI don’t think you love me,” he said.
    â€œI do love you,” I said. “It’s all that other stuff I don’t love. This is between the two of us. I hate all that dress and veil and cake shit. People should get married in seclusion.”
    â€œIt’s a public act,” said my civic-minded husband-to-be. “It’s in the public record. You can look it up.”
    â€œIt seems like the most private thing in the world,” I said.
    So it was decided. Mary was my best man, so to speak, and Ben would stand up for Johnny. Both were sworn to secrecy.
    I bought a genteel-looking dress and wore