Chapter One: Probably (Cathedral)

Snow wisps across streets, through buildings, winding underneath, around, and through the many crevices of New York City. The chipped rock of a cathedral proves to be a fruitful gathering spot, the snow collecting on a diagonal piece of rock directly underneath a gargoyle. This unusual snow collection was not noticed by any of the people inside of the cathedral, lost in their throes of merriment. It was a wedding. He hadn't wanted it in a church, and neither had she, but her mom had pushed and prodded until they found one that wasn't completely disgusting or exhaustively expensive. It was right uptown, near Columbia, where she had earned her PhD in architectural engineering. He had actually worked in Columbia- as a bookkeeper, while finishing some English courses at a local community college. That was where they had met, in fact. During one of her many checkouts or long lingers in the library, he had finally gotten the courage to ask him out. The first thing she told him was that she had been intending to do the same when he had walked over. He had cracked a smile, and decided to wait a couple of months before explicitly telling her he wasn't a student. He remembered a couple of dates later, when they had danced in his apartment, smiles unable to be pulled off of their faces. When she had graduated a year after they met, he hadn't stopped calling her "Dr. Crane" until she'd forced his mouth shut with a kiss.

He quite honestly hadn't known what to do with his utter exuberance until he decided to write about it. He hadn't done writing like that before, something that wasn't a half-assed critical analysis or a dumb personal statement where he basically repeated "my dad left after I was born" for five paragraphs. He pulled people from his own life and transformed them, gave them powers and special abilities. He accentuated and punctuated every small thing about them. His vegetarian friend George became a satyr, his affinity for swimming and deadbeat father made him a child of Poseidon, her divorced parents, intelligence, and overbearing mother made her a child of Athena. It was fun. He set it in high school, 'cause he always wished he'd met her then, when he had been pinned down and suffocated. It was almost cathartic, imagining a version of his high school where nothing had gone to shit. Imagining a version of himself that was talented, blaming his problems on his birth. Turning his least favorite teacher into a harpy and his favorite, the person who'd gotten him into Greek mythology to begin with, into the guy in charge of the Greek place. Which makes it sound like a restaurant. Which it wasn't.

She had read his first manuscript, first thinking it was a diary from high school, but after she found out what it was, devoured the entire thing in a couple of hours. When he had come home, he was greeted by a rabid excitement the likes of which he had never seen before. She encouraged him to send the manuscript to a book publisher. He was flattered. He also had a hunch that figuring out he was good at something which was so distinctively academic had narrowed their intellectual divide. He felt closer to her than he had been since he'd told her he wasn't a student, and so he sent in the manuscript to a couple of places. He never expected anything to come of it, and presumed he would either get a version where the entire thing was crossed out in red, or just a stamp on the top that said "Bad Book". To his surprise, every send-in was a yes, and they all seemed fairly anxious he would take another company's offer. He picked Disney-Hyperion, as they had offered him the biggest sum, and promised a cut of the profits. He then quit his job to work on the sequel. It so happened that neither of them left the apartment often. She had a studio in their apartment for her freelance architectural work, and he typically lounged on the couch, typing on his laptop. They both worked a lot, surprising for people with home jobs but she was a perfectionist and he was competitive so they didn't have much free time. Often, while he was still writing, and she had finished a blueprint, she read what he had written that day, smiling, laughing, and giving him tips. In September, the first book was released. When she had cracked open a copy, she had found that he asked her to marry him in the dedication. And then it was now. Revelry. Love. A massive cake. What more could you want?

George's legs had been getting hairy. He'd tried to ignore it, but it was true. He figured he just hadn't looked at his legs in a while, but after a couple of days the heat was almost suffocating whenever he wore pants. He tried to shave, but the razor broke on the thick hairs. He tried to get it waxed, but the waxer couldn't get the was to pull the hair out. "There's just too much", he had said in a thick Russian accent. "You have not been taking care of your legs". George thought that was probably true, but was this really what happened when you didn't look at your legs for a while? He'd had to call in sick when he had left the house, on a cold winter day, and gotten heatstroke from the pants he was wearing. This didn't seem reasonable. His feet were getting wider, too. They were becoming smaller and thicker, folding themselves into things that looked close to disks overnight. These wouldn't fit into shoes. When he had received the invitation to Peter and Ana's wedding, he knew he had to go. He custom-ordered expensive breathable fabrics from China, and when he tried them on, instant relief covered him. He could deal with this for now. But it was still weird. Still very weird.

As George stood to give his Best Man's speech, he felt his knees refuse to stay straight, wanting him to bend them slightly. He did not, forcing himself to stand how he had stood all his life, yet was so alien to him now. "I first met Peter in high school" he said. Peter chuckled; he knew where this was heading. "If you couldn't tell by that chuckle, Pete over here wasn't a very good student. But look at where he is now: a published author. A best-selling author! And married to the smartest person he's ever met." Ana smiled at that. "Not many people in high school saw Pete's potential. I'm just glad that he has the success he deserves. So," he said, raising his champagne glass, "To Peter". "To Peter" echoed the rest of the attendants. He sat down.

The maid of honor, Ana's college roomate Theresa stood to make her speech. "If you're unfamilliar, Ana has never quite had the best love life." she said.

"That's putting it mildly" shouted out Ana from the audience, to peals of polite laughter.

"Like I said. She's always had trouble with men. Or they've had trouble with her. Peter is a pretty cool person. But that isn't what gives me the knowledge that you guys match. It is that every day since she's met you, I have never seen her happier. I want you to be happy, regardless of who the man is. And you've never been this happy." Ana and Peter smiled. "To Ana!" exclaimed Theresa, lifting her champagne glass. The crowd echoed.

And then they were back in their apartment. Tired. Exhausted, in fact.

"Well," Peter said, "I don't want to do that again".

Ana smiled. "I need a drink,'' she said.

"We had like four glasses of champagne." Peter said.

"Whiskey?" she asked.

"How about water?" Peter retorted, being the reasonable one for once.

"Probably a good idea", she answered, collapsing on the couch in her wedding dress.

Peter went into the kitchen, grabbed a glass, and turned on the faucet. The water did not flow into the cup. It lifted above it, the water collecting in a blob above the kitchen sink. Peter turned off the faucet, and the water blob stayed. He rubbed his eyes. Still there. He poked it. The water immediately dropped with a jolt into the cup underneath, leaving an ordinary cup filled with water. He squinted at it. He was probably just tired. Probably.

New chapter Tuesday 12/10/19