Chapter 5
Megan was my saving grace during all this. In a sea of crazy, she found me floundering and helped get me back to dry, sane land. We went to concerts, movies, and museums together. When I was with her, time passed in an entirely different way. We talked for hours, long into the night. She was more organised than I was, for sure. With her, we were never late anywhere, we always knew where everything was, and I didn't worry about if I had remembered to do my laundry or buy groceries. She was on top of everything.
I wish she got along better with my friends, but she called them dreamers and they thought she was too rigid and uptight. I didn't really see what they saw, but they weren't dating her- I was, and I liked her. I did have a few frat brothers who were kinda aimless, still figuring things out. I could see her point about them. So if I saw them a bit less now it was because Megan said she felt uncomfortable around them and I respected her opinions.
My mother adored her. They would go shopping and get their nails done and sip martinis during cocktail hour. Seeing my mom more wasn't my favourite but for once mom wasn't trying to control my life so it was less onerous than it could have been. Dad said he liked her too, the one time they met when we flew out to California for Thanksgiving. Megan had our whole itinerary organised, our luggage packed, complete with packing list, and the car rental booked. All I had to do was show up clean, shaven, and dressed. Sometimes I wished she would relax with the scheduling and stop to enjoy the sights or have impromptu moments. When I tried to get her to stop and smell the roses, she would remind me of our itinerary and insist there would be time later.
Other than that though, we clicked really well. I felt comfortable with how things were, for the first time in a long time.
That was, until my Mother began mothering. Once we got back, mom started asking questions about wedding planning, right in front of Megan. I was completely taken by surprise, especially when Megan jumped in and began spouting off ideas and designs and flower choices.
"Whoa, when did we get engaged?" I said. Mom looked up at me with her patented "don't be stupid" face. Megan just laughed.
"Don't be silly, of course we're going to get married. It all makes so much sense and fits in with our ten year plan." Oh so we had a ten year plan? Um, okay. We didn't talk about that but I guess that could wait until later. I had to speak up before they ordered me a tuxedo.
"But I never asked-"
"Logan, shh. You're ruining all our fun. You were going to ask her for christmas, we all know it. We just want to get a head start on things." The thought of marrying her one day had crossed my mind but proposing for christmas? Not in my plan, at all. I hadn't even looked at rings or started saving for one. I was 23, the ink on my diploma still wet. I watched, unable to do or say anything, as these two women before me decided my life.
Rather than start anything in front of my mother, I left the room. I plopped on her couch and channel surfed for half an hour before just messing around on my phone. Soon enough, Megan and Mom were done with whatever they were doing and Megan said we could go.
I was in my driver's seat faster than ever, ready to get this horrible conversation over with. I planned on trying to be as kind as possible but I had to get some thoughts and feelings off my chest before I let things get to me and lost my temper. When she buckled in she didn't notice my agitation but after a few minutes she began to notice my silence. Usually I turned the music up and sang along.
"Logan? You okay?" she asked.
"Well… I have to say… I was really surprised today. I didn't know you were thinking about marriage already and I… I don't know if I'm ready for that." Megan had the decency to think about what I said before replying.
"You know the wedding is at least a year away, right? They take forever to plan, even for me. So it won't be soon." I didn't feel better exactly but that did give me a window of time to adjust. Megan was quiet for a second so I stole a look at her. Her eyes were welling up and she looked heartbroken. "Don't you love me? I thought this would make you happy." A big tear leaked out and ran down her cheek. I instantly felt guilty.
"Of course I do! It's not that at all." I had to find a way to say this right. "I just… I wasn't prepared to start talking about this. I'm afraid I don't know how any of this is supposed to go." I loved her so much, but my own parents loved each other too when they got married and I watched that devolve for 18 years before it imploded the second I was gone.
Megan sniffled. "So… you don't want to marry me?" What was I supposed to say to that? If I said no I would lose her.
I pulled over to the side of the road, parked the car and looked at her seriously. I grabbed her hand and took a deep breath. "Megan, I love you so much. And it would make me very happy to marry you, if you'll have me." She started crying harder, but I'm pretty sure it was happy tears this time.
I had no experience with proposals and weddings, but I had to assume the anxiety I was feeling was part of it. I'm sure all grooms felt this way, at first.
"No it's supposed to be ORCHIDS, you idiot! Why are you trying to ruin this?" I could hear Megan fighting with the florist on the phone. This was her fifth call so far today, her third fight, and it was barely ten in the morning. I was hiding from the whole situation. Apparently I didn't have a good working understanding of what needed to be done so I was demoted from making phone calls to bagging candied almonds with a little poem about love and a small stuffed heart with our initials embroidered on it. When I asked what it was, I was told, "It's cute, that's all I care about." Apparently weddings are not about function.
Over these last 18 months I had learned what weddings are and are not. Weddings are about matching dresses and shoes. Weddings are not about jokes. Weddings are about expensive centrepieces and even more expensive catering. Weddings are not about the music I like at the reception, but they are about making sure all Megan's friends and family liked me.
In the end, I learned to stop asking questions, do what was asked with as little fuss as possible, and the rest of the time just stay out of the way. I spoke to my dad more often now than when I lived with him under the same roof. His advice of "happy wife, happy life" seemed good until I remembered that he was a divorced man who ran away from his marriage and family and was living with a woman named Kimberlee out in California.
When dad wasn't helping, I would shoot an email over to Hillard. He would still offer me solace and a sane person to connect with when the rest of the world was all about ice sculptures and tulle and making sure the flower girl and the ring bearer were practised in walking in a straight line. Hill would advise me to get away from everything that was overwhelming me for a bit, remember that the wedding was just one day and that I loved Megan, and to take some time to get centred before wading back into the fray. I never asked him the questions I was truly worried about because I was scared of the answers- Was this happening too fast? Was I making a mistake? Should I get out now or stick it out and hope for the best?
If I had asked, would I listen to whatever advice he gave?
Everyone in my life, when I approached them about my trepidation, assured me it was just cold feet, that things would go back to normal after the wedding, that all the craziness was inside every bride. Bridezilla, I was promised, would disappear.
The actual ceremony and reception were a blur. Mom had insisted we rent out the yacht club in Bog Harbor since it was bigger and Megan's parents were members there. So everything was covered with white and pink and purple tulle, flowers, and hearts. The centrepieces each cost a car payment. My suit was itchy, I do remember that. I also remember the moment I saw Megan walking down the aisle.
She looked beautiful. She looked happy. I let out a huge sigh of relief and was able to smile the rest of the night. She was happy and this is what she wanted. I could do this for her.
The honeymoon- now that I remember. We decided on Aruba. Ten whole days drinking fruity drinks on the beach, soaking up sunshine and saltwater, and using the evening hours to mingle with the other people at the resort. I wanted to go on an island excursion but Megan was too tired so we stayed at the hotel the whole trip. Not that the hotel wasn't beautiful and lovely. I only wish we had seen more of the island. Megan's wedding insanity seemed cured. We talked normally and relaxed for the first time in far too long. But after lazy days in the sun, sublime evenings together, and a few too many glasses of Sex on the Beach (since Megan also said no to actual sex on the beach) we were back home and back to routine. Or so I hoped.
As it turns out, there's a lot to do for the wedding AFTER the wedding is over. Invoices came in. Thank you cards went out. Gifts had to be organised. Decorations, which I had forgotten were all over our apartment since Mom had everything brought here after the reception, had to be dealt with. We had left directly for the airport so she said she would take care of cleaning up. At the time, I was grateful. When we came home and were assaulted by pink tulle right next to the door, I was less so. So those had to be disassembled, organised, boxed, labelled, and then put into storage.
About two weeks after we got back, I came home to a wonderful surprise. The apartment was clean. There were wonderful smells coming in from the kitchen, and playing softly on my stereo system was a Tears for Fears song. I was sure, for a moment, that I had walked into an alternate dimension. This wasn't my life.
Then Megan's lovely face popped out from around the corner by the kitchen and smiled. "Hey honey! Welcome home!" She ducked back around the corner but soon returned carrying a large pot of spaghetti with bolognese, one of my favourite meals. This was the point in the horror movie where the main character is lulled into a false sense of security and as you're watching it, you start screaming "NO! Get out of the house! She's going to KILL YOU!"
Had I been a spectator of this moment in my life, I would have been screaming at me to stop and question this whole situation as super suspicious. But I was tired. I was worn out mentally from the wedding, I was happy Megan was back to acting like the normal, sane woman I fell in love with, and I was lured into complacency by the dulcet sounds of my favourite band and the smell of meaty red sauce and parmesan. She had even made garlic bread. Anyone might have made my mistake.
Megan informed me she has taken the day off work to clean the apartment and get the last of the wedding decor put away, to cook dinner, and to do it all for me because she loved me. Again, in the horror movie, this is where the monster pretends to be a small child or cute puppy to trick you into getting close and trusting them. After dinner was nothing but crumbs and happy memories, Megan went to the fridge and brought me out a beer, ice cold from the fridge. The beast was setting its trap cleverly.
"So Logan, I've been thinking. Now that all that crazy wedding stuff is finally over, I wanted to get started on our next step." I took a sip of the beer. It was rich and malty and cold. My idiot mouth sabotaged me.
"Sure thing, babe. Whatever you want."
"Great!" Megan's face lit up. "It's the perfect time. I'm ovulating!" My dumb male brain took a moment to recognise that word. Once I did, I saw that the trap had been sprung. I was caught, well and good. She played me perfectly.
"I'm… sorry? What?" I surely misunderstood. Babies? NOW?
"Babies! Or one baby. Let's start making our family!" Megan looked at me with such hope and excitement. I felt like a complete asshole for not feeling the same way. I smiled nervously and wracked my brain for the right words. I stared at the table, the empty plates, the cold beer in my hand, completely frozen with anxiety. I wasn't ready for this. Honestly, I wasn't sure if I would ever want kids. Our talks about the future, our future, were never specific. When we spoke about Megan's "Ten Year Plan," kids were barely mentioned and they seemed hypothetical.
Maybe that was on purpose. Megan knew me- knew how to work me to get her way. My mother did the same thing. I saw evidence of it for months but never realised until now how very similar they were. Was that a thing all women did? Was manipulation an innate female trait? Or was it just these two? Maybe it was me. Maybe I was the compliant one that was beaten down by my mother and that attracted another woman who knew she could mould me after her own design.
The silence was deafening. The moment was pregnant; Megan was not. And apparently she was out of patience. "What are you thinking, in there?" She used her sweetest voice, the voice that got me to do whatever it was she wanted. I both loved and hated that voice.
"Can we talk about this a bit?" I croaked. When did my mouth become so dry? I sipped at my Dos Equis desperately. Megan had the wisdom to nod and stay silent, waiting for me to say what I needed to say.
The whole evening was spent in discussion with Megan methodically and masterfully replying to, refuting, and rationalising all of my thoughts and fears about the topic. In the end, the writing was on the wall- we were going to start trying for a baby.