“Okay . . . ” I say. Oh God. I avoided this moment so long that it decided to take matters into its own hands and crash into me.
“It’s taken me a while to figure out what exactly went on here, but it appears that Ben Ross put the wrong social security number on your marriage license. I’ve left a number of messages for Mr. Ross and have not heard back.”
“Oh.”
“I’m getting in touch with you, Ms. Porter, to let you know that the marriage has not yet been filed with the county.”
And here it is. What I have feared all along. Ben and I are not legally married. During Ben’s lifetime, we were never recognized as a legal union. My worst nightmare has come true, and as I stand here on the phone, silent, I am surprised to learn that I don’t collapse. I don’t break down.
“Thanks, Patricia. Thank you for calling,” I say. I’m not sure what to say next. It’s such an odd predicament to be faced with. All I’ve wanted since Ben died was proof that we meant something to each other. Now, I realize that no piece of paper can prove any of that.
“Well,” I hear myself say. “Ben passed away.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Ben died. He’s dead. So I’m not sure if you can still file it.”
“I’m so sorry, Ms. Porter. I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you.”
I get the distinct impression that Ms. DeVette doesn’t know what to say. She’s quiet for a few breaths before she speaks again. “Well, I can still file it,” she says. “Since it’s overdue paperwork representing a legal union that did take place. But it’s entirely up to you. We don’t have to.”
“File it,” I hear myself say. “It happened. It should be a part of the county record.”
“All right, Ms. Ross, will do. Can I get his real social security number?”
“Oh,” I say. “What number did he put on the document?”
“518-38-9087.”
“Just change the 518 to 581.”
“Great, thank you, Ms. Ross,” Patricia says to me.
“Thank you for calling,” I say.
“And Ms. Ross?” she says as she is getting off the phone.
“Hmm?”
“Congratulations on your marriage. I’m sorry about your husband.”
“Thank you for saying that,” I say to her. When I put the phone down, I feel a short, sound sense of peace. I was Ben Ross’s wife. No one can take that away from me.
MAY
Elsie Porter?” the officiant said to me.
“Yes?”
“Ben Ross?”
“Yes.”
“Are you two ready?”
“Yes, sir,” Ben said. The officiant laughed and shook our hands. “My name’s Dave,” he said. “Let’s get this show going.”
“Okay!” I said, my arms pumped.
“Would you turn to face each other?” he asked, and we did.
“Ben and Elsie, we are gathered here today for you to celebrate one of life’s greatest moments and give recognition to the worth and beauty of love, as you join together in vows of marriage.”
I couldn’t see the officiant; I just kept staring at Ben. He was staring back at me. His face was lit up. I couldn’t believe how animated his smile was; I’d never seen anything like it. Dave continued to talk, but I couldn’t hear him. I couldn’t make out the words. It felt like the world had stopped, like it was paused and muted, like I was frozen in time and space.
“Did you two prepare vows?” Dave asked, as he brought me back to reality.
“Oh,” I said, looking at Ben. “No, but we can. Wanna wing it?” I said to Ben.
“Sure.” He smiled. “Let’s wing it.”
“Ben? Would you like to go first?” Dave asked.
“Oh, okay. Sure.” Ben was quiet for a minute. “Are vows, like, supposed to be promises you make or just . . . like anything you want to say?” he whispered to Dave.