Take A Picture (It'll Last Longer)

I can’t believe it. I really can’t believe it. I’m married. I am Mrs. Ben Dawes. Well, I’m thinking about hyphenating the name. Mrs. Catt Morgan-Dawes sounds good. All in all, it was a pretty short ceremony. Ben actually did wear a nice shirt with a suite jacket and slacks while I donned the white bridesmaids’ dress I wore to Cornelia’s older sister’s wedding a few years back. Ben actually seemed nervous, which I found funny. Dirk was his best man while I had Cornelia and Elle stand in as bridesmaids at the last second. Truthfully, we just needed them as our witnesses. My parents were there and my mother cried, which I think disturbed the judge a little bit. Then we ordered some Chinese takeout and ate it in the living room of my apartment. Our apartment, as Ben would correct me.

It’s funny. I don’t feel different as married. Probably because this is all a big sham. But still, I thought I’d feel different once I was married, fake or not. Instead I just feel like… well, bored. My mother is busy organizing all of the leftovers from the takeout into plastic containers for the fridge, while Dirk, my dad, and Ben watch soccer (football as Ben is quick to correct us) on ESPN. Cornelia and Elle are flipping through the copies of Time and Newsweek on my coffee table, discussing where the best place to get your hair done is. While they do this, I’m putting the finishing touches on a story that’s due in three days and sending it off. I don’t have that much work to do because, amazingly enough,

Ben managed to coax the magazine into giving the two of us a week off for our “honeymoon”, which is really the two of us flying down to Acapulco and hanging out at this resort place for a few days. Ben planned it as a surprise for me since I haven’t taken any vacation time since I started working for Chicago Magazine. Ben himself took almost an entire month off last year to go back to England because his sister, Amelia, was supposed to be getting married. In the end, Amelia, who is apparently a huge commitment-phob, left the dude at the altar and ran off to Bavaria, of all places, with some rugby player she met the day before.

At any rate, once I finished up my article, I walked into the kitchen to see if I could help my mother. She had pretty much finished putting away all the leftovers and was now throwing out things that I had left in my fridge long past the date they were supposed to spoil. The cheerful way in which my mother was throwing out sour milk and moldy bread bothered me a little. Okay, a lot. She was like some sort of scary old movie villainess who is happy and cheery up to the point that she stabs you or hits you over the head with a hammer. I jumped up on the counter and started swinging my legs back and forth, like I used to do when I was little and my mother would make cookies.

“It’s so nice what Ben is doing for you, taking you to Mexico and all,” my mother beamed. I rolled my eyes.

“I’m paying for half of it,” I reminded her. “And Ben is all excited about taking pictures of the beach so it’s not like we’re actually going to see each other the entire time we’re going to be there.”

“I don’t think that’s true, Catt. You’ll see plenty of each other,” my mother shook her head. “It’s a honeymoon after all.”

“Mom,” I said annoyed, “it’s not. We’re just calling it that so they’ll let us off work.”

“I don’t know sweetie,” my mother said with a beam in her eyes. “Ben is a nice looking boy…”

“Ew! Gross!” I hissed, throwing a dish rag at her. I missed and it landed in the sink.

“Catt, don’t be childish,” my mother sighed. “Besides, he is a nice guy. You could have done a lot worse…”

“Mom, this is a fake marriage,” I sighed tiredly. “I’ve explained that to you several times…”

“But he does look like a young Sean Connery… except blonde… and with less of an accent,” my mother mused. “And when he wears those tight jeans you can really tell he has a large…”

“Mother!” I hissed. “You’re already married! And he’s my fake husband…” I really couldn’t look at her and say “Well, you know Mom, been there, done that” without her getting on my case about handing away my “precious gift” like it was Halloween or something.

“I know, I know,” my mother sighed sadly, “but I wish you would at least consider making some sort of commitment to this marriage…” Just as she said this, Ben walked into the room, grabbed a beer out of the fridge and jumped up on the counter across from me.

“What are we talking about?” Ben asked.

“How I need to get this water out to Brian,” my mother sighed. “Ever since he had that heart scare three months ago he’s been worse about his health than ever! He says that he might as well enjoy the finer things while he’s around but all those finer things are going to kill him!” My mother went off murmuring about my father is stubborn and so am I, much to Ben’s amusement.

“That sounds like it was a cheery conversation,” Ben remarked.

“You have no idea,” I grumbled.

“So what were you two really talking about?” Ben asked me.

“How my mother thinks that when we go to Acapulco I need to let you carry me away and bang my brains out because you’re reminiscent of a young blonde Sean Connery,” I shrugged.

“No seriously,” Ben laughed, “what were you talking about?”

“My mother wants to know if you stuff your pants when you wear tight jeans or if you’re just happy to see her,” I replied.

“So your mum has the hots for me?” Ben asked with raised eyebrows.

“I don’t know about that,” I shrugged. “It’s weird because you’re like her son now.”

“But I’m not her son,” Ben pointed out.

“When did you develop the Oedipal complex?” I asked him with a snort.

“I do not have an Oedipal complex!” Ben replied annoyed. He reached into the sink and threw a sponge at me which I threw back at him.

“You’re so mature,” I said to him sarcastically.

“Hey, you threw it back!” Ben snorted. We glared at each other for a moment and then fell into a fit of giggles. My dad yelled for us to quiet down because he was watching the game and that just made us laugh harder. When we were done, I grabbed Ben’s beer off the counter next to him and took a few sips. “Hey! I was drinking that!”

“Which explains why there’s barely any left,” I snorted before handing it back to him. “You’re like a baby with your bottle.”

“Mother’s milk,” Ben said looking at the bottle before downing the rest.

“Really? Your mother had…” I began.

“You know what I mean,” Ben said. “Don’t make me throw the sponge at you.”

“That’s spousal abuse, mister,” I replied threateningly.

“I could claim self defense,” Ben replied. “They’d believe me, you know. I’m small and petite while you’re big and burly…”

“I am not big and burly!” I said. Actually, I’m about 5’6 and weigh around 120 pounds. “And you’re not petite. You’re scrawny.” Which is the truth. Ben is around 5’9 and seems to be skinner than I am. He’s skinner than most of those actresses they accuse of being anorexic. Of course, people don’t accuse Ben of having an eating disorder. They just say he’s “wiry”. If he grew his hair out more he could probably be one of those howling lead singers for a crappy band.

“Why are you staring at me?” Ben asked me with a sly grin.

“More I’m staring what isn’t there as opposed to what is,” I snorted. Ben rolled his eyes at me.

“You know you want me,” Ben grinned.

“About as much as I want to die slowly and painfully,” I growled. “Oh wait, I’m already married to you…and I thought cruel and unusual punishment was illegal…”

“You better behave or I’ll tell your mother the real reason we got married was that you’re pregnant and are too scared to tell her,” Ben said, not so teasingly.

“Like she probably doesn’t think that to begin with,” I snorted.

“Then I’ll just confirm her suspicions,” Ben smirked.

“Confirm this,” I said, throwing a kitchen towel at him.

“Aw,” Cornelia said coming into the kitchen with a smile, “the two of you are already fighting like an old married couple.”

“We’ve been fighting like this the entire time we’ve known each other,” I said to her. “You walked in on us fighting like this last week.”

“Yeah, but that was at work,” Cornelia shrugged. “I guess it’s different seeing the two of you all married and fighting.”

“What’s the difference?” I asked, annoyed with her.

“It’s just cuter this way,” Cornelia shrugged.

“Us? Cute?” I said, disgusted.

“Speak for yourself,” Ben snorted. “I find myself to be very cute.”

“I’d say you were more ditzy than cute,” I shot back.

“Look who’s talking!” Ben said before sticking out his tongue.

“Sticking out your tongue? What are we? Five?” I snorted.

“See? Look at the two of you!” Cornelia cooed.

“Cornelia, you are going to have to get back into the living room before I hurt you,” I sighed.

“Why are you going to hurt me?” Cornelia asked me, pouting.

“Because Ben’s too far away,” I said. She rolled her eyes, grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge, and then walked off.

“Honestly,” Ben said, “look at this face and tell me I’m not cute.” He made his best puppy dog eyes at me and it was everything I could do to not rush over and cuddle up against him. Ben has that affect on people. Okay, by people I mean me.

“You’re tolerable,” I shrugged.

“Tolerable? Just tolerable?” Ben said, mocking offense. “Well, you can’t really expect me to keep the figure I had in college. People do get older you know…”

“You could work out every once in a while,” I shrugged. “Might do you some good.”

“And how am I supposed to find time to do that?” Ben said, pretending to be hurt. “I’m always slaving away, cleaning up after you. And I certainly haven’t lost the baby weight.”

“Or maybe you’re just getting it back,” I said heartlessly.

“You don’t think…” Ben said acting horrified, “but I never got a chance to loose the weight from the last one!”

“Well, at least you can tell people you’re fat because you’re pregnant,” I said tiredly.

“What?” Dirk said, walking into the kitchen.

“This is why you don’t walk in on a conversation midway through,” Ben shook his head. “It’s always awkward.”

“I think I’m just going to…” Dirk said, not even bothering to finish his sentence before turning around and heading back into the living room. As soon as he was gone, Ben and I were laughing riotously again.

“Did you see the look on his face?” Ben giggled. “Oh, that was priceless! He probably honestly thought… Oh, that was hilarious…”

“I know,” I laughed. “Oh, he’s so clueless!”

“Yeah,” Ben said looking at me strangely. “Clueless.”