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Chris Higgins
Relationship: Single

Last Updated: July 1, 2013





It wasn’t often that Chris found himself wandering into New York’s most iconic church. Actually, you could make that never. He’d gone to church as a kid with his mom and siblings, even his father would tag along on occasion, but as he’d grown and hockey had taken up more time, Mass wasn’t something that he found time for regularly.

Sometimes his mother would chastise him for letting it fall to the wayside, but that was happening less and less now that he was what seemed like a world away. It seemed that only almost a full continent, a country border, and multiple time zones would keep his mother from calling every day. But on that summer day, not sunny in the least, Chris ambled into St. Patrick’s cathedral dripping wet.

It was no secret that the church was often used as a safe haven to the homeless and those caught in the bad weather of New York. He’d had plans to meet up with friends for lunch and then a day out to old stomping grounds, but at the last minute his plans had fallen through. So, disgruntled and uncomfortably damp, he welcomed the shelter of the church.

It might have been a while, but Chris remembered a thing or two. He dipped his hand into the fount of holy water and blessed himself before peering into the chapel. The high ceiling room was almost empty, save for a small group of people at the altar. Their voices carried and he backed out. It wasn’t a wedding ceremony, judging by what the party was wearing, but the priest was uttering instructions on the vows.

It wasn’t long before Chris pressed himself up against the wall as the group filed out, accompanied by the minister, and into a side room. Looking around the outer room he stood in, Chris found no benches or chairs.

This time when he swung open the chapel door, Chris didn’t see anyone else inside. Sliding into a pew off to the side, he turned his head around to the statues lining the sides.

Chris couldn’t ignore the cross hanging above his head and he gulped. Not only had it been a long time since he’d stepped foot in a church but probably just as long since he’d prayed. Did he remember how? Of course he did, but it felt awkward speaking to a being that for so long he’d disregarded.

Our Father, who art in…

Chris’s slow thoughts were interrupted by a loud rustling and another voice.

“Mother of G-,” a woman, now bent to the ground as she gathered up papers and folders. “Oops, sorry… God?”

Chris got up to help her, being in a church and all. Extending a hand to pick up a binder, her voice, now relieved, spoke again.

“Jerry,” she hadn’t turned around. “Where have you been? You’re a half hour -,” she spun around and her face dropped. “You’re not Jerry.”

“No,” Chris smiled despite himself. “I’m definitely not. But I’m Chris.” He extended her binder out. “And this is yours.”

“Thanks,” the brunette stuffed it into one of three bags – a green one – sitting in a pew. “Still raining?”

Chris picked at his still wet shorts. “What would give you that idea?”

“Be nice now,” she teased. “We’re in the house of God.” Righting herself from peering into a pink and purple striped bag, she laughed. “I’m Liz.”

“Liz,” he tried it on for size as they shook hands. “Nice to meet you.”

Liz nodded. “Likewise, Mr. Higgins.” His expression must have shown what he was thinking because again, she laughed. “Would you believe me if I told you my dad’s from Vancouver?”

“Are you?” he asked as she palmed a tape measure from yet another purse, this one a bright yellow. “And what do you need a tape measure for in a church? Casing the joint? Hate to tell you, but they’ve got sensors on the statues.” He grimaced as he remembered a childhood accident involving his brother and a shoe.

Instead of answering, she extended a piece of cardstock and went about measuring the distance between pews across the aisles.

“Elisabetta Sanchez, Event Planner, New York, New York. Let’s bring it to life,” Chris read her business card aloud. “You plan weddings?”

“Those are events, aren’t they?”

“Now who’s not being nice?” Chris asked as she handed him the edge of the tape measure. “And now I’m your assistant? Geez, should I go talk to Human Resources?”

“Until my real assistant shows up – if he ever does – you’re it,” Liz backed down the aisle before tapping numbers into her iPhone. “And if I had it my way, I wouldn’t be doing weddings.”

Chris stared back at her. Didn’t all women like weddings? Their little girl fantasies coming alive for a night or day? Wasn’t that something they all looked forward to?

“I work for one of the biggest planning firms in the country, Chris,” she said, collapsing onto a pew. “The big white wedding has lost its appeal to me.”

“So have a small green wedding,” he suggested.

Liz laughed. “The groomsmen will wear Canucks jerseys.”

“What if he’s a Blackhawks fan?” Chris countered.

“He’d never make it past the first date,” she stated.

“Oh,” he laughed then too. “Oh, that’s cold.”

“What can I say?” Liz shrugged. “I’ve been doing this long enough to know it’s best to keep the opposite gender an arm’s length away until you really get to know them.”

Chris made a point of resting his arm next to hers. “And why’s that?”

She stared down at their touching forearms before dragging her gaze back up to him. Springing up, she paced away a few feet before turning back around.

“It’s like the only reason half of these people are getting married is to say, ‘Look who I got!’ or to change their Facebook status to ‘married to whatshisface’. It’s fuc- I mean fricking crap.”

“Nice save,” he muttered to her as she continued talking.

“Personally, I feel like you should get a dry run before you say ‘I do’,” Liz was on a roll. “Find a way for people to get all the benefits of marriage that you don’t get without it. Make it a 60 day thing and then, if they realize it won’t work, call it off, man. Just save everyone some grief and cut each other loose.”

Chris sat back a little. Wow. Here was a woman surrounded by weddings, who could probably plan her own overnight, and yet wanted next to nothing to do with them.

“Maybe it’s just because I haven’t been swept off of my feet yet,” she used air quotes. “But I’ve seen too many people getting married for the wrong reasons to want to jump into that right now.”

“Child of divorce?” he didn’t know where it came from.

“Yes!” Liz threw her hands up in the air. “What gave it away?”

“Lucky guess, maybe,” he shrugged. “And you haven’t mentioned your mom once. Plus, your dad’s called you three times in the last twenty minutes?” Chris nodded down to her white iPhone vibrating on the pew.

She dove for it, blushing. “I’m a Daddy’s girl.” Gathering up her bags, Liz smiled. “I have to go and put an order in for more flowers. It was nice meeting you, Chris. Let me know if you ever need your wedding planned.”

“Stay dry,” he said, watching her go.

She was pretty. Tall and with a good sense of style, Liz would have fit right in with the wives and girlfriends of Vancouver – probably with any organization in the league.

Chris laughed to himself. Like that would happen.



Getting home that night, Chris turned on some Yankees baseball as he settled onto the couch with his laptop. The Facebook app on his phone had told him his friends had messaged him, but Chris hated reading on the iPhone screen. He barely texted.

After rescheduling plans, Chris’s mouse hovered over the red ‘X’ in the corner. Something made him reach into his back pocket and pull out a sheet of card stock. Typing in Liz’s name, he sent her a friend request.



Chris Higgins
Relationship: Married to Elisabetta Sanchez Higgins

Last Updated: August 30th, 2015