Weddings and Funerals

I met Lyndsey at a wedding. Actually, I met her after the wedding, at my brother's reception. I remember thinking, as I watched him shake hands with the line of people congratulating him, that he looked like some poor trapped creature; ready to bolt the second the bride loosened her grip on his arm. I laughed, and by doing so jinxed myself. 

“What’s so funny?” asked the girl sitting next to me. 

I quickly tried to turn it into a cough, but it was too late. “He looks like he just received the death sentence,” I explained, gesturing towards the groom. 

She studied him for a second. “Or like he’s got a really bad hangover,” she suggested. 

I laughed again. “Exactly.” 

“Well, the bride looks happy, anyway,” she sounded pleased. 

“Of course.” I smiled at my new sister-in-law. “Tessa’s been chasing him for years, and it looks like she finally caught him.” I realized, too late, that my new acquaintance might be the bride’s cousin for all I knew. “Er, you’re not related, are you?” I asked. 

“Oh, no, just a friend of the bride,” my companion smiled endearingly. 

“How long have you known her?” 

“Mmm, about three months.” 

“Really? Then you probably met her around the same time they got engaged.” 

“A week before, actually.” 

I snorted. “Yeah, it was all pretty quick.” 

“Not really—I mean, she told me they’ve know each other for what, three, four years? I can’t remember.” She waved her hand dismissively, and I laughed again, unsure why. All I knew was that a sudden inexplicable giddiness made me want to grab her hands and twirl her around. Instead I just waved towards the dance floor. 

“Would you like to dance?” I didn’t know why my stomach was flip-flopping. This was ridiculous. I was acting like a scared kid asking a girl out for the first time. 

“No thank you. I’m a misandrist.” 

I nodded sagely, watching her out of the corner of my eye. I'd never heard of that religion. “What did you say your name was again?” 

“I didn’t,” she smiled dazzlingly. “It’s Lyndsey.” 

“Tom,” I tried to sound casual, but blushed. I sounded ridiculous. 

“Hello, Tom,” she said pleasantly, and I blushed deeper. What was the matter with me? 

“Are you going to Tessa’s annual Christmas party?” I asked nonchalantly. It was only October, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say. 

“I don’t know. She hasn’t invited me yet.” 

“Well, she doesn’t usually send out invitations until the first week of December. Her parties are huge. She invites everybody she knows. Our family’s gone the past three years, since she started dating Henry. I don’t know if she’s still going to have them now… Henry’s not big on crowds….” 

Lyndsey was starting to look bored. “Well, hey,” I said standing, “it was nice to meet you. I really enjoyed talking.” 

She smiled again. “You’re welcome.” 

“See you around,” I said, then turned and walked over to where a few of my aunts stood chattering. “Wow,” I thought, “what a great sense of humor.” I watched Lyndsey until she left. 

She was at Tessa and Henry’s Christmas party, to my great relief. She stood alone by the roaring fireplace, leaning on the mantle and looking at something on her phone. I made straight for her. “Hey Lyndsey!” I said. 

She looked up, surprised. “Oh, hi…” she said, “Tom?” her brow furrowed. 

I beamed. “Excellent! You remembered.” 

She raised her eyebrows. “Well, I guess I might have thought of you when Tessa sent me the invitation. But I came anyway.” 

I laughed. “So, I guess my attempts at conversation last time we met didn’t impress you very much.” 

She shook her head. “Oh, I’m very impressed. I’ve never met anyone this persistent. Usually they don’t even approach me unless they’re drunk.” 

“Well, I’m not drunk yet,” I said, eyeing the tables which bent under platters of cookies and glasses of punch and brandy. “Can I get you a drink?” 

She hesitated, then shrugged. “Sure.” 

When I returned she was engrossed in her phone again. “So,” I fished for something to say, desperate to get her attention back on me. “Didn't you say you’re some sort of Baptist?” I asked, remembering how she had turned down my invitation to dance. I felt pathetic, resorting to religion as a topic, but she looked up, suddenly interested. 

“No, I worship Hecate. I’m a second-class witch.” 

I wracked my brains. “Ah! Wiccan!” I exclaimed triumphantly. 

“More or less.” Lyndsey’s gaze dropped back down to her phone. I was losing her. 

“I was friends with a really sweet girl in high school who was Wiccan,” I mused, staring at a pine-cone-sprinkled wreath on the opposite wall. “Always regretted never asking her out.” From the corner of my eye I watched Lyndsey’s reaction. She gave me a withering a look and I decided to cut to the chase. “Want to go to dinner sometime?” I asked. “I haven’t know you very long but… I think we’d have fun together.” 

Lyndsey glared at me. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned the friend from high school. Did that sound too much like "high school crush"? I wondered whether I should tell her I had made up the Wiccan friend, but decided against it. 

Her eyes flashed a second longer, but then she smiled at me. “Why not?” she said. “You’re not so insufferable. Anyways, it’s a free meal.” 

I chuckled in relief. “Great, I’ll call you.” I stood there awkwardly for a moment as she stared past me. “Mistletoe,” I said suddenly, pointing to the bunch of green dangling above us. How had I not noticed that sooner? 

“It’s ivy,” she said, her eyes going back to the phone in her hand. 

Our first date wasn’t the best I've had. Lyndsey was a major tease, and sometimes I almost felt like she was mocking me. But she agreed to go out again. Soon I noticed that she really didn’t seem to care for men. After the third time she called a waiter a "male chauvinist pig", I decided to talk to my brother about it. I figured he had more experience with women. 

“Tom, it sounds like you’re in an abusive relationship,” he said when I told him my problem. "She's always rude to you, and she just uses you to foot the bill." I wanted to laugh, but the concern in his voice told me he wasn’t joking. 

“She’s just very bitter,” I explained. “I think she must have had a lot of bad experiences with guys in the past. Maybe she's been in abusive relationships.” Horror filled me as I considered the possibilities. 

“You really don’t know her very well,” observed Henry.  

“No, not really. I know she’s a wedding planner, always hired by the bride, but that’s about it.” 

“Maybe you should find out a little of her history.” 

“Good idea. Can you see if Tessa knows anything about her past?” 

“I can ask….” he sounded doubtful, and I felt bad asking him to face his fear like that. 

“Don’t worry about it. We’re going to dinner as usual tonight, and I can just ask her then.” 

“Don’t you two ever do anything besides go to dinner?” 

“No. She says the only reason she’s dating me is for the free food.” I laughed at his aghast expression. “But she’s so gorgeous. It’s completely worth it.” 

I asked Lyndsey to tell me more about herself the same night I proposed. I was more than a little excited. We never really talked on our dates, and I couldn’t wait for the conversation I was sure would ensue. But she brushed off both questions. 

“Tom,” she said, “You realize it’s only been four months since we met.” 

“Seven,” I corrected her. “And we’ve been going out more than three times a week for five of those months.” 

“My apologies. I’m afraid I can’t say yes.” 

I was disappointed, but not particularly surprised. “Please? Can’t I at least spend the night at your place?” I doubted she would say yes, but it couldn’t hurt to try. 

She considered for a moment, and then, to my astonishment, agreed. “You’ll have to sleep on the couch though,” she said. I didn’t mind. It was one step closer. And maybe we could finally have our first kiss…. 

Sleeping in new places always makes me restless. That night I tossed and turned, knocking several couch cushions onto the floor before I settled down. When I finally fell asleep I had the most bizarre dream. 

Lyndsey was leaning over my face, not close, but closer than she had ever been before. “I hate men, Tom," she whispered. "My apologies, but I do. I’m never letting you touch me. Ever. Although there is something… almost likeable about you…." She pondered for a moment. "I think it’s your nose. Yes, that's it. It’s very chiseled. That’s the only reason I’ve kept you around so long.” She straightened up. “I really am a witch. I know you won’t believe me, but all those weddings I ‘plan’—I really just sell potions. It’s a mind control thing, guaranteed to make the man of your choice fall in love with you. He’ll have no option but to propose, and then follow through with it. They don’t actually fall in love with the women, but my magic forces them into marriage. Sometimes I arrange funerals too. My poisons are renowned for their potency.” She snickered. “I love my job. Torturing men and knocking off innocent people. It’s hilarious.” 

A booming knock sounded on the front door, and Lyndsey jumped. “It’s midnight,” she muttered nervously. “He’s found me. Oh, Selene, he’s found me.” Trembling, she crept towards the door, flinching as the knock sounded again. She undid the bolt and pulled it open slowly. “Dáskalos,” she greeted her visitor. 

He loomed in the doorway, filling its meager frame with his shadowy form. He was enormous. A cloud must have revealed the moon—there was a full moon that night, don't ask me how I know—for suddenly there was a change in the light and I could see him fully. He was at least seven feet tall, shirtless, and bulging with muscles. He had only one eye. I whimpered in terror, and Lyndsey’s head turned. A desperate glint filled her eyes as she regarded me for a moment before turning back to the monster in the doorway. 

“You are still a virgin.” he said in a low growl. It was  a statement, not a question. 

“I have until the moon sets,” she said desperately. “You cannot eat, until then.” 

“Oh, but I am so hungry. Please, take your time.” He grinned, and I could see his gleaming mouth, full of pointed teeth like a rat’s. “I know how much you hate men, Misó̱. You cannot possibly have one you would even consider.” 

“Really?” she gestured to where I lay, paralyzed by fear, and the monster noticed me for the first time. Shock clouded his face, but then he composed himself. “You are bluffing, Little Hate.”  

She looked him straight in the eye. Her gaze was steady, but I could see how badly her hands shook behind her back. “Am I?” 

“We shall see. I will return tomorrow night and—” he leered at her, “you will be providing dinner? We shall see.” He turned and disappeared back into the darkness he had come from. 

She stared after him for a moment, then shut the door. She raised her hand to the bolt, then changed her mind and dropped it. “No good,” she said, then looked at me. Her gaze was cold and even, and I realized I had yet to see a smile that reached her eyes. 

I woke up in a cold sweat. There was no one but me in the room. I breathed deeply for a few minutes, trying to calm myself down; and eventually I was able to fall back asleep. 

I was woken in the morning by the aroma of coffee and sizzling bacon. I sat up and stretched. The first thing I had to remember was where I was. Then I remembered the dream. “Lyndsey?” I called. 

“In the kitchen!” 

I staggered in. “Can I get some coffee? I feel like someone bashed my head in with a rock last night.” 

She handed me a steaming mug. “It’s a big day today, so hurry and get dressed. I left some clothes on the desk on the hall for you.” I didn’t remember bringing a change of clothes with me. 

“Alright,” I took a long sip, then set my cup on the table and lurched off in the direction she had indicated. I was surprised to see that the clothes she had laid out for me looked like something I would wear to the office. “Uh, Lyndsey? What’s with the suit?” I stepped back into the kitchen. 

“We’re going down to town hall and getting married. Hurry,” she glanced at the clock on the wall. It read six thirty. “We’ve got less than two hours.” For the first time I noticed that it was still dark outside, and that Lyndsey was wearing a beautiful white dress, adorned with lace and pearls. 

“I-I thought you said no.” I was confused, and my head felt like it was full of syrup. 

“I changed my mind.” 

“Should we—shouldn’t—tell people?” 

“I thought it would be more romantic just to elope.” 

Lyndsey? Romantic? My head spun. “Okay,” I agreed. 

That evening I sat uncomfortably at Lyndsey’s kitchen table while she scurried around the house with a duffle bag, stuffing things into it. I still felt like my brain had been replaced by a wad of dryer lint. “Honey?” I said, hoping she wouldn’t get mad at me for calling her that without asking permission first. “What are you doing?” 

She paused to pull three glasses out of the cupboard and set them on the counter. She pulled a bottle of something out of the fridge and poured it into one of the glasses. She left the other two empty. “I’m packing for our honeymoon.” 

I was baffled. We still hadn’t even kissed. In fact, now that I thought about it, we had never even touched, except by accident. A wave of nausea hit me and I put my head down on the table. “My head feels like—crap,” I said. 

“Hmm.” She stuffed some socks into the already bulging pocket of the bag she had plopped on the table. The doorbell rang. Lyndsey stiffened, then slowly straightened and headed towards the door. I didn’t follow, but stayed in the kitchen, slumped on the table. 

“Dásk,” I heard her say rigidly. “Come in.” There was a rumbling answer, too low for me to hear. I sat up as straight as I could as Lyndsey entered the kitchen, followed by the visitor. He was a huge, troll-like man, with a head like a boulder and enormous rolling shoulders. He seemed familiar, somehow, and a small moan slipped out of my mouth. 

“This is your husband?” he growled. I forced a smile. 

“Yes.” She turned to me. “Tom, meet Dásk. He was my… favorite teacher.” 

I held out a hand, but he ignored it and plopped down in the chair next to me. “I brought something to celebrate your nuptials,” he smirked, pulling out what looked like a bottle of wine.  

Lyndsey froze, and I could almost swear she whispered, “Truth serum,” but I wasn’t sure. She took it from him slowly. “All three of us?” she asked. 

“Why not? I have nothing to hide. And your friend here,” he sneered at me, “will have no secrets relevant to us, I’m sure.” 

“There’s nothing I can do, is there?” Lyndsey asked. Dásk shook his head. She took a deep breath and turned to the counter. From where I sat, I could see her pour it into the two empty glasses, then put the stopper in. Dásk had pulled out a ballpoint pen and was scrutinizing it cheerfully. Lyndsey turned from the counter and carefully placed each glass on the table. She made sure to put the one she had filled earlier in front of Dásk. He lifted it grinning. 

“Drink up, little Misó̱,” he grinned, then took a gigantic slog of his. “Then we shall see—” a huge flame shot up around him and he disappeared in an eruption of light. As suddenly as it had flared up, it died; leaving nothing but a large, sooty grey stone on his chair. 

I stared in disbelief at the ash-covered rock. “L-Lyndsey?” I looked up to find her standing at the sink, carefully rinsing out one of our glasses. The other already stood on the sideboard, drying. 

“Yes?” 

“W-What just happened?” 

“He died,” she said calmly, pulling yet another bottle out of the refrigerator. “Don’t worry,” she said, flashing the label towards me. I was too bleary to read it. “This one’s brandy.” She filled both of our now empty glasses with the ruby colored liquid, then set them on the table. 

“I don’t remember brandy being this color,” I thought, picking it up and staring at it. But I still couldn’t think. 

“I’ll be right back,” said Lyndsey. She bent as if to kiss me on the forehead, then changed her mind. “I’ve just got to grab my passport.” 

“What do you need your passport for?” I asked, raising the glass to my lips. 

“I’ve got to go into hiding. I’m not sure I’ll get away with this one.” I had no idea what she was talking about. “Do you like your juice?” 

My brain still felt like it had been assaulted. I tipped my glass back, utterly befuddled. 

I took a sip.