The Housemaid’s Wedding: A Short Story

Ten minutes later, we are waiting in city hall for our number to be called.

Yes, this is how getting married works at city hall. You take a number and sit in a plastic chair, waiting for them to call you. I try not to let it bother me that getting married so closely resembles getting a sandwich at the deli. On the plus side, my ears are warm.

Our number is twenty-six, and they have just called twenty-three. Based on how quickly the last few numbers went by, I expect we will be called in the next five minutes. In another fifteen minutes, Enzo Accardi will officially be my husband.

“TWENTY-FOUR!” a voice calls out.

“Last chance to change your mind,” Enzo teases me.

I open my mouth to sass him back, but then something stops me. A slight fluttering in my belly. It almost feels like an air bubble rising up from my insides and poking me. I clutch my abdomen, waiting to see if I feel it again.

And then there it is. Another little flutter.

Enzo’s brow lowers. “Are you okay?”

“I think…” I take a deep breath. “The baby just kicked me.”

“Really?” He rests his own hand on the slight swell of my belly. “I don’t feel anything.”

“TWENTY-FIVE!”

Another couple rises to their feet, disappearing down a hallway. It’s like getting closer in line to a ride that you’re excited about taking. Except you know the ride also has some massive drop and a bit of upside-down stuff, so you’re simultaneously terrified.

I feel that fluttering again, but Enzo just shakes his head. He can’t feel her yet. For now, her kicks are just for me.

“You’ll feel her when she gets bigger,” I promise him.

Paul, who is sitting across from us, speaks up: “I remember feeling my wife’s belly when she was pregnant with our son. That kid kicked all the time! No wonder he likes soccer so much.”

Enzo keeps his hand pressed against my abdomen. “I will feel Little Harriet soon enough.”

“Harriet?” I shake my head emphatically. “I don’t think so.”

“What about Paula?” Paul suggests.

“TWENTY-SIX!”

“That’s us,” Enzo murmurs in my ear.

He reaches for my hand, and we get to our feet like the couples before us did, and Paul follows close behind. I am trembling as we follow the city hall employee down a hallway until we reach the chapel, which really is more like a conference room, although there is a podium at the front. When I was a child, I always imagined I would get married in a church in front of a priest. But here, in front of a judge, is just as good.

Because I’m here with the man that I love.

It’s a standard courthouse wedding ceremony, which is supposed to average no more than two minutes, so it wasn’t like we could write our own vows or anything like that. But the judge at the front has kind eyes, and he smiles at us as he tells us to join hands.

“You’re shaking,” Enzo whispers to me, a smile playing on his lips.

“I’m excited.”

I am shaking, but it’s not the same way I was shaking when I thought there was an intruder in my closet this morning. I’m shaking because this is the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me, although that may move to second place when our daughter is born.

“We are gathered here today,” the judge begins, “in the presence of witnesses for the purpose of uniting in matrimony Wilhelmina Calloway and Enzo Accardi…”

The judge talks about how the contract of marriage is solemn and not one to enter into lightly. That we are pledging ourselves to each other for a lifetime. Enzo is nodding along with what the judge is saying, taking it all so seriously.

I’m glad it’s you, I think to myself. For once, I made the right decision.

“Do you, Wilhelmina Calloway,” the judge says, “take Enzo Accardi to be your lawful wedded husband? To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” I croak.

“Do you, Enzo Accardi,” he continues, “take Wilhelmina Calloway to be your lawful wedded wife? To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish as long as you both shall live?”

“That is not long enough,” he says softly. “But yes. Yes, I do.”

The next thing we do is exchange rings—simple gold bands that we bought online. After the debacle with my wedding dress this morning, I am frightened the ring won’t fit my finger anymore. I hold my breath, expecting the worst, but thankfully, it slides right into place. I thee wed.

“You have joined yourselves in solemn matrimony,” the judge says. “Love is truly the greatest gift we are given to share, and never take the other for granted, for you are destined to spend the rest of your lives joined together. And now, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the State of New York as Deputy Marriage Commissioner, I now pronounce you husband and wife for life.” He pauses. “You may kiss.”

Okay, finally—the good part.

Enzo—my husband!—leans in to give me a kiss that is very courthouse-inappropriate, but I don’t care. I can almost imagine the kind-faced judge giving us a side-eye, and for once, I’m sort of glad my parents aren’t here to witness it. But we have earned this kiss. We have earned this life together.

And I will live happily ever after with my husband.