Tessie D

Angel and I got married. I wish there was a different story that I could tell about the last week. And I suppose maybe I should start from the beginning. Tell it all, try to find the words.

We went up to the courthouse on the 14th and had our appointment at 2 o’clock. I took the day off from work. I got ready that morning, took a long shower, fixed my hair, put on makeup, put on my dress and shoes. They were little white shoes with the little bitty heel on them. I had a nice lunch. Made myself some; I got some cheese and crackers and jelly at the store. Little sausages. Felt kind of fancy, almost like having brunch before the wedding.

I met Angel up at the courthouse, and he was wearing one of his church suits. It was dark blue with a blue tie, a white shirt underneath, blue slacks, and black shoes. We went up to the courthouse, and we walked up the front steps, and he held my hand. When he first saw me, he smiled, and his whole face lit up, and I felt for a moment that everything was going to be just perfect. Everything would be perfect and that this was going to be the most wonderful life.

And so we went into the courthouse and told the clerk that we were there. She had us sit in the lobby waiting. And there were dozens of couples, since it was Valentine’s Day, wearing dresses like mine. The women were wearing dresses like mine. Nothing fancy, but really nice and pretty. And some of them had little kids with them to watch the wedding, and it was such a special kind of afternoon. People talk about Valentine’s Day, and they’re so cynical and jaded, but this was so beautiful and sweet to see everybody coming on the same day to get married in their small, private, intimate ways.

So finally, the clerk called our name at 2 o’clock, and we went into the judge’s chambers. He was a tall, skinny man with dark brown hair and a beard, just really closely shaven and neat. And his robes were pressed and starched. And he had a white shirt with a pink tie on underneath. You could tell that this was something he does all day on Valentine’s Day. And he was happy. He was genuinely happy for everybody. I’d imagine being a judge that there are a lot of days that you don’t get to come to work and officiate over other people’s happiness. But today was one of those. And he really enjoyed the moment. He took his time.

We stood up at the front, and we repeated our vows to each other. “I, Angel, take you, Tess,” “I, Tess, take you, Angel,” and it was only maybe five minutes, and then he announced us husband and wife. We kissed very politely and discreetly, but Angel smiled a big, broad smile, a little bit mischievous, like he was anticipating. And then we left the courthouse, and he followed me in my car back to my house. I went inside and grabbed my overnight bag and left my car, and we climbed back into his truck and we started driving down towards Fredericksburg.

We left Brownwood and stopped and got hamburgers at some fast food restaurant on the way out of town, and it felt so perfect that this quiet life that we wanted was starting that day, and it was starting with all of these small, seemingly insignificant, quiet moments: a small courthouse wedding, fast food burgers on the way out of town, a drive to Fredericksburg for a short weekend getaway honeymoon. We didn’t need anything fancy or elaborate; we just had each other. And I remember thinking how perfect—I was going to have everything I ever wanted. Somebody who loved me and cared about me. I was going to have a family that I could nurture and care for. And I was going to be able to do the things that I wanted to do because I was married and had support and resources to find my dreams and live them out.

So we drove to Fredericksburg. It was about two and a half hours. We stopped along the way and got gas, drinks, and road snacks, as Angel calls them. And he did what he always did. He filled up his arms full of candy and chips and peanuts, packages of peanuts and bags of chips and four different types of candies. And he dropped them all in the center on the bucket seat between us like it was some booty or bounty that he had found somewhere, like a pirate, and he wanted to display his goods.

We drove through Central Texas with winding country roads that snaked through granite rock formations—red and rust and orange with green, stubby little mesquite trees along the way, and rusted barbed wire fences struck to cedar posts. There were mesquite trees and the road wound up and down throughout the land. It was curvy and hilly, with rock formations that jetted up into the sky. And there was a moment where it looked like we’d almost entered into a different state. I’d never seen rock formations come up out of the ground like that. Granite and rust-colored, with short, stubby mesquite trees that dotted the landscape.

When we got to Fredericksburg, we turned off just before coming into town. We stopped at a little gas station and picked up some meats, cheeses, breads, coffee for the morning, milk, cream, sugar, eggs, and bacon. We pulled into a country road, and down at the end of the lane was a small wooden cabin nestled under large oak and pecan trees, hidden back and tucked away from the main road. The cabin had a small porch with two metal porch chairs with a scalloped base and a little table beside them. Inside was a small little kitchen, a couch, a bed, and a bathroom—nothing bigger than for just two people. But it was rustic and homely, with dark wooden paneling, white appliances, and a faded brown leather couch.

Angel picked me up and, before walking in, carried me across the threshold. I was still wearing my Sunday dress, and he was still in his suit, although he’d taken the jacket off and loosened the tie and the top button on his dress shirt. And he scooped me up in his arms and carried me across the threshold into the small living room slash bedroom. And he set me down, and I giggled and felt so blissfully happy. I wish Mama had been there to see me that day, to see me at my wedding. I wish Mama had seen how pretty I looked and how happy I was. I think it would have made her so proud to see me as somebody’s wife and to see how handsome and strong Angel is.

And so Angel brought in the bags—a little weekend overnight bag that I’d packed and his bag. We only planned to stay for two nights in the cabin because we needed to get back to Brownwood so that we could go to work. Angel only took off two days; I took off three. And that was about all Mr. and Mrs. Owens could spare us for. There was still so much work that had to be done.

And so we went into the cabin, and I unloaded the groceries, put the eggs and bacon in the fridge, and set out plates with cheese, smoked sausage, and crackers. I went into the bathroom, still too self-conscious to even think about changing in front of Angel into more comfortable clothes. By the time I came out of the bathroom, Angel had already showered and changed out of his dress suit into some sweatpants and a T-shirt. His hair was glistening, and he had pushed it back, his skin with just the faintest tinge of light brown against his dark hair and dark eyes.

So we sat down at the table. Angel had picked up a bottle of wine at the convenience store, and he opened it and poured us two glasses. Mrs. Owens had sent with us as an early wedding present a small little cake that she had made—a white cake with a subtle taste of almond with a coconut buttercream frosting. So we ate the cheese and the smoked sausage and crackers, drank a glass of wine, and then we cut the cake into small pieces and ate that.

I was so blissfully happy, happier than I thought was possible. I’ll admit I’d been a little nervous all morning leading up to the wedding, thinking about whether or not I was making the right decision. Several times I thought about backing out, that maybe we were rushing things, that it was all going too fast, that he didn’t really know me as well as I wished he did at that moment. I heard him say all these months and weeks that we would have all the time to get to know each other, but I wasn’t quite sure. I want to be married to somebody who knows me and loves me through and through.

We sat down to dinner, and I took off my shoes while still in my dress. It was quiet for a little bit, and then Angel reached out his hand and squeezed mine. He looked me in the eyes, and I felt like he was seeing me—like really seeing me for the first time in a way that nobody else had ever seen me. And I could feel the exhale leave my body. I felt all of the nerves go with it.

“I feel like there’s something I need to tell you,” he said finally.

“Okay, what?”

“I told you about my ex-girlfriend, the girl that I’d gone to high school with. And I feel like I need to tell you that we were a bit more intimate than maybe you might think.”

“I don’t understand what that means. Like, what do you mean?” I asked, kind of confused, but also feeling vaguely hopeful that he was sharing something so private.

“I want to say that, you know, just like you and me, we kissed and those sorts of things, but we also went a little further. And it was difficult afterward because I felt like I had betrayed a vow of sorts, or I had betrayed my commitment to God and my faith by being with a woman that I hadn’t been married to, even though I thought at the time we would get married.”

I looked at him, trying to understand what he was saying, but it didn’t make sense. “Wait, I don’t understand what you’re saying. So you were dating your ex-girlfriend, the one that was your high school sweetheart, and y’all kissed. And you’re telling me that you kissed, and you’re telling me that you also had sex?”

Angel nodded, and he squeezed my hand. “Yes. Yes, that’s what I’m telling you. And I just feel like it’s important that you should know that going into this. Afterward, she was bothered by it, and I was, too. We felt like we had committed some sort of sin against God, and our relationship never really fully recovered from it. That’s really why we broke up. We both had gotten carried away in the heat of the moment, and neither of us was emotionally equipped to handle it; neither of us really knew what to do afterward and how to reconcile it with our faith.”

I nodded, and I looked down. I think I was supposed to be angry with him—I think that’s what he wanted, or maybe he wanted me to give him some sort of absolution—but that’s not what I felt at all. I felt relief. I felt elated. I was so happy he had shared this very intimate and vulnerable experience with me, and for a moment I felt I could share mine now. I could tell the truth about my experiences.

So I took a deep breath, looked at him, and said, “I think I understand better than you think I do.”

Angel blinked, cocked his head to the side, and smiled a little bit. It was patronizing. “I don’t think you do. We’ve come from very different backgrounds, and we had very different experiences. I don’t think you quite understand what I’m saying.”

I looked at him and said, “I do understand. I do understand what you’re saying. I had my own experience. I mean, granted, it wasn’t with someone special to me. I went to a party during my senior year of high school, and there was a guy there. And I was in the back room, and we had sex.”

Angel looked at me, and he blinked, and all of the animation and life washed out of his face. I misunderstood that look and somehow read it as an invitation. Or maybe I didn’t misread the look; maybe I knew exactly, but it felt so good to share finally, to say the truth of my experience with him, to tell him everything, to be open and vulnerable and honest with him. It felt like once it was started, I couldn’t stop.

“And after we had sex, I got pregnant. I was supposed to go to college, move away from home, be a writer or a teacher, read books and think about them. But instead, I had a baby, and she was beautiful and delicate and so tiny, so perfect. And a little while after she was born, when she was about ten months old, she got sick and she died.”

I could feel the tears start to well up in my eyes just thinking about her and talking about her.

Angel pulled his hand back slowly, sat back in the chair, and looked at me. “What do you mean? What do you mean you had sex and got pregnant and had a baby? What does that mean?”

I was still carried away by the momentum of sharing for the first time the real, deepest, darkest, most intimate part of myself with him. I misread his response. I heard the questions, and I just kept answering them without pretext.

“Well, I… Like I said, I went to a party, and there was a guy there that I worked with at the restaurant. He was the manager. And I was in the back room, and he came back there, and we had sex. And then I quit my job and stayed home. A few months later, I found out I was pregnant. I didn’t want to have an abortion. I was so hurt by the whole experience, and all I could think about was maybe there would be one positive thing to come from it—one good thing to come from that whole terrible experience. Maybe it was this little baby who would grow up to love me, and I could love her. But then she died, and that terrible experience was somehow not even close to the worst thing that had ever happened to me. Losing her was worse than anything I’d ever possibly experienced in my entire life.”

“Wait, you had a baby, and it died? Why didn’t you tell me this? Why is this the first time I’ve ever heard about this?”

And then suddenly the curtain had been pulled, and I saw for the first time that he wasn’t empathetic. He wasn’t coming from a place of concern or care or a sense of sharing our mutual souls with each other. He was angry.

“Wait, okay. You had a baby, and the baby died, and you’ve never told me this? Of all the months, weeks, and hours that we spent together, you never thought to share this with me?”

“Well, yeah, I tried. I tried so many times. I tried so many times to tell you. I even asked you to read it—it’s in my online diary. I told you to read it; it’s all in there.”

“Wait, just back up. You didn’t tell me that you had a baby and that the baby died, but you wrote it online in an online diary on the internet for anyone else to read, but you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I asked you to read the diary, but you didn’t.”

“Because I thought it was just your rambling thoughts about books and your daily experiences, being a silly high school girl! I didn’t think you were confessing to having sex with some stranger at a party in a back room, getting pregnant, having a baby, and then the baby dying! I thought it was just some silly little diary about what books you were reading that week and about what it was like to be a high school student in the middle of nowhere, Texas.”

“Wait, you’re mad at me?”

“Well, of course I’m mad at you! You kept something so private and personal. I mean, everybody else knows about this but me. Your parents… is that why Jason made that comment the other day about ‘Messy Tessie’? So everybody in your hometown knows about this, but your husband, the person that you’d been dating, knows about the most secret and intimate parts of your life last because you didn’t tell me!”

“I tried to tell you! I tried so many times, but you don’t understand how hard it was.”

“Then you should have made me understand. You should have led with this. You should have told me this from the beginning.”

“But I tried! You have to understand, it was such a hard time, and it was so difficult. You have to understand, I did try. I tried so hard, so many times.”

“You obviously didn’t try hard enough. You didn’t try as many times as you ought to have, as you should have. So now what? You married me? You tricked me into this? What am I going to tell my parents? What are they going to think when I tell them who I married? When I tell them I thought I’d married a virgin—somebody who was saved just for me—and instead, not only had she had sex, but she’d had a baby out of wedlock?”