If Love Commands

The only brick house on Sunnyside Lane is entirely too large for two people. The grandiose pillars lining the front porch too bare without someone to twirl around them, the sturdy oak trees grounded in the well-maintained yard just passionless without an old tire swing, and the rooms inside, I’m sure, echo at the drop of a pen. Only a husband and his wife now live there, such has been true for ten years.

I remember the day well—the day I told her, my mother, that is. She was shuffling around the house, as she did every morning, in too big of a hurry for her own good. But she had to get herself ready to run errands, and she had to make sure that I was presentable enough to be her daughter. I can still feel her gentle hands running an exasperated comb through my knotted hair, see her staring with a wish at my reflection in the mirror. The lipstick-covered smile smeared across her face intentionally evoked that familiar feeling of guilt in my chest. She tugged my skirt up a bit, the opposite of what most mothers would do.

“Men do like a little bit of leg now, Georgia, don’t go being so shy with it. Ooh and for Christ’s sake would it hurt you to shave?”

It did hurt, she knew that. And she knew what I was going to say before I said it. I was dead to her long before the death wish of what would be my final words to her.

“Get out,” she whispered breathlessly as the confessions of my heart rolled away from my tongue, bounced off of my quivering lip, and fell to the ground at her feet.

The memory seized me, as if its unwelcome arms had been waiting for me, lurking in the suit rack at what had to have been the thirtieth thrift store I had perused that month. There I stood, exhausted from the search and certain that I would never find what I was looking for. Every female suit felt too feminine for my taste, every male suit was too boxy for my thin frame. I remember wondering how Lucy might feel if I married her while clad in a pair of blue jeans and sneakers. She wouldn’t have minded, I’m sure, but I did want to look nice and I desperately hoped to wear a suit on our wedding day.

Lucy purchased a dress for the occasion. Actually, we splurged on a dress, leaving little funds remaining for my wedding-day attire. I swallowed that fact when I heard the shrill laughter in my sweet Lucy’s voice, calling me from the bridal store.

“Just get it, baby, it’s fine. I cannot wait to see you in it.”

“Oh Georgia it’s too much, it really is, I’m sure I could find something similar to it for less of cost,” she went on and on. I just couldn’t bring myself to a “no.” The dress was hers, it had to be.

So suit after suit I tried on, wondering what each would look like standing next to Lucy on our special day, and none that I found could compare.

But, just as I was prepping to leave America’s Thrift Store, empty-handed yet again, I spotted the soft navy blue of a small suit improperly placed in the extra-large section. The suit was short, practically unworn, and thankfully not pinstriped.

I suppose I may as well try this one on too.

After making my way over to the fitting room and shutting the door behind me, I began to peel back the layers of my outfit. I tossed my blue jean jacket, slipped my shoes off, shimmied out of my loose fitted pants, and replaced each article with the most spectacular suit. I was in shock for a moment, unsure if I were dreaming or awake and simply hallucinating. But no, it was perfect. The shoulders not too broad, my hands resting outside of the sleeves, the coat came down just below my hips and tapered in effortlessly at my body’s curves.

I shifted around a bit, smiling at the dapper little woman who was staring at me through faint little fingerprint marks on the mirror. That’s when I noticed something peculiar. Sticking out of the front patch pocket was a thin black notebook. I gently slipped it out of the pocket, the delicate leatherbound pieces felt almost soft in my hand. The pages, though not at all worn, looked used. With utmost curiosity, I opened it.

If you are reading this, I know you. You and I are cut from quite a similar cloth, and here you are in my suit—my wedding suit.

My wife and I married in 2003, a private wedding of none but ourselves and the ordained. She was beautiful, my Sarah. This vision in white, who I had fought to love for many years and who had fought to love me right back now stood before me to wed. Sarah and I did not have much then but each other. We had no money, no familial support, few friends remaining—but I only ever needed her. I believed then that if I had nothing else but my Sarah, I would be supremely satisfied for the entirety of our lives together, a belief which has proven true time and time again. We have found our way, and now it is your turn to do the same.

I imagine you are braving a wedding soon, or you would not have taken to my tiny, tailored suit. I hope, with all of my heart, that you and your wife will be elated in your lives as one bonded entity. In the pockets of this coat you will find a gift intended to help you as you begin this season of your lives together. I only ask that you remember, no matter the adversity you face, and you will face plenty: if love commands, then so be it.

Deepest regards,

Janine

Hands shaking, palms drenched in sweat, I reached down into the front pants

pockets and pulled out two neatly folded bundles of cash. Unable to believe my weeping eyes, I reached into the back pockets of the slacks and again, cash. This was true of every single pocket in the suit. I counted $20,000 dollars.

Sitting in the floor of the fitting room, I read Janine’s note again. I counted the cash again. I read Janine’s note and counted the cash until it all became undeniably real to me. When I could finally command my wobbly legs to stand, I hurried out of the store to find Lucy, but not before buying my perfect wedding suit.

Today, Lucy and I live in our home, just big enough for two people, miles and miles away from Sunnyside Lane. The front porch houses colorful Adirondack chairs, the sturdy oak trees grounded in the busy yard are full of passion as all the neighborhood kids are welcomed to wear out the old tire swing, and the rooms inside are ever full of laughter. The dazzling scene that is my life at present may not have been possible without the kindness of one who once filled my shoes. Yet I know that had Janine not shared her fortunes and her story with us, I would simply be enjoying the company of my sweet wife, and nothing else but her.