Greer: Well, that’s really up to you, Keiko. If a courthouse wedding is what you intended, then I’m sure it was beautiful. Did you at least take pictures?
Keiko: Indeed. We procured a disposable camera from a Gen Z-er walking down the street. We assumed it would be more authentic.
Stella: Well, maybe you can show them off at our next book club meeting, which will be . . .
Greer: Yeah, Cora, care to tell us when that will be?
Keiko: Also curious about solidifying a date in my agenda. I would like to discuss in great detail the fetal membrane.
Cora: Uh, wow, just catching up. Keiko, congrats, girl, that’s so amazing. You and Kelvin are meant for each other, and I know you will be wonderful parents to Blanche/Seymour. Maybe, if it’s okay with you, we can hold a small reception in a week or two to celebrate? We can invite close family and friends. Greer, I suggest your place.
Greer: I would love that. We can set up a tent in the backyard, have the view of the lake in the background. What do you say, Keiko?
Stella: Ooo, can I be in charge of décor? I have the PERFECT idea.
Cora: Might be fun to throw you a little mini wedding. Only if you care to have one.
Keiko: A strange sensation has eclipsed my eyes. So it seems my visual organs have begun misting.
Stella: Does that mean you’re crying?
Keiko: Precisely.
Greer: Aw, Keeks. No need to cry. We love you and we want you to be happy. Can we please do this for you?
Stella: Pleeeeeease!
Cora: I can sponsor a donut cake from Frankie Donuts.
Keiko: As Renee Zellweger would say, you had me at donuts （hello）。
Greer: YAY! I’m so excited.
Stella: Let the party planning commence!
Cora: As long as no Fireball is involved, I’m in.
Greer: There will be absolutely NONE!
Stella: Well, now that we have that settled, I was actually asking if Cora was okay. Winces
Keiko: Ah. I perceived your text message incorrectly. Maybe next time, you insert a name into your question so there is no confusion on a group thread as to who you might be corresponding with.
Stella: Lesson learned, thank you, Keeks. So, Cora . . .
Cora: Well, I’m lying in bed, curled against Pike, texting you three. So what do you think?
Greer: OMG, are you giving him a chance?
Cora: I am. I’m officially dating my husband.
Stella: Be still my heart. A match made in Uber Drive-Thru Wedding heaven. Maybe Fireball really isn’t your enemy.
Cora: Let’s not get out of hand. Fireball is still Satan’s mistress.
Keiko: Technically an inanimate object can’t adhere to the title “mistress,” because in order to heed said title, the object or “woman” must be engaging in an extramarital relationship. Since Fireball doesn’t possess sexual organs, but rather is a liquid, it can’t possibly be a mistress.
Greer: I don’t know what to say other than you’re correct.
Keiko: I am quite aware. Thank you.
Stella: SOOO, Cora, you’re dating your husband?
Cora: Yes, and, as a matter of fact, I need to get ready. He’s taking me out. Love you all!
Holding my hand tightly, Pike walks me along the streets of Chicago as we make our way to the restaurant where he made reservations. Surprisingly, it isn’t as chilly tonight as one would think it might be for a night at the end of November in Chicago. Normally, walking outside this time of the year would require three layers, a parka, and a face mask to block the wind, but I’m only wearing one layer and a jacket.
Gloves, though, those I wore, because I wasn’t about to ride on the back of Pike’s motorcycle without them.
“I can’t believe Keiko told you she got married and she didn’t tell me first. We had to practically drag it out of her.”
Pike shrugs. “What can I say? Our bond is strong.”
“And I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”
“Not my place to say anything.”
“Ugh, that’s what’s so annoying about guys—they never gossip.”
We pause at a crosswalk, look both ways, and then walk across the street, not a car in sight to hurry our pace. “We don’t need to gossip. We’ll find out the information eventually.”
“Annoying,” I say, curling more closely against him as a whip of wind nearly unwinds my scarf from my neck. Maybe I spoke too soon about the weather. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
“I prefer this whole ‘surprise’ thing. Makes it more fun for me.”
We come up to a large, light grey—at least that’s what it seems in the dark—brick building. Outdoor seating lines the side of the building, but the chairs are empty despite the heat lamps. I can’t imagine sitting outside for dinner, even if there is a heat lamp. Pike guides me to the entry at the corner of the building, two large, black doors with an oversized W carved into them.