I Didn't Marry Him, I Married The One He Hated novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: One Signature Short
At the county clerk's counter, Trevor's best friend tears up Linnea's birth certificate while he laughs, and Linnea walks out; in the hallway the stepbrother Trevor hates passes her carrying a marriage license folder.
We were one signature away from a marriage license when Trevor's best friend tore my birth certificate in half.
The clerk's office on the second floor of the county building smelled like toner and wet boots.
It was a Tuesday in September, and we were fourth in line.
Trevor had his hand on my back and his thumb moving in small circles.
"Last step, babe," he said. "Then you can stop worrying about it."
I had been worrying about it for five months, ever since he proposed at Shelby's birthday dinner with her whole table watching.
Shelby had come along as our witness.
She had brought me an iced coffee from the place I like and a granola bar in case I got shaky.
She always had a spare of something.
"Give me the folder," she said, smiling. "You'll bend the corners."
I handed it over.
I had put everything in it the night before: my passport, my Social Security card, and the certified copy of my birth certificate that I'd paid forty dollars to get from the state.
Two of Trevor's friends had come too, because Trevor said it was a big day.
They stood behind us in their work jackets, eating chips from a bag they weren't supposed to open in a county office.
"Nygren and Lindahl?" the clerk called.
We stepped up to the counter.
Shelby slid the folder across to the clerk.
The clerk opened it and frowned at the top page.
"This birth certificate has a crease through the seal. Let me see it flat."
"Oh, let me," Shelby said.
She took the page back and held it up to the light with both hands.
Then she pulled her hands apart.
The paper went in two with a sound I can still hear.
She looked at the halves and then at me.
"Oh no," she said. "Oh my God, Linnea. It was so thin."
Her voice was sorry.
Her eyes were on Trevor.
I looked at him, too.
He had a hand over his mouth.
His shoulders were shaking, and for a second I thought he was upset.
Then he lowered the hand, and he was laughing.
"Shelby," he said. "You absolute disaster."
The clerk set the halves on the counter, edge to edge.
"A torn certified copy is void, ma'am. You'll need a new one from the state. Five to seven business days."
"We'll come back," Trevor said. "It's paper. It's not a big deal, babe."
"The license appointment expires Friday," I said.
"So we make another."
"You were laughing."
"Because it's funny," he said. "Come on. Don't make a scene."
Behind us, one of his friends cleared his throat.
"Linnea, are you really that desperate to marry him?" he said.
The second friend snorted into his chip bag.
"Five months of planning for a piece of paper," he said. "Trev said you'd cry in the car."
I turned around.
"He said what?"
Trevor's hand tightened on my back.
"They're kidding," he said. "Linnea. Look at me. They're kidding."
I looked at Shelby.
She was folding the torn halves into the folder, very neatly, and she did not look up.
I thought about the iced coffee, and the granola bar, and how she had asked for the folder.
I thought about the five months.
My name was on his store loan.
My toothbrush was in his bathroom.
My mother's ring had been in his dresser drawer since March, because he'd said the stone needed resizing.
I picked up the iced coffee Shelby had bought me and set it on the counter in front of him.
"I'm not desperate," I said. "I'm done."
"Linnea."
"Don't."
"You're being dramatic."
"Take Shelby home. She likes driving you."
I took my passport and my Social Security card out of it myself.
Shelby finally looked at me.
She looked pleased, and then she tried to hide it.
"You'll be back by dinner," Trevor said, not even quietly. "You always are."
I walked past the line, and past the two men with the chips, and out the door.
So I stepped out.
The hallway was cold and long and empty.
I leaned against the wall by the water fountain and pressed my hands against my eyes.
I had been with that man for four years, and I could not think of one time he had driven me home after dark.
Shelby did that.
Shelby drove.
I had never asked why.
The door of the clerk's office opened behind me.
Trevor's voice stopped in the middle of a word.
I looked up.
A man was coming down the hall from the stairwell, tall, with dark blond hair and a short beard, a work jacket gone pale at the elbows.
He walked past me without stopping, and he did not look at Trevor at all.
Trevor had gone white.
"Ekdahl," one of the friends said under his breath.
The man passed so close I could see the folder under his arm.
It was blue, and the label on the tab read: Marriage License Application.
He was carrying it alone.
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