The Registry Said I Was Single, So They Assigned Me My Husband's Boss novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: Not According to the Registry
The registry calls to say Willa is single, her marriage was never filed, and her husband has applied to marry someone else; her match is waiting in room four.
The marriage registry called me at lunch, on speaker, because my hands were covered in dog shampoo.
Dina stopped eating her yogurt.
Two other techs stopped talking.
"Ms. Prentiss? This is the Federal Marriage Registry, Franklin County office. We've found your match."
"My match for what?" I asked.
"Under the Mandatory Marriage Act, anyone still unmarried at thirty is assigned a spouse. You turn thirty on November 20th."
Everyone in the break room knew the Act.
The billboards on I-71 had been selling it for two years.
"I'm married," I said. "I've been married for eleven months."
I heard keys clicking.
"Our system lists you as single, Ms. Prentiss. We ran it three times."
"Then you have the wrong Prentiss."
"Willa Marie Prentiss, Maple Street, Columbus. You have twenty-one days to accept your match or pay the penalty."
The penalty was twenty-five thousand dollars and a suspended license.
I wiped my hands on my scrubs and hung up.
Nobody in the room looked at me, which was how I knew they had all heard every word.
"Spencer filed it, right?" Dina asked. "You told me he filed it."
"He took the certificate to the county in December."
"So it's a glitch."
"It's a glitch," I said.
I texted him anyway.
Registry says I'm not married. They're assigning me someone.
His answer came back before I had put the phone down.
Babe, that's a clerical glitch. I filed everything in December. Please do NOT go down there, you'll only make it worse. I'll call them tonight.
Dina read it over my shoulder.
"He's fast," she said.
"He's at his desk."
"Willa, he's always at his desk. When has he ever answered you in under a minute?"
I didn't have an answer for that.
On my way out I passed the corkboard by the front door.
A thank-you card hung there with a golden retriever's paw print inked in the corner.
It was from the man in the grey coat who used to bring his old dog in every month.
He paid in cash and always asked for me, and he had never once given us his name.
The dog died in March.
He came back in April, left a donation for the shelter fund and signed the card with one letter: W.
I touched the corner of it and went out to my car.
At home I pulled open the bottom drawer of the desk.
Spencer had taken the original certificate to be filed.
He'd given me this photocopy to keep, and I had kept it flat under the tax folders for eleven months.
Our names were on it.
The date, the courthouse, the signature of the man who married us.
It looked exactly like a marriage.
I drove to the registry office downtown.
The clerk sat behind glass with a lanyard and a cold coffee.
I slid the copy under the window and told her I was already married and here was the proof.
She looked at it for about two seconds.
Then she typed, and typed again, and her face changed.
"Ms. Prentiss, this certificate number isn't in our system."
"It was filed in December."
"It was never filed. There's no marriage record for you at all."
My mouth had gone dry.
"What about my husband? Spencer Albrecht."
"I can't share another person's file."
"He's my husband."
"Not according to the registry." She hesitated, then turned her screen a few inches toward me. "Mr. Albrecht is listed as single. And three weeks ago he filed a marriage application with a different woman."
The name on it was Lydia Hallam.
I stood at that window and understood that my husband had not made a mistake.
He had made a plan.
I put both hands flat on the counter.
"Print everything," I said. "His application, my record, all of it. I'm not leaving without paper."
The clerk looked at me a moment, and then she started the printer.
"Your match is here, by the way," she said. "He came in the minute the notice went out. Room four."
"What's his name?"
She checked the screen.
"Silvan Hallam."
The page was still warm in my hand, and it carried the same surname.
The man waiting for me in room four shared a name with the woman my husband meant to marry.
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