MATRIMONY

“Stumble” is probably the best verb to use in describing the oeuvre that is my life. I stumble into most everything. I’ve accidentally stumbled into walls, jobs, lovers, careers, languages, hobbies and even the occasional engagement (or two, to be totally forthcoming). I have never stumbled into a marriage, however.

As they say, “There’s first time for everything” and really, considering the overreaching arc of my life, it’s only appropriate, really.

The Boy and I have stumbled into a marriage of the first degree and it’s entirely unsettling for precisely how not unsettling it is. There are no butterflies, no nervousness, no freezing up and no jitters around him. It’s all just comfort and ease. Granted, to be fair, I did loathe the poor thing at first meeting, so perhaps that took the place all that moony-eyed crap that I loathe. Nevertheless, we’ve skipped all the foreplay, all the dating and gone straight to married.

All of my friends have become his friends very quickly and, despite the larger circle of foreigners I have exposed him to, I find myself at dinners with precisely the same people I’m normally with in the precisely the same quantities I’m normally with them, only he’s always there too. In short, I spared no effort to make his experience here as broad as possible but he actively chose the things, places and people that I chose. I figured he should spend time with me and my circle not because I’m the only game in town but because he actively wants to hang out with me and it would appear that that is the case.

Regardless, it’s a bit odd having a go-to person; suddenly being part of a non-existent couple. The “I,” “Me,” “My” and “You” has become “Us,” “We,” “Our” and “You guys.” Oddly, a byproduct of one of the most natural and honest friendships I’ve had in years feels unbelievably dishonest. To be fair, this byproduct hadn’t really occurred to me (or him, I think) until I got back.

The Boy picked me up at the airport and he was adorably giddy, being social and silly with everyone around us from the toll takers along the way back to the guards at our complex. Being that it was late at night and I was beat, he left me laughing and headed home to his visiting guest to whom he was [insert eye roll] “married.” (read: an anti-social friend he had to babysit) He had mentioned the friend was leaving on Sunday and I was meeting some of “our” friends for coffee on Sunday, so I sent him a message to extend the invitation. It turns out the coffee was for precisely when they had to leave for the airport so I let it go and figured I’d see him later at some point.

Friday night, I went out with some friends for dinner and drinks and I asked if one set of my married friends were going to the West Egg party in two weeks. I asked the woman of the married couple I knew the Boy liked the most because it will be his first West Egg party and I wanted to make sure he’ll have a good time.

“Are you going to the business dinner?” I asked.

“We’ll go if you guys are going. Are you guys going?” She replied. Not, “Are you going?” but “Are you guys going?” Only I had asked- hell, only I was there- but there was only one person that could turn the “you” into “you guys.”

There was just something about the “we will” if “you guys will” that stalled me out. I mean, that’s what married couples do, right? That “I’ll wager with my camp provided your camp wagers too” stuff just doesn’t apply to singles. If you’re good friends with one half of a married couple (or hell, even both halves), you’ve only got a single person’s company to wager with. Suddenly, it was socially understood that I speak not just for me but for the Boy as well (something I am never comfortable doing even when I’m in ACTUAL relationships… it just seems so Married). Suddenly, I had become the go-to person in terms of the final say of his personal life. I had passed over that invisible line from singledom to marriage and it was beyond weird.

What compounded the weirdness was that the Boy had said he was interested in going but only if I was going. As a result, I had RSVPed for us together, which felt a little weird in how utterly natural it felt.

“Uh, yeah, [the Boy] and I, we’re uh, yeah. We’re going.” I stammered through the dumbest affirmative reply ever. You know, because pulling his name from the first person pronoun really would stop the snowball effect of our friendship amongst our all our married friends.

My idiocy aside, Sunday’s coffee rolled around and I got to see a bunch of my friends that I hadn’t seen since before Christmas. (They work for international companies that give their workers Christmas/New Years off and I work for a Chinese school, which gives its workers Chinese New Years off.) So, it was nice to see my folks again.

While we were finishing coffee and about to adjourn to another friend’s for drinks before dinner at a restaurant, the Boy called me. “The divorce was just finalized. Where are you? I’m coming to where ever you are right now. I don’t care what you’re doing or who’s there. Just tell me where I can meet you.” I told him which Starbucks we were at and then told me he was still at the airport, on his way.

Now, I’ve been really upfront with him about the fact that everyone thinks we’re together. I even warned him that if I spent any time in his apartment without a chaperon, I would be marked as “his” because, well, I would. Frankly, he found it entertaining to no end that I might be seen as his possession. I even told him about the fact that my boss knows which apartment he lives in because everyone now knows who the foreign teacher is “dating.” I’m not sure why I do this but it just seems like I need to be forthcoming about that sort of stuff seeing as his actual girlfriend will be coming to visit in a few weeks. I think I do it because I’m afraid it hasn’t occurred to him and he’s going to have that same “ew! Gross!” reaction that boys have in middle school when they’re told people think you’re together. Desperately, I want to avoid that “ew! Gross!” reaction in public, were somebody to say or do something to “tip him off.” Granted, his reaction has always been one of a mild shrug with a vague reference to flattery (which is always nice). However, upon realizing that the first phone call he made upon his liberation was to me when he now has a phone book of people to call and the way he presented the idea that he would go anywhere necessary to be with me (he gets lost walking in our compound, much less driving around Xi’An) regardless of who else was around, it suddenly dawned on me that perhaps he was really and truly courting my company.

We arranged a pick up by the Drum Tower and were off to another couple’s for drinks before we all headed out to dinner.

At dinner, the Boy asked one couple about how to get to a jazz bar that “we’re going to on Friday” as he gestured towards me. First of all, these were not plans he ran by me, and, while I know a girl’s supposed to throw a shit-fit over that sort of thing, I’m not bothered by it at all, provided he’s not upset if it turns out I’ve already got plans. I was, however, surprised that anyone would make plans on my behalf. Even in my longest relationship, that boy never even made plans for me. To be totally honest, I’d prefer someone else taking the reins every once and a while. Hell, how many women can claim to have a boy around who takes the initiative to find a jazz bar for a Friday night? (I told you, he’s the sort of boy in teen romance novels.) Frankly, I’m not the kind of girl that anyone takes liberties with, so I kind of like that he does. Secondly, I was stunned that the Boy had been researching things to do while I was away, despite the fact that he claims to have done nothing but watch dvd’s without me. Usually, either someone researches and attends or doesn’t research at all. He researched and waited for me to return. Finally, it settled in that he was using couple-speak about us and I was surprised that it didn’t bother me in the slightest. I hadn’t really thought about it, but I was staring at him throughout the course of this inner unpacking/monologue. He looked at me and in that moment we both settled on his phrase “we’re going,” though for different reasons, I suspect.

“I mean, I’m going and you can come if you want to. Do you want to?” He backpedaled hard and looked at me sheepishly.

I smiled and laughed. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

After that, there were a few more “we should go” as he was told about various things going on in and around Xi’An all followed up with his backpedaling of “if you want to.”

And then last night, we settled back into our weekly routine of going to Metro (that ubermarket) followed up by dinner and a movie at his place. (As a side note, as we were leaving Metro, he said, “Let’s bounce” which just about killed me with laughter. I explained that if he was going to say things like “Let’s bounce” he needed to call me “bitch.” “I know, but I figured I shouldn’t push it by calling you ‘bitch’,” he explained.) Once we reached his house, he switched out of his cardigan and tie and into his pj’s to make dinner. Again, total “marriage” area. Very strange but very nice.

We watched “The Island” which was decent Michael Bay fare (and, if you want to know what it’s like to live in China, watch the first half of the movie where everyone is speaking with perfect manners, diction and grammar and then Ewan McGregor’s character says, “Don’t you ever question anything?” The essence of living in China is summed up in the very kind, endearing friend saying, “Why would you ever question anything?”) but Ewan McGregor’s accent just killed me. It wasn’t so much an American accent (which I THINK was the route he was trying to go) so much as every-accent-but-not-Scottish. It really made me nuts and we had a small aside about English speaking accents where I elucidated a variety of American accents (all of which McGregor cycled through, often in a single sentence). Then I elucidated the various British and South-of-the-Equator accents (to the best of my Peter Sellers ability). I then explained that he (the Boy) thinks Scarlet Johansson and I (both native New Yorkers) and most American actors have no accent because he speaks a very good, New York English. As his father is a New Yorker and he grew up (part time) in New York, he wouldn’t hear our English as anything but the standard. I explained that, despite appearances, inside America, the neutral New York accent (often called the “Neutral Northeast accent”) is actually quite rare (see the multitude of “What American accent do you have” tests on Myspace and Facebook if you doubt that), the fact is that most American actors have trained in New York and it is Hollywood that makes the most public use of that training. Consequently, neutral New York English has become the international bar for English standards.

After the movie he thanked me because, apparently, he hates watching movies more than once and had already seen “The Island.” However, he claims that my explanation of the accents helped him enjoy it the second time around. In fact, he’s now decided he’s going to find it dubbed in French to see what they do with the accent issue (it plays into a crucial plot point).

I suddenly realized it was close to two in the morning and beat a hasty retreat. I had spent much of the movie saying if he was tired I could leave or just straight out asking if I should go as it was getting late. He had just spent the past week having his home infringed upon and the last thing I wanted was to continue the abuse on the poor boy. However, I got the sense he was relieved that I stayed for the movie and the scatterbrained boy even remembered that I had left some yogurt in his fridge that he fetched for me without my asking. I do like that sense of partnership.

Well, no marriage is conventional and it would appear that mine isn’t either.