“Notes Regarding Becca and Peter’s Wedding Registry,” by Lareign Ward

Sep 27th, 2017 | By | Category: Fake Nonfiction, Prose

Turkish Cotton Towel Set, 6 Piece, $150

These are very nice towels, but I just don’t know why they need two sets of them. One for bathing, and one for banging? But these are too pricey for that. Sophomore year, she was hooking up a lot and had a towel – I think it was purple, at least originally – that she called “the splooge towel.” She always washed separately. I kept asking her, “Why do we need a towel? What’s coming out of there, exactly?” She wouldn’t answer me. But when the time came, I was so worried that I used two towels. Then I texted her afterward, and she told me she was proud of me, and I was so giddy that I didn’t ask if she meant the towels or the sex-having.

Vacuum Food Container, 6 Piece Set, $70

This has a rotating carousel, which I guess is a nice party trick for boring people. And a vacuum pump, which sounds like a good thing, based on all the capital letters and exclamation points: “NEVER WASTE FOOD AGAIN! BE A HERO TO YOUR FAMILY AND PLANET EARTH!” I have never in my life been excited by anything as the guy who wrote this ad copy is. I think he must use it to vacuum seal meth. But it looks great for storing all those fat-free Fig Newtons and Baked Cheetos Becca’s been eating for the last fifteen months. Oh, and it’s BPA free. I hate BPA. Or I would if I could afford $70 Tupperware.

Rotary Cheese Grater, $15

Do people not grate cheese when single? Or we just supposed to buy all our cheeses pre-shredded because life is too difficult as is? “Sorry, no time to shred this Monterrey Jack; I have to go harvest my last viable eggs and stick them in the freezer.”

Belgian Waffle Iron, Silver, $25

Freshman year, she basically lived on store-brand blueberry waffles with lite syrup, no butter. She used to say she wanted a man who would make her waffles and serve her breakfast in bed without expecting sex later. I hope she got what she wanted. I mean, Peter seems like he treats her well, and this is coming from the girl who thinks most of her friends’ boyfriends are garbage. But I have no idea about the sex life thing. We used to talk about that stuff all the time. Back in college, her best was a guy on the diving team who could go down on her for so long that she got friction burns. The Dave Matthews Band live CD they’d put on would finish before he did. I spent so much time in the study room that semester that I made a B plus in Geology.

I don’t know if Peter is good in bed or not, and it’s too late to ask now. I don’t think I need all the details, but it feels like one of the things you’re supposed to ask your friend before she gets married, along with stuff like “Does he think Hillary Clinton lost because she’s not likable enough?’” and “Does his mother hate you?” But now, I’m just going to have to assume everything is fine in the bedroom. I can’t exactly shout it out during the rehearsal dinner: “Hey, Becca! How’s the banging? Not so good? Make sure Peter knows your body is like an oven, not a microwave! You can’t just stick something in there and expect it to get hot in 30 seconds.”

There’s six more pages of this, but at this point, my best bet is to probably get her one of those gift cards with the birds at the altar, then pretend like I forgot to write the amount on the back. Maybe then it’ll get mixed in with all the other gift cards, and she won’t realize it’s only $20.

Look, at the time, I was glad to be asked; I thought we could get closer, get back to the days when she gave me shit and I gave it right back. She was always saying, “You’re too picky and defensive, honey.” And I would say, “Bullshit. If that guy on OKCupid is too lazy to include more than one photo, he’s probably also lazy in bed.”

Nowadays, I text her a video of cats dressed up like members of the Trump administration, and she texts me back a link to The Knot.

Once it’s over, after the banquet hall is cleaned and they’ve ridden off in their horse-drawn carriage, I’m not sure what I’m going to do. Because even now, I can feel the bitterness creeping in. Eight-page wedding registries are convenient when you’re grasping for a reason to feel judgmental. I can rail against the whole wedding industrial complex, when what I want to say is this: Maybe I’m angry and overly harsh, but guys, you already found each other. You don’t need all this other shit.

And I comfort myself with this: If I found love like that, I would count myself as so damn lucky that I would never ask for anything else.


Lareign Ward’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Southeast Review, Under the Gum Tree, Big Lucks, and elsewhere. She has an MFA from Eastern Washington University. She was born in Texas and currently lives in Washington State.

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