Wedding Plans

   Last year, my sister, Julia, got married. Of course, I attended the wedding, but it wasn't anything special. My extended family flew from London to attend, so I at least had people I liked. 

   Now, Julia and her husband are trying for a child. It's what they want, and it's what our parents want. It must be nice to have your desires align with your parents'. 

   Last year, at least five relatives asked when I was going to get a boyfriend. If Julia gets pregnant, they will start asking if I will ever give my parents grandchildren. What they don't know is that any grandchildren I give them will most likely be adopted. I might not even marry a man. I might not even get married. 

   Besides, I haven't been interested in anyone since high school. In high school, I worried that people would have expectations. In high school, I worried that people would want what I couldn't give. 

    "What if we got married?" I only brought up a question as a joke, and Lei only took it as a joke. 

    "We could. I already live with you, anyways," Lei chuckled, "and also, the financial benefits. I think." We were in a position that I was used to now; Lei sat on the couch facing the kitchen, and I sat at the table facing the living room. 

    "No, actually, I should pretend to be your boyfriend first," they said, "It would look suspicious otherwise."

  "Why would you be the boyfriend?" I asked. 

    "Because your family thinks you're a girl," Lei said, "and they want you to be straight. So I have to be your boyfriend." 

    "It would be so awkward, though," I said, "We'd have to kiss." Lei burst out laughing as if kissing were the funniest joke in the world. 

    

    "Oh my, kissing isn't so bad," they said, "I've gone further than that. Your family will expect you to get further than that. And then further." They laughed again when my expression scrunched in disgust at the idea.

  

    "I have no words," I said. 

  

    "Well, getting married would be for your parents' expectations anyway, right? Because you're happy with how you are now," they pointed out, sighing, "Don't you worry about it. You just live up to my expectations." At this, I cast them a questioning glance.

  

    "What are your expectations?" I said. 

  

    "For you to do your laundry and pay the rent on time," they said, "and you do that perfectly well, so don't worry about a thing." I did do those things perfectly well. What else did I need to worry about?

   

    What if I'm content with how I am now? What if I'm okay with my roommate being the person I'm closest with? How will people justify expecting me to do what they want me to do and feel what they want me to feel? 

    

    When I was little, my friends fantasized about their weddings. Along with them, I imagined my outfit, the venue, or the food, but it would come up empty. 

   

    Maybe the universe has already written a checklist of what I need for my wedding. I wonder what the list says. I think it's empty.