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Napoleon Solo had just turned twenty-three years old, and he was panicking.
Well, he hadn’t just turned twenty-three. His birthday had been yesterday. After a lovely day at the Art Museum, Napoleon had cooked an early dinner for himself and Gaby, and once she had left, he had gone to his favorite bar, with the most expensive booze and the prettiest women. After a night spent in a haze of alcohol and sex, he had slept late into the next morning, only to be woken by an irate Gaby.
She had let herself into his apartment, woken him rudely, and ordered him to take a shower and change into something decent. Since it was Gaby, and his head was still throbbing from all the drinks he had had last night, Napoleon decided that his bathrobe could be considered “decent”.
When he entered the conjoined living room – kitchen area, he found Gaby had poured them both a glass of water and was cooking what appeared to be eggs.
“You know,” Napoleon said, leaning against the counter next to her and sipping his water, “I thought of something while I was showering.”
Gaby grimaced. “Do I want to know?”
Napoleon pouted, but then continued more seriously. “I’m twenty-three now.”
“I’m disturbed it took you that long to realize it. You were twenty-three yesterday too, you know.” Gaby replied, not looking up from her eggs.
Napoleon rolled his eyes, even though he knew she couldn’t see his face. “I know that, but I suppose I’m just finally realizing what that means.”
Gaby finally looked away from her eggs, watching him with a serious expression. “And what does it mean?”
Napoleon sighed, opening his fridge and poking his head inside. He wasn’t really looking for anything, but he needed something to distract himself, so he pulled out the bread loaf and started making toast.
“It means,” he said, focusing on his work, “That I have a year – sorry, three hundred and sixty-three days, to find someone I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.”
He was doing his best to keep his voice steady, unconcerned, and normally Napoleon Solo’s best was perfect, but not with Gaby. Gaby, his best friend and quite possibly the only female on the planet he hadn’t seduced, always knew when he was unsettled, whether he wanted her to know or not.
“Napoleon,” she said, “go sit down and I’ll finish making breakfast. Then we can talk about your internal crisis.”
Napoleon complied, settling onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. After a few minutes, Gaby joined him, balancing three plates on her arms.
She sent them down on the coffee table in front of him; scrambled eggs and potatoes for both of them, and a shared plate of toast. It was nothing like Napoleon’s meals, it was far too simple and the eggs were slightly burnt, but it was delicious all the same.
“So,” Gaby started, mouth full of potato, “you finally realized you have to get married and now you’re panicking.”
“I wouldn’t call it panicking,” Napoleon replied gracefully, “I would call it a gradual awareness of my situation.”
“Panicking,” Gaby said.
Napoleon poked her in the soft spot between her ribs and hips, and she let out a shrieking laugh.
“Ow, Gabs, my ears,” he complained, but Gaby just stuck out her tongue and said “Shouldn’ta poked me.”
“Fair enough,” he said, becoming more solemn, “I don’t know what to do. I’ve never been in a relationship long enough to even consider getting married.”
“Well, it’s either get married to one of your lovers and accept that it won’t last,” said Gaby, “Or the government will stick you with a ‘personality match’ that you’ve never met before.”
She said the last part sourly; like many other people, she didn’t approve of the government mandate that forced people to marry the person of their choice before they turned twenty-four or be matched with someone the government considered ‘compatible’.
“I honestly don’t know if that would be better or worse,” Napoleon mused, “I wouldn’t have a choice, but maybe I’ll end up with someone I like.”
Gaby snorted scornfully.
For the rest of the meal, they ate in silence, both contemplating the problem. Gaby was only a few months younger than Napoleon, so it was conundrum for her as well.
As they were cleaning the dishes, Gaby washing and Napoleon drying, she spoke again. “I…sort of have an idea. It’s probably crazy, and you’ll probably hate it, but…”
“Anything is better than nothing,” he finished for her.
“Alright, so…what if we got married?” she said the last part in a rush, not looking at her friend. Napoleon was silent for a moment, then, abruptly, he grabbed her by the waist, lifting her into the air and spinning them around.
“GABY!” he yelled gleefully, “You GENIUS!”
His hands were still a little wet, but she didn’t mind as he finally set her down. The reprieve was only momentary, though, because then he was hugging her, squeezing her against the soft fabric of his bathrobe.
“Napoleon!” she whined, but it wasn’t really a complaint. He let her go, a grin on his face. “So I guess you don’t hate it?” she asked.
He shook his head vigorously. “No, it’s the perfect solution! Neither of us have anyone else we would want to get married to, and we’re already friends.”
“Will this make us – different?” she asked hesitantly, trying to keep her expression neutral. Napoleon paused, his face freezing, as though this hadn’t occurred to him. “I…didn’t think of that,” he said slowly, seeming just as tentative as her, “It could, I suppose, if you wanted it to?” He was asking her, but it was clear from his expression that the idea didn’t appeal to him.
Gaby scrunched her faced up. Even thinking about them as a couple gave her an icky, sick feeling. “I don’t want it to change us,” she said, “I love you, of course, but not like that.”
Napoleon sighed with relief. “Good. That’s how I feel too. It would just be weird.” He made a face and she laughed. “Besides,” he continued, “we’re practically family.”
This time Gaby hugged him. “But we’re still getting married, right?”
“I don’t think there’s anyone else I like enough to spend the rest of my life with.” He said, part serious and part joking. He let her lean against him, rubbing her back in large, soothing circles.
She mumbled something into his bathrobe, and he whispered back “I love you too, Gabs.”
The next week was spent planning, mostly making the legal arrangements and preparing for cohabitation. They had decided to buy a new apartment, because Gaby’s was too small for them both and Napoleon’s was too far away from Gaby’s precious garage. They didn’t really have any close friends, and casual acquaintances tended to assume they were already a couple, so there wasn’t anyone important to inform.
The ceremony took place in the late afternoon of a dreary day, underneath a cloud-filled sky. Gaby and Napoleon wore identical grey robes, the same as everyone else who got married. The officiator was a bland man in his forties, who droned through the words without any real enthusiasm.
The only other people there were a few government witnesses, and one couple who had seen the notice in the newspaper and come to wish them well.
There was a simple platform for them to stand on, covered by a white canopy, and a row of folding chairs.
Living together didn’t really change anything either. They had separate rooms – mostly so Gaby could tinker late into the night without disturbing Napoleon, a shared living room and kitchen, two bathrooms and an extra guest room. Whenever Napoleon had ‘guests’ coming over, he simple re-directed them to a hotel.
“What if I find someone?” Gaby asked, a week into them living together. It was a given that Napoleon would never find a romantic interest the way most people would, but Gaby wasn’t so certain. She wasn’t currently interested in anyone, but that didn’t mean she never would be. Napoleon took a moment to respond; he was still getting dressed in his room, while Gaby waited for him by their front door.
“We’ll figure it out when we get there,” he said, emerging from his room. Smiling rakishly at Gaby, he opened the door. She slipped her hand around his arm, smiling back. They were dressed for a romantic evening out, but for them that meant an evening pretending to be a couple, and smothering their laughter after the innocent waiter left.
“Don’t worry, Napoleon,” Gaby said, leaning against him, “I won’t forget about you.”