My Favorite Wife, or Wedding Law is More Complicated Than You Think

Think you’re married? Think you’re single? Are you sure?

I recently published my lesbian romantic comedy, My Favorite Wife, which tells the story of Aisha, a woman who just wants to marry her fiancée in Las Vegas. Aisha runs into an old college fling. They had gotten fake married as part of a marriage equality protest in college, but when the Supreme Court ruled in favor of marriage equality in 2015, that fake marriage between Aisha and her old college friend became very real. Now, Aisha has 72 hours to end a marriage she didn’t even know was real or she won’t get the life she always dreamt of.

I was inspired to write this because for several years gay marriage was a patchwork of rights. You could get married in one place but not the other. Being married in one state didn’t mean you could get divorced where you lived.

Just because you can get married doesn’t mean you can get divorced

For the first two years of my marriage to my wife, we didn’t have the right to divorce. This was because you can get married anywhere, and we got married in California in 2008 during the brief period it was legally available. You can only get divorced where you live and only if where you live recognizes that you’re married. Our home state of Illinois didn’t at the time.

It’s a good thing we liked each other.

We’ve been married for 15 years. I’ve met people who married in Canada or California or Vermont years ago who broke up but never got a proper divorce. They insist that because the relationship is long over that they have nothing to worry about.

I’ve often wondered what kind of legal trouble that could cause. I wonder if they’ll get some phone call in the middle of the night because their “spouse” has died suddenly, and their name is still on their paperwork. I wonder if there could be financial liability. Could it interfere with the legality of their current relationship?

I’m not a lawyer, but I did enjoy exploring that and writing My Favorite Wife.

Here’s an excerpt to tempt you:

After shaking Vanessa’s hand, Imani said, “There’s a story here between you two. Y’all didn’t meet just now.”

“Ah. Well, this is the part where I say I’m Aisha’s wife.”

Imani’s face went from joy to excitement to surprise to stunned in a matter of seconds. “I’m Aisha’s cousin. Clearly, I don’t know as much about my cousin as I thought I did.”

“And I can take your order now,” Vanessa said with a satisfied smile and a little bow.

“Wow. You know, I mean… Wow,” Imani sputtered. “Umm, can I have a Moscow Mule?”

“Sure. One Moscow Mule. I didn’t quite get your order, ma’am,” Vanessa said in that flirtatious tone that had worked so well on Aisha only a few minutes ago and many years before. Now Aisha just felt sort of queasy. She had some explaining to do but didn’t know where to start.

“A large club soda for me,” she said. “Thanks.”

“Excellent choice. You two probably have a lot of catching up to do so I’ll go get those drinks.” Vanessa waved and walked away. Aisha lost sight of her as she turned right and disappeared behind a bank of slot machines.

Imani stepped in Aisha’s line of vision. “Who is that? Like, really. Who is she? I know who you’re here to marry and she ain’t her.”

“She was just kidding about that whole ‘wife’ stuff. We were friends in college, and we got ‘married’ as part of a protest. We went to the courthouse and everything, but it wasn’t anything serious.”

Imani’s face scrunched up. “You went to the courthouse…?”

Vanessa returned with the drinks. When Aisha reached for hers, Vanessa noticed her diamond engagement ring.

“And I thought you had eyes only for me,” she shrugged and sighed. She was still in heavy flirt mode. “So, when’s the wedding?”

“This weekend,” Aisha said.

“Well, back to work. Let’s try to catch up before you go. Lots to tell.” Vanessa flounced off with a little kick and a hair flip.

Aisha and Imani took their drinks to a little table in a corner in between the blackjack table and the slot machines.

“Tell me about ‘marrying’ Vanessa,” said Imani as she took a sip.

“It was 2011. I was a freshman in college, and I went to a protest for gay marriage at the local courthouse. I went with Vanessa. We were besties at the time. We went everywhere together.”

She didn’t say that she remembered exactly how Vanessa’s hair had flowed down her back to land just above the outline of her bra strap in her crop top. She didn’t say that she had secretly hoped that the vows they had exchanged that day were true. Back then, Vanessa was continuing to say she was straight.

The day they got married and the night that followed, she stopped saying she was straight.

“At some point, the guys at the courthouse yelled that if anyone wanted to get married they would do it there and then. They warned us that it wouldn’t be recognized anywhere, but they’d do it. Vanessa and I got married. They even gave us a license, but none of it was real.”

After the protest, they had gone back to Vanessa’s room in the house she shared with five other people. They were so excited and pumped about what they had just done. They weren’t married, but they were going to make gay marriage a reality. Aisha remembered the sound of their laughter. Joyous. Carefree. Raucous. Once Vanessa’s bedroom door closed behind them, Vanessa took a seat on her bed. Aisha had flopped down next to her, like many times before, but this time was different. Vanessa had clambered on top of Aisha, and they had a steamy, sloppy kiss. Aisha had looked into Vanessa’s eyes. They had said yes. Aisha closed her eyes and could smell the perfume Vanessa had worn that day. She could feel the flannel sheets on Vanessa’s bed against her skin.

“Ow!” Aisha leaned down and rubbed the spot on her left shin where Imani had kicked her. “Not nice. Do not use Krav Maga on me.”

Imani made a tsk sound. “It’s not nice for you to go off into your own little world when I’m sitting right here.” She scratched her chin and flagged down another waitress. She ordered a couple of shots of vodka and turned to her phone.

“Hey, I thought you were supposed to be on vacation? Checking your work email or something?”

Imani just waved her hand and stared intently at her phone. The shots arrived, and Imani was still at it, inputting various information. She turned the phone toward Aisha. On the screen was a marriage license, the one that bore Aisha and Vanessa’s names.

“How’d you find that?” The smell of the vodka was sharp. Aisha started to feel queasy. “I’m not even sure I have a copy anywhere. It was so long ago, and I haven’t seen Vanessa in years. It didn’t mean anything. And after the wedding, she disappeared. She dropped out of school. One day, she was just gone. Her housemates didn’t know what had happened other than something vague about some family drama.”

Imani grabbed the shot, downed it, and signaled Aisha to do the same. The liquid burned as it rushed down her throat, but it did nothing to calm her increasingly uneasy stomach.

“It may not have meant anything at the time, but it does now. 2015 Supreme Court ruling. This is a valid marriage license in all 50 states. I think I’m going to need another shot,” Imani said.

“Okay, but it didn’t mean anything. It’s not real. I’m marrying Kris. I’m marrying Kris.” Aisha kept repeating that last phrase, her voice getting quieter and quieter. “She wants everything to be perfect,” she said in a whisper.

Another pair of shots arrived at the table. Aisha hadn’t even noticed Imani ordering them. She tried to evade Imani’s gaze, but it felt like her cousin’s eyes were boring into her. She almost felt sorry for some of the defendants she had seen Imani challenge in the courtroom during her stint as a county prosecutor with that intense scrutiny. Right now, she was starting to feel sorry for herself.

“Girl, you are married. You can’t get married now.”

“Stop looking at me like that. Please.”

The second shot went down easier. Aisha needed something to do with her hands. She began folding and unfolding the napkin.

Cloth. Nice material. Smooth.

“Imani, you have to help me get divorced. Help me fix this. You’re my only hope.”

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