#clagary flames blurb

[spine-buster]

Patience is a Virtue ft. Matthew Tkachuk | 𝒫𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒

gif credit @czarniks

CONTENT WARNING: this story deals with cults, polygamous cults, escaping cults, strict adherence to religion, gender roles, abuse, miscarriage, and a character with a traumatic past.  Please be warned.

Word Count: 2,899

A/N: Was I really going to name the epilogue any thing else?

                                                         *     *     *     *     *

Effie had been quiet lately.  When Matthew said ‘quiet’, what he really meant to say was not all there, and when he said ‘not all there’ what he really meant to say was that she was there, with him physically, but her mind was somewhere else.  She had these bouts from time to time.  Effie was always going to be a work in progress, and that meant sometimes she’d regress instead.  He knew that when he signed up to be with her ten years ago now.  He knew that when he raised the idea of buying and building a house together seven years ago, and she said no.  He knew that when he raised the idea of buying and building a house together six years ago and she said no.  He knew that when he raised the idea of buying and building a house together five years ago and she said no.  He knew that when he raised the idea of buying and building a house together four years ago and she said no.  He knew thar when he raised the idea of buying and building a house together three years ago and she said yes.  He knew that when they moved in to said house two years ago.  Some bouts were long, some were short, but he always noticed them.  

This was another one.

She usually came around.  Well, actually, she almost always came around.  She’d ask something or propose an idea and Matthew would learn or realize why she was so withdrawn, why she was so quiet.  Sometimes they were simple, and a short bout: “I want to change the menu at the bakery.”  Sometimes they were vastly more complex, and a long bout: “I know Chantal’s okay with me not having kids, but what about Keith?”  She’d get stuck in her head a lot.  And with someone with so much to learn, as someone who was quite literally going through life learning by doing, it was almost a guarantee this would happen, considering what she came from.  

But Matthew was there.  Always.  

As he spooned her in bed, he could feel how distant she was.  He could practically feel her mind racing and refusing to slow down despite it being late at night.  Matthew placed a small kiss on her shoulder.  “D’you want to talk about it?” he offered.

Effie turned around so she was now facing him.  He could see the worried look in her eyes and started to worry himself.  She took a deep breath.  “Would you want to marry me?”

Matthew licked his lips, and without hesitation, he nodded his head.  “Yes.”

Effie looked away, almost ashamed.  “I had it in my head that you wouldn’t want to because I’ve been married before,” she whispered.

A regress.  Inevitable.  Effie’s mind was a complex ocean.  “You were never married,” he said firmly.  “But if you want to get married, I’d love to marry you.  We could do it however you wanted.”

“What about our marriage?”

“What do you mean?”

“We’d get married, but what would our marriage be like?”

Bad memories, obviously.  The last time she was a “wife” it wasn’t a marriage at all.  It was practically a hostage situation.  An abusive relationship.  “Do you like our relationship how it is now?” Matthew asked.  

Effie nodded her head.  “I want it to stay like this,” she said.

“Then that’s what our marriage will be like, too,” Matthew assured her.

***

“I don’t know what type of ring I like,” Effie mumbled on the phone to Geneviève as she picked at her lunch, a poppyseed bagel she’d made with a generous spread of lox and cream cheese.  Geneviève was in Sweden, like she was every summer, with Jacob and her twins.  Though they’d be back in a few weeks for the season, Effie couldn’t hold off talking to her.  She never really could.

“Why would that matter?” Geneviève asked.

“Matthew and I talked about getting married.”

There was silence on the other end of the call before Effie heard the dial tone.  She thought the call dropped – it did that sometimes, especially when Geneviève was in Sweden – but then her phone was vibrating all over again, and it was a FaceTime request instead of a simple phone call.  Effie couldn’t help but smile as she accepted the call.

“You and Matthew WHAT?!” Geneviève shrieked, holding the phone too close to her face.  

“Um…yeah,” Effie nodded.  “We talked about it a few nights ago in bed.  I asked him if he would want to marry me and he said yes.”

“Effie, Matthew’s probably wanted to marry you since he told you how to pronounce tomahawk.  What made you think he didn’t?” Geneviève asked.

Effie shrugged her shoulders.  “I don’t know…” she said.  “I just—last time I was married, it wasn’t a good marriage.”

“You were never married,” Geneviève deadpanned.  It was good to know she thought the same thing as Matthew.  “But besides that—has Matthew been anything like him in these past ten years?”

Effie shook her head.  “No way.”

“Then what makes you think he will when you’re married?”

Effie knew Geneviève was trying to make a point – and a good one – but Effie was, for some reason, still apprehensive.  “He comes home soon,” she said.  “I’m going to talk to him more about it.”

Geneviève nodded in understanding.  “Just remember that you deserve happiness, however that comes to you,” she reminded Effie.  “And remember, Effie – you can choose happiness, too.  You can choose to overcome a fear and make yourself happy.”

***

Effie searched all about engagement rings until she heard the garage door open and Matthew step into the house.  He’d been at the gym, and his own lox and cream cheese bagel was waiting for him in the fridge.  “Hey,” he called out from the laundry room.  

“Hi.”

“Whatcha up to?”

“Uh, looking at engagement rings.”

He was silent.  Silent until he rounded the corner and Effie saw him emerge from the hallway that led to the laundry room, his gym bag slung over his shoulder.  “Engagement rings, huh?”

“Mhm,” she nodded, adjusting herself in the bar stool.  “There’s so many different styles.”

Matthew looked at her skeptically, dropping his gym bag before walking over to her.  “There are…” he began.  “But you should look at a style or styles you like, and then we can bring it to a jeweler.”

“A jeweler?”

“I’m not gonna get you just any ring, baby.  It’s gonna be custom made,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Effie’s research told her that custom made rings were the most expensive types of rings.  While there were so many pretty styles online, custom was definitely something to aspire to for many people, even thought it was out of reach.  “You’d get me a custom ring?”

Matthew looked at her.  Without saying a word, he leaned back into the barstool beside her but grabbed hers and scooted it closer to him.  “Will you please talk to me?” he asked softly, but needily.  “You know I’d get you a custom ring.  You know I’m gonna let you get any dress you want and have whatever kind of wedding you want.  You brought up marriage but the questions you’ve been asking me…Effie, it’s as if you think I don’t love you.”

“That’s not—no,” she shook her head, stuttering out her words.  “I’m sorry, Matthew.  I don’t mean it to be like that.  I know you love me.”

“Then what’s with the questions?”

Effie took a deep breath, avoiding eye contact with Matthew until she knew she had to talk.  “This is what it was like last time.”

Matthew’s heart dropped into the pit of his stomach.  “What do you mean?”

“Abraham was nice before he abused me.  He promised me so many things.  And I know you’re not him—you’re nothing like him—and I’ve—I’ve told you that for ten years but—”

“—Effie, if this is too much for you, we don’t have to get married.”

Effie began shaking her head.  And when she began shaking her head, tears started to well up in her eyes, and as they welled up, they fell down her cheeks.  She tried wiping them away but Matthew beat her to it; she was so ashamed she couldn’t even look at him.  “But everybody gets married.  Look at Brady.  And Taryn, even.”

“Effie…we’re already in a committed relationship that’s like a marriage anyway.  I’m devoted to you, and you’re devoted to me…we—we live together, we act like we’re married anyway.  If you don’t want to change that then you don’t have to.”

“Yes I do,” she stressed.

“Why?”

“I do because I want to do something for you.  You’ve been doing things for me for ten years and I know you want this.  I know you want to get married.  So I want to give that to you because you’ve given me so much.”

“You giving me yourself is enough.  You know that.  You’re enough,” he said.

“I know,” she nodded.  “But marriage is a celebration of love.  It’s a celebration of love.  And I want to celebrate our love.  I just have to get it through my thick skull that marriage isn’t a punishment, it’s a celebration.”

Matthew nodded his head, giving her a quick kiss on the nose.  “Want me to call Dr. Barlow?  We can work on this together.”

Effie nodded.

***

Half a year later, Effie couldn’t stop staring at the rock on her finger.  It glimmered in even the shittiest light.  She was sure Matthew had something put in it to make it shine so much, but he kept denying it.  Geneviève loved it.  So did Jenna.  So did Annica.  

“But do you?” Matthew asked her.

She nodded.  The second he slipped it on to her finger, everything became real.  Everything.  She’d never had an engagement ring before.  She never had a testament to her partner’s love for her.  And here it was now, on her finger, ready for her to wear for the rest of her life.  Matthew gave it to her.  Her Matthew.  Nobody else but her Matthew.

***

“Oooooooh, Effie,” Chantal’s eyes lit up as Effie walked out of the fitting room of the small bridal boutique in St. Louis they went to on a whim.  Taryn’s jaw dropped in quick succession as Effie walked out and stood on the platform in front of them, a three-panel mirror showing her every angle of the dress.  She watched Chantal through the mirror.  “Oh Effie, this is stunning.”

“Do you think Matthew will like it?” she asked.  

“Matthew’s gonna bawl,” Taryn interjected, causing everyone to laugh.  “I’m about to bawl!”

Effie looked at herself in the mirror, patting down the fronts of the dress, even though it fit her like a glove.  Despite trying on some dresses already while out with Jenna and Geneviève, she didn’t get the same butterflies in her stomach as she did seeing herself in this dress, now, even though this wasn’t planned.  It was the first one Effie chose for their consultant to pull but the last one of the three she tried on, and it was the most beautiful.  She loved everything about it: the eyelet organza, the corset bodice with exposed boning, the A-line skirt with pockets.

The ivory.

The consultant puffed out the skirt for her, letting it fall behind her dramatically.  Effie was quiet as she watched Taryn eye the consultant and say “We need a veil” before the consultant left them alone.  Chantal was covering her mouth at the point, admiring the dress but also as a mechanism to stop herself from crying, probably.  Effie pat down the front of the dress again, her heart beating in her chest.  “Chantal?” her voice was small.

“Yes sweetie?”

“I can wear white, right?”

Chantal nodded automatically.  So did Taryn.  “Of course you can.  You were never married,” Chantal said.

“Even if you had been,” Taryn piped in, “it’s your wedding.  You can wear whatever you want.”

***

Matthew held Effie’s hand as they sat on a couch in Dr. Barlow’s office together, talking through Effie’s trepidations of marriage and expectations as a wife.  Effie knew that the only reason why she was having trouble with all of this was because of her past experiences; when she thought about it, deep down, she wanted nothing more than to marry Matthew.  But her mind was a funny thing – it always was – and that’s why they were here.  Matthew had been patient in waiting for her to agree to buy a house and move in together; he’d been even more patient in not asking her to get married but letting her make the decision herself.  Now it just all came down to this – the working through the nitty gritty things, the things that still plagued her mind – so she could go into the marriage in the healthiest way possible, just like their relationship was.  And she was going to see it that way.  It helped her immensely to see it that way.  This is just an extension of our relationship.  This is a celebration of our love.

“Have you given thought to any popular wedding or marriage traditions that the two of you would want to follow or not follow?” Dr. Barlow asked.

“Like what?” Matthew asked.

“Effie, will you be taking Matthew’s last name?”

Effie looked at Matthew before squeezing his hand quickly and nodding.  “Yes,” she said confidently.  “I’ll become Effie Tkachuk.  I met this woman through hockey – her husband plays for the Toronto Maple Leafs – her name is Bee Rielly.  She took her husband’s last name and she said the reason why she took it was because she had no connection to her maiden name, McTavish, because she had no real family and her mom was an alcoholic and it only really reminded her of that.  Considering her background, she wanted it gone, and I feel the same way.”

Matthew squeezed her hand back.  Dr. Barlow smiled and nodded her head.  “It’s great that you’ve met someone like that, that can help you see these kinds of things in that perspective,” she said.  “Are you having a church wedding?”

“No,” Matthew took this one.  Even though he and his siblings went to Catholic schools, religion wasn’t a huge part of their lives.  “Just an officiant.  We actually already have her booked.”

Dr. Barlow nodded again.  “Effie, how do you feel about the tradition of someone walking you down the aisle?  Levi?  Matthew’s dad, perhaps?”

Effie shook her head vehemently.  “I love them, but no,” she said.  “No way.  I’m entering into a marriage freely and I’m making the decision.  Nobody is giving me away.”

Matthew smiled.  “And that’s that on that.”

***

The more that Effie planned, the more she got to experience what normal wedding planning was like.  It was stressful, sure, but it wasn’t your-mom-telling-you-that-you-were-going-to-marry-a-55-year-old-when-you-were-fourteen-years-old type of stressful.  It wasn’t an I-don’t-know-anything-about-being-a-wife-I’m-only-fourteen-years-old type of fearful.  It actually wasn’t fearful at all.  The more decisions she made about how she was going to marry Matthew, the more excited she became.  Decisions about flowers, about table coverings, about décor, about music, about food.  Her favourite was taste-testing cakes samples with Matthew.  Every time they tasted something Matthew would always say, “It’s not as good as your cakes” to her.  

Every.  Single.  Time.  

***

Between family, friends, and teammates, there were about 130 people at the wedding.  Effie wore her dress, tailored to perfection, and the veil – long and regal and cathedral length, because the only day it was socially acceptable to wear a veil that long was on your wedding day, and Effie was going to take full advantage of it.  They did a first look and Matthew cried.  He cried again when she walked down the aisle by herself.  

When Effie stood holding hands with Matthew, reciting vows to each other, she thought about the past ten years.  She thought about the person she was when she met him at Noah’s birthday party.  She thought about their Starbucks meetings and him teaching her about corn dogs and candy and frappucinos.  She thought about how different she was from then till now, and that though the past still affected her, and crept up on her from time to time, she had been strong back then, and was even stronger now, and that made her proud of herself in a way nobody else could understand.  Not even Matthew.  That she stood here with him, marrying him, making the choice to marry him, spoke volumes of her progression.  It spoke volumes of the person she had been, the person she was now, and the person she was becoming.  She was always a work in progress.  

Matthew was there for it all.  There to help her, there to guide her through it.  There to help her achieve her dreams and expose to things she never thought possible.  Lake Louise.  Moraine Lake.  The Bahamas.  Europe.  St. Louis.  Confidence.  Trust.  Love.

“I love you,” he whispered to her when their vows were done, rubbing his thumb over the backs of her hands.

“I love you too,” she whispered back.  Freely.  Meaningfully.  Deeply.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife!” the officiant beamed.

For the first time in her life, Effie was married.