No one ever thought England would want to take the United States. Hundreds of years had passed since the US-UK split. No one knew that the Queen Elizabeth still held quite a grudge. One evening, Her Majesty, in a sherry-induced rage declared war on the United States. She had the missile named “The Right Proper Gentleman” and was quoted in the House of Commons saying that “King George would be avenged.” The estimated time of detonation was an hour. Jacob quickly called his girlfriend of three weeks, Nora. They agreed to meet at the halfway point between their two places of employment—the Waffle House on 150. The couple parked and ran to meet each other. Nora’s eyes were puffy and red as she clung to Jacob.

            “I can’t believe this is happening,” she said. Jacob pushed the long curtains of blonde hair away from her face and kissed her head.

            “We still have some time. Let’s get inside,” he said.

            The inside of the Waffle House was fairly empty. Three waitresses crowded around the TV anchored to the wall. Two cops came in, cursing the radio silence in their cruiser. A truck driver lit up a cigarette despite the no smoking signs and called his family.

            “Just keep the kids close. Let’s hope it’ll be quick,” the trucker said between drags. Jacob and Nora approached the counter, unsure of what protocol was for the apocalypse. Wordlessly, one of the waitresses set two coffee cups on the counter. They filled their cups and sat close in a booth.

            “I’d always hoped to die doing something important, saving someone’s life maybe,” Jacob said, remembering his neglected application to the Peace Corps after high school. He’d considered the army, but he wasn’t a fan of guns and liked his hair longer.

            “I wanted to die old and gray with lots of experiences and memories. Have my family there with me.” Nora’s eyes welled again. Suddenly the unfinished things in his life seemed overbearing, momentous, and stifling.

            “Marry me,” Jacob said. Nora stiffened next to him and her head snapped in his direction.

            “What?”

            “Marry me,” he repeated, taking her hand. Nora’s eyes widened, and the tears ceased. “Look I know it’s crazy. But how much crazier can this get? We’re about to die. The last few weeks with you have been so amazing. I probably would’ve asked you eventually. So, what do you say? Let’s spend our last few moments as husband and wife.”

            Nora practically climbed onto his lap, her tears making a comeback, but this time happy, “Yes! Yes of course I’ll marry you!”

            Her squeals of elation drew the attention of the sparse restaurant crowd. The impending doom was forgotten momentarily. The waitresses tasked to crafting bouquets out of paper towels and fashioning rings out of twist-ties from the bread bags.

            “I’m an ordained minister, I’d be happy to marry you two,” a man with a tie-dye shirt under a faded corduroy blazer approached Jacob and Nora from the back corner of the restaurant. He smiled lazily under bloodshot eyes, “I did one of those certifications online when I was drunk once. The name’s Gil.”

            Jacob and Gil shook hands as the congregation began to assemble by the counter. Gil took out his phone and googled the words traditionally read at weddings. He opened the Corinthians bible verse in a second window. Jacob and Nora held hands by the cash register. The waitresses clutched their wilting paper flowers behind the bride. The trucker stood behind Jacob, hat removed, revealing his shining bald spot.

            “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today,” Gil began and then slapped his forehead, “I almost forgot! You guys have to sign the license thing.”

            One of the bridesmaids disappeared behind counter and returned with a warped piece of paper depicting the proper way to wash your hands. She flipped it over and fished a pen out of her apron pocket. Gil jotted down a few things, drew lines with x’s next to them and passed the pen. Jacob and Nora signed, and the ceremony progressed.

             “I now pronounce you, husband and wife,” Gil said, and the restaurant applauded as the newlyweds kissed. Jacob had almost forgotten their impending doom and he glanced at the TV—CNN had a countdown clock going. The news anchors reverted to the Murdoch-style newsroom, cigarette smoke clouding the screen. He wondered if there would be time to consummate the marriage. Was it reaching for the stars to hope the Waffle House had a break room with a couch?

            “How’s about we kick the reception off?” Gil produced a joint and lit it. One of the cops approached and clapped him on the shoulder. What little color in the minister’s cheeks drained and the party hushed. The officer brought the tiny roach to his lips and took a drag. Relief washed over the group as the cop exhaled, nodding in approval.

            Jacob was trying to remember marijuana etiquette when a commotion by the TV caught his attention. The lead anchor was waving his arms through the cigarette smoke and coughing. Jacob could see the associates in the background cheering and hugging.

            “We’re just getting this in,” the man said, scrambling for papers and brushing the ash off his tie, “It seems, by some unforeseen circumstances, the missile has malfunctioned. It’s disintegrated!” Through tears of joy he continued, trying to assemble his correspondents and regain credibility. Disheveled field reporters were tumbling out of news vans as the screen changed. The lenses pointed to the sky, debris was raining into the Atlantic Ocean like fireworks. Marine activists had assembled, frantically making signs in protest and demanding to know about clean-up plans. Civilians crowded near the saw horses police officers and emergency responders were setting up, pointing and taking pictures. Images flashed by faster than Jacob could take in.

            “Can you believe it!?” Nora rushed to his side, wrapping her arms around him, “It’s a miracle!”

            The two cops, one slightly glassy-eyed, moved around them and descended upon Gil, who was back in his seat with a second celebratory joint. Nora and Jacob made their way back to their booth as the cops led the minister away. Their marriage certificate rested between them. One of the waitresses brought out a complimentary stack of waffles.

            Nora smiled, pushing the plate towards him, “It’s all right, I’m basically allergic to everything—gluten, dairy, you name it. I was actually gathering some vegan recipes on my lunch break when you called me.”

            “Oh, I didn’t know that,” Jacob took a bite, the waffles thoroughly soaked in syrup. An image of a tofu-filled pantry flashed through his mind. Nora’s eyes bounced between him and the TV.

            “I’m sure we’ll learn a lot about each other,” she seemed to suddenly become aware of something and looked down at the wrinkly paper they’d signed, “we’re married now.”

            “We are,” Jacob was suddenly full. He took another bite anyway. The silence passed, and Nora watched the news, the broadcast considerably more organized now.

            “I bet this whole thing could’ve been avoided if we hadn’t elected that moron. Then that moron wouldn’t have brought that other moron in as Secretary of Defense—I mean, how hard is it to not start a nuclear war?” She said, shaking her head.

            “I voted for him,” Jacob swallowed, the waffles sticking in his dry throat, “twice.”

            Nora looked back at him, her face hardening briefly. Her eyes darted back to the deed on the table.

            “I’m sure we’re going to learn a lot about each other,” he said, suddenly aware of his arms sticking to the table and the fork adhered to his palm. Nora nodded and picked up her mug, the coffee was black and cold.

– Shelby Brown