And so it goes, the story of Noah Cushman and Monica de la Rionda. But seeing as they're not even thirty as of the last chapter, their story is hardly over. If I kept writing, though, I'd be writing forever. (Sounds good in theory, but.) So here's a summary of their life from here on out.
Nine months later, they get married in a bilingual Catholic church. Their wedding is, as comes naturally to Monica, a beautiful, extravagant affair. Somehow, Monica restrains herself and avoids becoming too much of a bridezilla. All their Footloose cast members are invited; Thom, aka Willard, aka Big Papa, wears his pimp hat with his tux. They make sure to include several Footloose songs at the reception. Their main songs are "Almost Paradise" and Elvis Presley's "Can't Help Falling In Love." Monica dominates the dance floor, while Noah struggles to keep up.
The happy couple honeymoons in Savannah, Georgia, and love it so much they decide to move there. Noah becomes a drama teacher at a local high sch
"So be honest," she told him. "When we first met, what was your first impression of me?"
"Well, honestly," he replied, wondering if he should lie. He decided not to. After all, she wouldn't lie to him. "Honestly, I thought you were kind of a bitch."
"And I am!" she laughed.
"You didn't let me finish." He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief that she wasn't offended. "I also thought you were the prettiest girl I'd ever seen. And that's definitely true. What was your first impression of me?"
She mulled the question over. "Well, for obvious reasons, I thought you were sexy. Still true."
He beamed with pride.
She continued, "I remember you had your hair kind of gelled up, and I thought you were either a total queen or a total douche. Possibly both."
His jaw dropped with shock. "What?!"
She shrugged unapologetically. "Well, in theater, you never know. But obviously, both of those turned out to be false."
"Like my dad says," he chimed in. "When you make assumptions, you'll be an ass and the um
"Baby, for the last time, I didn't mean it like that!"
She huffed back, "Like hell you didn't!"
He put his head in his hands. There they went again. He had referred to her as being "curvy" and having "crazy hair." She had taken both as insults, while he'd meant both as compliments. He'd just meant she had what did his mom call it? an hourglass figure, like Sofia Vergara (the second most beautiful woman in the world). And he loved her crazy hair!
He looked down and realized she was on the ground, her knees tucked under her chin, and crying. He knelt down in front of her and rested his hands on her arms. "Oh, come on, don't cry. Don't cry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just don't cry. I hate seeing you cry."
She sniffed and looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "You really didn't mean anything bad by what you said?"
"Of course not!" he said, both insulted and concerned. "How could you even think that? You know I think you're gorgeous. Why so insecure all of a sudden?"
"It's not al
When he woke up, she wasn't lying next to him. All the lights downstairs were on. And the whole house smelled of burnt toast, burnt pancake batter, and burst God-knows-what-else. And his smoke detector was going off like no tomorrow. He got up with a jolt, dressed so hurriedly he almost put his pants on backward, and ran downstairs.
"It's fine, it's fine!" she shouted, waving him away with one hand and waving the smoke away with the other. "I have it totally under control!"
"Bullshit," he replied.
Out of the toaster popped the blackest toast he had ever laid eyes on. On the stove were eggs and would-be pancakes. He was sure both were about to explode.
She already had. She threw away the charred food remains as vigorously as humanly possible, all the while cussing up a blue streak in Spanish.
He put his hand on her shoulder. "Baby, it's okay. Just breathe."
She jumped and widened her eyes as though she'd heard a loud noise. Then she burst into tears. "Dios mio, Dios mio!"
Sometimes he felt like he'd made the biggest mistake of his life by going out with her. They were an odd couple, to say the least. His idea of a fun Friday night consisted of a good movie, a snack, and his trusty La-Z-Boy. Hers involved going out to the hottest nightclub with her bevy of friends. It seemed they had nothing in common.
And then there was her personality. Sometimes she could be the sweetest person in the world, but other times not so much. She had a tendency to blow every little thing out of proportion, get all bent out of shape about it, and raise all kinds of hell. She could make life so unbearable for him.
He'd never been a fighter, but she brought out the worst in him. They argued at least once a week, usually over something stupid. This time it was about his tendency to bring animals home from the shelter where he volunteered. He couldn't help it; one look at those sweet faces and his willpower was destroyed. She didn't quite see it that way, though. She liked