The Department of Definitely Real Romance
The Department of Definitely Real Romance operated from a building that was sometimes there, depending on whether anyone was looking for love1. Today, it was definitely there, because Brad from Sales (definitely human) was officiating a wedding.
“Dearly beloved, observed, and probably existing,” Brad began, his smile stretching exactly as wide as human smiles should, “we are gathered here to witness the union of Jennifer, Jennifer, and Jennifer with David.”
“Just to clarify,” whispered the mother of the bride(s), “is that three different Jennifers or one Jennifer in three states?”
“Yes,” Brad answered helpfully.
This was the problem with modern weddings. When observation determined existence, you never knew exactly who was marrying whom. The Department had developed a standard form: Marriage License (Quantum Edition), with checkboxes for all possible states of matrimony.
“I, David, take thee, Jennifer(s), to be my lawfully wedded wife/wives/probability cloud,” David recited, reading from the official script.
The wedding guests existed in various states of attention. Aunt Margaret was simultaneously crying, sleeping, and had never been born. The flower girl existed only on Tuesdays, which was unfortunate as this was a Saturday2.
“If anyone objects to this union,” Brad announced, “please specify which version you’re objecting to.”
The continental breakfast in the catering area had achieved not just sentience but romantic feelings, and was currently proposing to a bagel. The bagel was considering its options3.
“The rings, please,” Brad said.
The best man reached into his pocket and pulled out a box containing: one ring, no rings, seventeen rings, and a small confused pigeon. Quantum jewelry was always a gamble.
“In the eyes of the law,” Brad continued, “which eyes we’re referring to remains unspecified, do you, Jennifer-Prime, take David-Alpha to be your husband in this specific probability thread?”
“I do,” said Jennifer-1.
“I might,” said Jennifer-2.
“We’re already divorced,” said Jennifer-3.
The Department of Definitely Real Romance had established protocols for this. Form QRM-7: Simultaneous Marriage and Divorce Filing. It saved time.
“You may now kiss the bride(s),” Brad announced.
David leaned in. Jennifer-1 kissed him back. Jennifer-2 phased through him. Jennifer-3 was already at the divorce lawyer. The photographer captured all states simultaneously, which would make for an interesting album4.
“Continental breakfast is included with all ceremonies,” Brad added, though the continental breakfast was currently eloping with the bagel and unavailable for consumption.
The wedding reception existed in seventeen different venues. The DJ played songs that were simultaneously romantic and tragic. The cake was chocolate, vanilla, and didn’t exist—everyone got the slice they observed.
“It’s beautiful,” the mother of the bride(s) sobbed, watching her daughter(s) dance with her new husband/ex-husband/man she’d never met.
“Makes you nostalgic,” said the father, “for when you just married one person who stayed one person.”
“Preposterous,” Brad interjected, his definitely human emotions definitely not including wistfulness. “Next you’ll say relationships existed without constant observation.”
The bouquet toss resulted in several paradoxes. The person who caught it was single, married, and a potted plant. The Department would sort it out later5.
As the evening wore on (or didn’t, depending on observation), Brad distributed TimeShare Properties™ brochures discretely. “Definitely not suggesting anything,” he said, winking with the appropriate number of human eyes. “But imagine weddings where the bride definitely exists.”
The continental breakfast and the bagel had returned from their elopement, now in a committed relationship but open to polyamory with English muffins.
Another successful wedding at the Department of Definitely Real Romance, where love was a matter of paperwork and existence was negotiable.