by Max Monroe
“Yeah, well, that’s usually how it goes. I mean, when I asked Charlotte to marry me, I didn’t plan on it ending with her leaving me at the altar. But love is a real motherfucker.”
And that right there, seeing what Rem went through, still goes through because of it, is exactly why you’ve stupidly tried to avoid it this whole time.
My mind drifts to the distant past, and I think about the night of Rem’s bachelor party when all four of us Winslow brothers were young and had our whole lives ahead of us.
I think about how excited Remy was and how ridiculous Jude and Ty were.
I even think about the stupid fortune-teller that Jude made us all go to after a stripper had all but torn Rem’s boxer briefs to shreds with her stiletto.
You mean the fortune-teller who correctly predicted Rem getting left at the altar? And the same one who also correctly predicted Jude would make a bet that would change his life?
Instantly, the words crazy Cleo said to me ring loud and clear in my mind.
“There will be a night, though. One wild, unexpected night in a seemingly predictable life where you, my sweet boy, will make a pact with a stranger from which there will be great consequence.”
Holy fuck.
One wild night. A pact with a stranger.
How in the hell did I miss this?
Probably because you wrote Miss Cleo off as a nutjob.
“What are you going to do?” Rem asks, pulling me from my racing thoughts, and I look at him long enough to come to a final conclusion.
“Make sure that fucking fortune-teller is wrong about the consequences.”
“Huh?”
“I gotta go, Rem,” I say and snag my keys, phone, and wallet from where I left them on the kitchen counter. My mind is made up, and there isn’t a damn thing anyone can do to stop me.
“Go? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Lock up when you leave.”
And that’s the last thing I say to my eldest brother before the door of my apartment slams shut behind me.
Daisy
I’m alone in the bathtub in my hotel room, and about twenty pregnancy tests are scattered along the edge of the tub and the floor and the sink like some kind of pregnancy-obsessed hoarder lives here.
And every single one of them tells me the same thing—Pregnant.
Holy fucking shit.
I’m pregnant, my immigration interview is tomorrow, and mere hours ago, I lost my ever-loving shit and told my fake-husband/real-baby-daddy that I’m done and moving back to Canada.
If this weren’t my actual life, I’d probably think it was a joke and have a good laugh about it.
But all I can do is sob.
Big fat tears stream down my cheeks, and I just stare at the grout work of the tiles and wonder how in the hell I managed to get here.
Eventually, I find the will to get out of the tub and tip-toe past the pregnant evidence. Once I pace a little in front of the flat-screen TV, I grab my phone out of my purse and tap the screen to check for notifications. But when I realize I must have turned it off after I panicked over Dr. Fields’s big news, I turn on the damn thing and decide that I need to call the two people who might be able to help me sort all of this out.
The screen comes to life quickly, but I’m immediately hit with a low battery notification. I rummage in my purse for my charger, but I quickly realize it’s not with me; it’s at Flynn’s apartment.
Son of a bitch! Can’t anything go right tonight?
Hopeful that I have enough juice to at least make this call, I get Gwen on the line first, then Damien, until we’re all sitting on a three-way FaceTime.
It’s late—very late, actually, even for West Coast time—but there’s no complaint about it because the second they both spot my splotchy, tear-stained face, their reactions are basically the same.
“Daisy? What’s wrong?”
“Oh my God, doll. Are you okay?”
“I have something I need to tell you,” I say, biting the bullet of truth through a shaky voice. “I’ve lied to you both.”
“What are you talking about?” Damien questions, and Gwen tilts her head to the side.
“Lied about what, darling?”
I stare at them, the words not coming as easily as I’d like.
“Daisy?” Gwen questions gently. “You know you can tell me anything and I won’t be mad.”
Her kind words are my undoing.
“I didn’t marry Flynn because we were in love!” I burst out in a rush. “I married him because my US work visa expired, and he offered to help me get a green card! And now everything is fucked, and I left him because the lies became too much and I was feeling too much and I shouldn’t have been feeling too much because it’s all fake, and now I’m going to have to move back to Canada without a job and I don’t know what I’m doing with my life anymore! It’s like I’m purposely trying to destroy it!”
Gwen’s eyes nearly bug out of her head.
“You did what?” Damien’s chiseled jaw turns to jelly. “You married Flynn for a green card?”
I nod and swipe my hand across my face to clear my blurred vision. “It’s why I’m in New York. We had to show proof of living together for Immigration.”
“Well, this is certainly some news,” Gwen mutters.
“You should’ve told me, Daisy,” Damien states, and his lips turn down at the corners. “I could’ve helped you. I mean, I’m sure there was another work-around for an expired visa that didn’t include marrying a stranger.”
I grimace through more tears.
But even if you could go back in time, you still wouldn’t change any of it.
The realization hits me straight in the chest, and I have to swallow back another onslaught of tears. Though, it only half works. I’m still crying, just not sobbing like my hiccuping lungs and shaky throat would prefer.
“Damn, doll, when you go, you go all the way, don’t you?” Damien questions rhetorically. “So…you married Flynn, but now, you’re not with Flynn? Did I get that right?”
I nod and rub an irritated hand down my face. “Tonight, at Flynn’s brother Jude’s rehearsal dinner, I lost it. I stormed out and we had a big fight in the street, and I told him I couldn’t do it anymore.”
And then you booked a hotel room, found out you’re pregnant, and took twenty tests just to verify.
Internally, I cringe. And I decide right then and there that even though I’m done with the lies, I can’t tell them the full truth. I can’t tell them I’m pregnant before Flynn knows I’m pregnant.
That would feel completely wrong.
“Why did you do that?” Gwen asks in her always-comforting tone.
I shrug. Sniffle. “I don’t know what came over me. But I guess the guilt of what we were doing, and the lies we’ve been telling everyone, reached a breaking point I couldn’t handle. I just couldn’t keep living the lie. I couldn’t keep acting like we were this happy couple in front of his family when, deep down, I knew it would all come to a crashing end soon.”
Are you sure that’s the only reason?
I’m sure.
“I’m sure that’s why I left,” I say out loud, but it doesn’t make me believe it more. If anything, saying the words only makes it painfully clear that there are two sides to this story of mine.
And it doesn’t do anything to convince Damien and Gwen.
“Doll, no offense, but even though I’m still trying to catch up with the fact that you went through with a shotgun wedding because your work visa expired instead of just telling me, you don’t seem all that sure right now. You seem like a fucking mess, and I have a feeling that’s why you called Gwen and me. Because you’re the opposite of sure.”
He’s right. I know he’s right. The guilt and shame in our lies only make up half of the truth. Probably way less than half, if I’m being honest with myself.
“I love him,” I blurt out, and finally, the words match what’s inside my heart. “I’m in love wi
th Flynn. We may’ve gotten married on a green-card whim, but I’ve fallen in love with him and I…wish our marriage was real. I wish it wasn’t going to come to an end. And his family? Well, I love them too. They’re the family I always wished I’d had when I was a little girl in foster care. I feel like I belong with them. Like I can be myself with them.”
Gwen’s eyes turn soft, and she lifts one hand to wipe below her eyes. “Aw, darling. I’m so sorry.”
“Damn, doll.” Damien sniffles. “Why in the hell did you walk away from him, then?”
“I don’t know,” I cry and swipe at my face. “Because Flynn isn’t a relationship or marriage kind of guy. Because we made it clear from the beginning that this was a no-strings-attached kind of thing.”
“But he married you.”
“Yeah, but it was a fake marriage.”
“A fake marriage that involved you moving in with him, spending time with his family, and being all up in his personal space.”
I stare at him through my tears.
“Doll, are you sure he doesn’t feel the same way? I mean, fake marriage or not, he sure seems like he was committed to you.”
“He’s just a loyal kind of guy, Dame. I promise you, this isn’t a romance movie where the girl and guy end up together in the end.”
Gwen lets out a soft sigh. “Darling, you can’t be sure about that until you actually tell him how you feel. Which, it sounds like, is the one thing you haven’t done. The man I talked to on the phone talked about you like he saw you, Daisy. The real you. Why do you think I got over the whole thing so quickly?” She snorts. “It wasn’t because of his six-pack abs and handsome smile, I can tell you that.”
It…it wasn’t? I just assumed Gwen understood because she has a thing for man candy herself. I never considered that she saw something more.
“I think you need to tell him, Daisy,” Damien agrees.
All I can do is nod. But it’s not because I agree. It’s because they both seem so hopeful that I can’t find the courage to tell them that my immigration interview is tomorrow, and thanks to me, Flynn won’t be there.
Yeah, but are you going to be there?
I look down at my stomach, where, I now know, sits a tiny baby that’s growing inside me. A baby who deserves a mom and a dad and a happy, healthy home.
“I’ve fucked this up for more than just myself,” I mutter, and both Gwen and Damien look at me in confusion.
But neither has time to say anything, because the battery on my phone chooses that exact moment to give up the good fight. The screen goes black, and I’m on my own again.
And all I can do is stare down at the wedding band that sits on my left hand. The ring I don’t seem to ever take off.
Now what are you going to do?
Friday, May 31st
Daisy
I stand outside the massive federal building and check the time on my phone again.
8:00 a.m. glares back at me.
Time is almost up, Daisy.
I don’t know how long I’ve been standing outside the USCIS building, but considering I checked out of my room at six this morning, I know it’s been a while.
So long, in fact, the security guard at the door is probably starting to wonder if you’re casing the place…
“Hi,” I greet him from across the sidewalk, the courage to speak just barely popping out of its hole like a little prairie dog. “I have an interview. At nine.”
He doesn’t respond or alter the deadpan stare from his face. He’s all business, and I’m the furthest thing from it. Truth be told, I’m one small skip away from emotionally exploding all over this city sidewalk.
“I guess you could say I’m a little nervous.”
When I realize I’m not going to get anything out of Stone Cold Steve Austin at the door, I take a few steps away and force myself to sit on a bench that’s positioned off to the side of the building. Far away from Officer Serious but still close enough to actually walk into the building.
That is, if I decide to follow through with the interview.
I lean my head back and look up at the early morning sky. The clouds are shades of pinks and blues and silently make me wonder which color will soon become a staple in my life.
Pink or blue? A daughter or a son?
Hand to my stomach, I feel around my belly for any sign of pregnancy. I’d like to think I can feel a slight fullness in my lower abdomen, but truthfully, besides my out-of-whack emotions, the only reason I know I’m pregnant is because of Dr. Fields and the twenty or so sticks I peed on last night.
I’m pregnant. With Flynn’s baby. And I don’t know what to do.
You do know. You need to woman the hell up and go to that interview and make damn sure you can stay in this country long enough to tell Flynn you love him and you’re having his child.
But how do I explain the obvious reality that my husband isn’t at my interview?
The question urges me to stand back to my feet and play the all-too-familiar role of crazy-lady-pacing-outside-the-building.
My husband really wanted to be here, but see, there was an emergency. He fell off—
That is not going to work.
Flynn is very ill. We had Taco Bell last night, and I’m sure you can understand how that can end badly. You definitely wouldn’t want him here, stinking up your bathroom. Ha-ha…I’m an idiot.
My husband is—
Out of nowhere, two arms wrap around my shoulders and pull me back into a hard, firm chest. I shriek out in surprise and start to fling my arms at my attacker, but that’s quickly stopped when “Daisy, calm down. It’s me.” fills my ears.
I spin on my heels and come face-to-face with the one person, the only person, I want to see right now—Flynn.
“W-what are you doing here?”
“We don’t have much time, babe,” he says, and in a matter of seconds, my feet are off the ground and I’m in his arms, cradled close to his chest. Across the street and into an empty alleyway, Flynn doesn’t set me on my feet until we’re completely alone.
“I’m calling in my IOU.”
My head jerks back. “What?”
“The night we got married, you said you owed me, and whenever I wanted to call it in, I just needed to tell you. Well, I’m calling it in now.”
Normally, I’m not the quiet one in our conversations, but right now, that’s exactly what I am.
“I don’t want you to leave, Daisy. I want you to stay and make a real go of this with me. And quite frankly, I think you owe me the chance to try.”
He wants me to stay?
“You want to try to make a real go of it with me?” I repeat back, my whole body shaking with the overwhelmingly relieving feeling of my adrenaline crashing. I’m not going to have to fight at life alone anymore?
“More than anything I’ve ever wanted,” he says and takes both of my hands into his. “You make me better, Daisy.”
But will he still want that when he finds out the truth? That our lives are going to be a lot more complicated than a couple of raging horndog fake spouses?
“I don’t want to go back to my quiet life without you. I don’t want to do anything without you. I—”
The urge to tell him everything, to lay it all out on the table, is too strong, and without thinking, I blurt out the words right in the middle of him talking.
“I’m pregnant!” I exclaim just as Flynn finishes with, “love you.”
Holy hell, he loves me? He loves me?!
“I love you too!” I shout at the same time he asks, “You’re pregnant?”
Tears threaten and a giggle bursts uninvited from deep, deep in my chest. For once in my life, I’m going to shut up and let someone else do the talking. Flynn deserves that. Flynn deserves everything.
“You’re pregnant?” Flynn repeats again, this time on an awed whisper.
I nod, and emotion floods my eyes for what feels like a million reasons. Worry, happiness, elation, concern, fear, it’s a kaleidoscope o
f feelings rushing through my veins.
“You’re pregnant,” he states this time, as if he needs to hear the words out loud for himself.
“Yes,” I answer, and the need to give him an explanation—to assure him I haven’t been hiding this—is too strong to deny. I can’t be quiet anymore. “But I didn’t know until last night. After I left The Penrose. The doctor who did my physical called me, and yeah, even though I didn’t really believe her, it only took a two-hundred-dollar trip to Walgreens and a gallon of Sunny Delight for me to comprehend that I am, in fact, pregnant. Apparently, seven to eight weeks along.”
“My baby is inside you,” he says and reaches out to gently place his left hand—the one that still showcases his gold wedding band—onto my stomach. “Right there. That’s our baby.”
I nod, and the tenderness of his touch allows the relief of tears to spill down my cheeks. “Yes. That’s our baby.”
“A life-long contract we can’t deny,” he says and lifts me into his arms. “You’re staying. With me. Forever. I’m going to love you both with everything I have.” He presses his lips to mine, and all the fear and anxiety that are spilling out from my eyes and down my cheeks turn to pure happiness.
“You’re my wife, Daisy. The one and only woman I want to spend the rest of forever with,” he whispers against my mouth. “Hell, you’ve been my wife all along, even when I was too dense to realize it.”
“Even when I was telling myself that this was all just a fake marriage,” I say quietly and lean back to search the depths of my husband’s eyes. “Deep down, I knew it was real, Flynn. I don’t want anyone else. Just you.”
He kisses me again, but this time, it’s fiercer, more passionate, and it’s not long before my legs are wrapping around his waist and my fingers find their way into the thick tresses of his dark hair.
“God, I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you,” he says between kisses. “I know it’s only been ten-fucking-hours, but I can tell you it’s been the longest ten hours of my life. I spent last night walking all over this fucking city, checking far too many hotels trying to find you.”
I lean back and meet his eyes again. “Why didn’t you call me?”