“No, no, no,” she said, sucking sauce off her fingers. My brain blanked for a second and I couldn’t remember what I was supposed to be doing.
“You going to keep guessing?” Emma asked, discarding the bone in a bowl. I snatched a wing out of the box, eating it with one hand and scrolling my phone with the other.
Eventually, I gave up and let Emma wear the smug smile of victory because I was hungry and I knew she was going to give me whatever it was anyway. Emma broke the garlic bread in half, putting some on a plate and pushing it toward me.
“Hey, you gave me the smaller half,” I said, checking it against the half she’d taken for herself.
“You got an extra wing. The number was uneven.”
“Oh,” I said. “That’s okay then.” I devoured the bread and Emma asked me if I wanted some wine. She had a new bottle of a sweet and spicy red that she thought I might like.
“Just one glass,” I said. “I’m still suffering from this weekend. Why did we decide to go to Vegas? All of that stuff wouldn’t have happened if we’d gone to... to... Nebraska.” Emma snorted as she poured a decent-sized glass of wine for me.
“What’s in Nebraska?” I took a cautious sip and my eyes rolled back in my head. Oh yeah, that was damn good. I’d have to pace myself so I didn’t suck down the whole bottle in one sitting.
“I have no idea. It was the first random state to come to my mind. Anyway, whose idea was Vegas again?” Emma gave me a sardonic look.
“Yours, Callyn.”
“Right,” I said, pointing at her with my glass. I set it down so I wasn’t tempted to down the entire thing in one go. “Most ideas that blow up in my face are mine.” I hated facing the consequences of my own actions.
“But we all agreed to it, so it wasn’t completely on you.”
“That’s right,” I said.
The timer dinged and Emma went to the oven. It was time for the big reveal. She pulled out a Bundt pan with a chocolate cake in it and then set it down to cool before getting out some more ingredients for what I assumed was frosting.
“Em, that’s just a chocolate cake. I guessed that.” Emma put some sugar into a mixing bowl.
“No, you didn’t guess exactly what kind of cake this is. That’s the rule. This is a triple-chocolate buttermilk pound cake that I’m going to glaze in chocolate and buttermilk.” I grabbed the remains of the takeout bags and the bowl full of discarded bones and put them in the trash.
“Like I was going to guess that exact kind of cake? Come on, Emma. That’s just mean. There’s probably billions of desserts out there,” I said. She smiled and turned on the mixer, making sure that the sugar didn’t go flying all over the kitchen as she did it.
I watched in rapt attention as Emma made two different glazes, turned the cake out, and waited for it to cool. That was the worst part: waiting for the dessert to be ready. The apartment was too quiet so I went and turned on some music and bopped around the living room.
“Typical. Me, working my ass off to make you a cake, and you, dancing your ass off in my living room.” I spun around and did a goofy little wiggle that made her laugh every single time I did it.
“One of us has to have these sweet moves,” I said, doing a shimmy that I knew looked completely ridiculous. I could actually dance well, but I preferred to dance like a dork to make Emma laugh.
“You should have left those moves in Vegas,” she said, but she grabbed her wine and came to join me in the living room. Her place was miles above mine in quality, since my apartment hadn’t been upgraded since before I was born and hers had new everything. It was no wonder that I loved being here more than I liked being at my cramped place with the inconsistent heating and the angry dishwasher that only worked half the time and the annoying roommates.
Emma sat on the couch and I wiggled over to join her.
“How much longer until we have cake?” I whined.
“Soon. You’re always so impatient.” She said it with fondness, though. I knew she loved me. We wouldn’t have been best friends this long if she didn’t.
“Ugh, I don’t want later cake. I want now cake.” I rubbed my stomach. “I need the cake, Em. Deep in my soul.” With a sigh, she got up and checked the cake.
“Still not cool yet.” So she poured another glass of wine for me instead. Almost as good, I guess.
I had to wait another ten minutes for the cake to be done, for Emma to put the glaze on, and for her to take enough pictures of it for her social to be satisfied that the cake had been documented. It felt like an eternity.
“Finally,” I said, picking it up in my hand and shoving one third of the piece in my mouth. Emma gasped in shock, but I just grinned at her with my cheeks full of the incredible cake.
“You cretin,” she said after a moment, her lips fighting a smile. I almost choked as I chewed and swallowed the enormous piece. Maybe this had been a mistake.
I was more conservative with my second bite and I opted to use the fork instead, after slapping the piece down on a plate. Like a fucking lady.
“This is incredible. I know I inhaled it, so you think I couldn’t tell, but seriously. So good. You gonna give me some to smuggle home?” I always had to hide my sweets in my room or else my roommates would eat them before you could say cupcake.
“Sure thing,” she said, eating her cake in dainty bites. She was quiet tonight and I wondered if she was still thinking about this whole marrying in Vegas thing.
“What’s up, wife?” I asked and her eyes snapped up from her plate.
“That’s not funny.”
I started licking off my fingers and she passed me a napkin. “Why not? It’s not like we really meant to do it. We just got drunk.” Why was she being so weird about this? “Are you worried about your parents finding out?”
She looked at her plate again and nodded slowly.
“Maybe. I just don’t want them to say anything about me making bad decisions, because of quitting my job and all that.” I swigged my wine.
“Shit happens. Have you looked up how difficult it would be for us to undo it yet?” I knew she had. Emma set her plate down and went to the second bedroom where she had a little office and came back with a stack of printed papers.
“Wow, okay,” I said. “So you did look it up.”
“One of us has to file an initial complaint. That’s this.” She handed me part of the stack. Ugh, it looked complicated. “I’ll fill that out and get it notarized and that’s the first step. It’s almost $300, but I’ll cover it.” I winced. That was a lot of money.
“No, I’ll chip in half. We should share it,” I said. She sighed and took the papers back from me. I’d gotten chocolate on them. Of course.
“I’ll print new ones,” she said in a quiet voice. I pulled up my phone and sent her $150 for my half. Her phone made a noise that she’d gotten the payment.
“Cal, you didn’t have to do that.” She hardly ever called me Cal. I always liked it when she did.
“Yes, I did. And don’t you dare try to send it back because I’ll just keep sending it to you.” She made a frustrated noise and I laughed and tucked some of her hair behind her ears. It was always perfect and shiny, as if she had a stylist with her at all times.
“I’ve had chocolate and now I need cuddles,” I said, holding my arms out. Emma and I had always been affectionate and physically close since we were kids. I’d hugged her more than my own parents.
Emma hesitated for a second, but then I pouted and she gave in.
“Mine, mine, mine,” I said, squeezing her until she made a little yelping noise.
“Can’t breathe,” she said, and I reluctantly loosened my stranglehold on her. I inhaled the scent of her hair and it made my heart do a little flutter. For as long as I could remember, Emma had put orange essential oil in her shampoo and conditioner. It was as much a part of her in my mind as the indefinable smell of her skin. Pure comfort.
Emma pulled away from the cuddle too soon and I sighed, but let he
r go. She pulled her feet up on the couch and leaned next to me, which was almost as good as snuggling.
“You ready?” she asked, grabbing the remote. There was a new episode of our favorite show out and I’d been dying to watch it, but hadn’t until we could do it together.
“Yes,” I said, making sure I was comfortable. I’d forgotten my fidget cube, but Emma had extras for me in the drawer of her coffee table. She handed me one. I always had to be doing something with my hands when I watched TV, and this was better than constantly cracking my knuckles or picking at my cuticles. Sometimes I crocheted or did origami, but the cube with the little buttons and rollers was ideal for something I really wanted to pay attention to.
“Do we need drinks? Do you need to pee?” she asked. I rolled my eyes at her and grabbed the remote.
“I’m fine.” I hit play.
As the show wore on, I snuggled closer to Emma, eventually leaning my whole weight on her instead of the arm of the couch. She didn’t seem to notice, but then I kept seeing her hands clenching and unclenching. I wanted to give her my cube, but my hands were busy with it. This show was stressful. Emma paused it when there was a lull, saying she had to pee. When she came back, I had the blanket from the back of the couch wrapped around myself like a robe.
“You gonna share?” she asked, and I lifted one corner.
“Only if you cuddle with me.” I lifted the corners of the blanket like wings to envelope her.
“What is it with you and cuddles tonight?” she said, but she slid next to me and leaned into my chest with a sigh. I liked the sound of that sigh. It meant she was relaxed and content. Not going to lie, I was a little smug that Emma only made that sound when she was with me.
“I have a quota of cuddles to fill and I’m very behind. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.” She looked up at me, her eyelashes fluttering. Emma didn’t even need mascara. I had been jealous of her lashes since we were eleven.
“You make all the rules, Callyn,” she said. She rested her head back on my chest and I dropped the cube and put my fingers in her hair. Even better. A little moan of satisfaction escaped from her mouth as I ran my hands through the strands of her hair and massaged her scalp, especially at the base of her neck where she stored all her stress. I knew her body almost as well as my own.
“Mmmm, that feels good,” she said, pressing her head into my fingers.
“See? The cuddles come with benefits for you, Em.” She hit play and resumed the show and I fiddled with her hair, enjoying the silky texture of it against my fingers.
We both groaned when the episode ended on a cliffhanger (as it always did). Emma sat up and spun around to face me on the couch.
“I don’t want to go back to my place. It’s crowded and gross there,” I said. “Don’t make me go back there.”
No one but me was concerned about dishes (even though we had a dishwasher?), so I always came home to a sink full of them, and overflowing trash, and dust on everything. I refused to clean more than my share because we were all adults, so the place got grungy, fast. If I wasn’t so fucking broke, I would have hired a cleaning company. Maybe when I got a new job I’d do that. If I could get a better-paying job.
“You can stay if you want.” Emma had a second bedroom that she used as an office slash library slash extra closet that had a small daybed for guests. I considered it my room since I was the only guest who ever stayed over. I even had clothes and everything else I could need here. Sometimes we talked about moving in together, but Emma said she liked to have her own space, and I couldn’t afford the rent here, even if I was splitting it with her. Someday. Someday I wouldn’t be broke as fuck.
“Thanks. I just can’t deal with them tonight,” I said.
We watched a movie we’d seen before and could quote effortlessly, and then I took a quick shower while she cleaned up. When I came out of the guest room after putting on my pajamas, she was standing there with two bowls of ice cream.
“You are my favorite,” I said, taking the bowl from her. It was rocky road covered in rainbow sprinkles, my favorite. Emma hated it, but she kept it in the freezer for me. She was more of a mango gelato girl, so that’s what she had in her bowl.
She joined me in the guest room and we sat on the bed while we ate our ice cream, trying to avoid getting brain freeze and failing. At least I failed. Emma and I used to have freeze pop eating races in the summers and I always won because I could grit my teeth through the excruciating pain, and she would give up about a third of the way through.
“Want me to brush your hair?” she asked, after we finished. I turned around and pushed my hair over my shoulder as an answer.
“Can you braid it too?” I asked. Emma could do these incredible braids and they helped my unruly hair look cute for several days without any work on my part.
“Yeah, sure.” I closed my eyes as she ran the brush through my hair and then sectioned it off to start braiding. The gentle yanks of my hair were somehow soothing. I almost drifted off to sleep as she worked, humming softly to herself. I knew exactly what song she was singing.
“There you go, Callyn,” she said, patting my head. My scalp was a little tight and sore, but that was fine. It was going to look great tomorrow.
“Thank you,” I said, turning around and smiling at her. “You’re the best.”
“Yes, I am,” she said, giving me a smug smile. I hit her with a pillow and she laughed. “Listen, I have to be up early tomorrow for class, so I’m going to go to bed.” I made a face. “Look, not all of us are vampire insomniacs.” That was true. Emma had always gone to bed earlier than I had. If only I could learn from her example and not stay up until all hours and then be exhausted the entire day.
“Fine, fine. Hugs.” I always had to hug her goodnight. Tonight’s hug was a little too brief for me, and then I was alone. I didn’t like it.
I turned on the small TV she had in the room (mostly by my demand) and put on something mindless as I scrolled through my phone for a little while. Figuring I should at least attempt to get to sleep at a reasonable time, I pulled up my meditation app and did a quick ten minutes to try and calm my mind.
Serenity didn’t last for long. I had too many thoughts. I was still determined to figure out how the marriage had happened in Vegas, but the more I tried to reach for the memories, the further away they got. Why had I gotten that drunk? I mean, I knew why. It was Lara’s bachelorette and my job sucked and I just wanted to have a blowout with my friends. Look where that had gotten me. Married.
I sighed in frustration and pulled out my phone to scroll mindlessly until I fell asleep from pure exhaustion. It took a long, long time.
Tomorrow was going to be rough.
Three
The rest of the week was . . . what it was. Work was hell, but I’d finally gotten a call back for a job I’d applied for at a co-working space. I liked the vibe of their website, and the job seemed like it would pay better than my current one and would hopefully lead me to cry less in the bathroom during the day.
We scheduled the interview for the following week, so I went to Emma and she drilled me on all my questions. Once I had gone through every possible question I could think of at least five times, I asked her if she’d filed for the annulment yet.
“Haven’t had a chance,” she said, pulling at an invisible thread on her couch. I’d been spending a lot of time here because my roommates were being insufferable. They were both in new relationships so I was hearing a lot of sex through the thin walls and I couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t need to hear my roommate screaming at her girlfriend to choke her harder, thank you very much.
Emma’s apartment was an oasis of quiet and peace. Plus, Emma didn’t really date much so there was no worry of hearing any of that stuff. I didn’t know why she didn’t have a girlfriend. It didn’t make any sense because she was so fucking amazing that I couldn’t imagine anyone not wanting her. Not that I should talk, because it had been ages since I’d been on a date of my own. I was
too poor and too annoyed to date right now.
“But you should do it soon, right? I mean, I’m sure that the sooner we file the better, because it’s like we knew it was a mistake right away, you know?” I said. The fact that she hadn’t done anything yet completely shocked me. Emma was always the one who paid her bills early and never liked leaving things until the last minute. Unlike me.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “But I was thinking . . .” Emma trailed off, and finally looked up at me.
“What if . . . what if we didn’t get it annulled? I mean, not right away.” I stared at her, convinced I had heard her wrong. She could not be suggesting that we stayed in this mistake of a marriage. For what reason? Why would we do that?
“You want to stay married? Why?” I managed to say at last.
“Well, think about it,” she said, using her hands because she had clearly thought about this and had been itching to tell me.
“What is there to think about? We can’t just stay married, Em. Wouldn’t we get in trouble?” She was freaking me out right now.
She leaned closer and she had a wild gleam in her eyes. “Why? Callyn, there’s no marriage police. And consider that if we were married, it might benefit us.” I shook my head, trying to get my thoughts to make sense.
“How?”
“Well, we could file our taxes jointly, it would help us financially, and we could share health insurance. There’re all kinds of benefits. I looked them up.” Of course she did. Emma proceeded to pull the list up on her phone and read it to me. My head spun with confusion and hearing too many words I didn’t know the meaning of. What the hell was an estate tax?
“This is ridiculous, Emma. We can’t do this. What would our parents say?” I shuddered at the thought. Not that my parents didn’t adore Emma, because they did, but telling them that we’d gotten drunk married in Vegas and were staying married for the sweet financial perks might cause one or both of them to have a stroke.
“We don’t need to tell them. I mean, how would they find out?” she asked. I gave her a look, because she had clearly lost her mind. Our friends knew already, and there was no hiding anything in the age of social media. “Okay, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. How about we try it? We try it for six months and then if you still want to get it annulled, I’ll do it,” she said.
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