My Fake Husband

by Black, Natasha L.

  I had to quit looking at everything like it was about us, about me. It was self-centered and it was starting to seem like I was telling myself fairy tales. Dirty ones most of the time, but that was beside the point. I missed her so much. Even knowing that she had repairs and work to do at the shop didn’t help me shake the feeling she was avoiding me. I sighed heavily and got a beer out of the fridge.

  “Lite beer, Ma?” I asked, looking at the can.

  “What? There was a sale. It’s not like your father can have any with his kidneys. I like to watch my calories.”

  “Okay,” I said, putting the can back.

  “Boy, let me take you out for a real drink. No offense, Ma Vance, but I think this man could use a real beer,” Brody said.

  “You just don’t wanna help with dishes,” my mom said.

  “He’s just gonna abandon his knocked-up wife to go out drinking, I see how it is,” Laura teased.

  “You literally drove yourself here. And as you keep reminding me, you’re not disabled, just gestating, right?”

  “Ugh, I hate when you listen and repeat it back to me. Get out of here,” she laughed, and he gave her a kiss.

  Brody and I headed for the bar. We had barely ordered when he asked what I had up my ass.

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you having feelings about aging and your mortality since the fire?”

  “Uh, no. I’m not quite that deep, Bro,” I laughed, taking a long pull of my beer.

  “So if it’s not existential dread, it’s the girl. What happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Right. So when ‘nothing’ happened, was it not any good? Did she call you somebody else’s name? Was it my name? Because I can’t help it if all the ladies want me.”

  “No, asshole,” I snorted, “the only name she was screaming was mine. But it makes no difference. It only happened once, the night of the fire. Since then she basically runs out of the room anytime she sees me.”

  “Maybe she thinks you think it was a mistake and she wants to pretend it didn’t happen?”

  “I think she regrets sleeping with me. I told her that I care about her. I was very honest with her, and I didn’t try to act like it was nothing. But afterward, she got all weird about me working in a dangerous job and said she could never live like that. Then she just went back to her room and that’s the literal last conversation we’ve had. She won’t let me help at the shop or anything. She answers my messages, but not like she used to.”

  “How was that?”

  “Fun and sometimes flirty and she used to send me a bunch of stupid TikToks of animals with Siri narration behind them and stuff. Things she thought were hilarious, and we’d talk about them later and have these inside jokes about.” I shook my head, finishing my beer and ordering another.

  “So things were great and then you hooked up.”

  “Basically. I mean, I’m closer to her than anyone I’ve ever been with. I never had a girlfriend for very long before, much less lived with one, but a couple weeks with Trixie and I was like, man, this is why guys settle down. They want this. They want somebody to laugh with and to know she’ll be there every night and have supper together even if it’s just some crappy drive-thru tacos I picked up on the way home. Because they’re suddenly not crappy if we’re eating them together in front of Die Hard with a Vengeance.”

  “That was a stupid movie.”

  “Shut up. It’s a great movie. You’re a stupid movie.”

  “What?” he said, baffled.

  “Nothing. I’m just—confused.”

  “Well, here’s my advice, which you have to listen to because I bought you a beer. I acted like an ass trying to keep away from your sister. And then when she got snatched, I would’ve given anything, both legs, whatever, to have five minutes to tell her how I felt. Because that regret was like a goddamn boulder on my chest. I could’ve lost her forever and nothing would’ve been right ever again. And it can happen, man.”

  “I know. It was horrible the way you lost Missy. I’m glad you’re happy again. You deserve it.”

  “That is—unexpected from you. Thanks. We tried to stay away because we knew you wouldn’t approve of us together. There was no denying it though. I reached a point where I didn’t care what we stood to lose. It was worse not to be with her. But you have to chance it. No matter what anyone says or how it looks, you know what’s right for you. And you fight for it. No matter what it costs you.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t let me stand in your way, Bro,” I said, and I meant it.

  “Me too. Your sister’s an Amazon goddess. I thank God every day for putting her in my life. If that’s how you feel about Trixie, like you’re the luckiest bastard with thumbs on this planet… then you know what to do. You tell her, and you keep telling her and showing her that you love her until she believes it. Or takes out a restraining order against you, which is where my department comes in.”

  “Order of protection humor? Really?” I said, rolling my eyes. “Even if you’re right—”

  “Which I am.”

  “I can’t even get her to talk to me. Much less, let me show her. Although I showed her a good time the night of the fire.”

  “Are you sure she had a good time?” he asked skeptically.

  “Yes. Of course I’m sure. It was really obvious. Three times.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t just theatrics?”

  “It was not theatrics,” I said emphatically, insulted by the suggestion that she had faked it with me. “She was very clear about the fact that she came, and I could tell.”

  “Trust me, dude. You can’t tell. They can fake where you can’t tell. I don’t know if they learn it in health class in high school when the boys are doing push-ups or what.”

  “Well I know what I felt. What she felt,” I said.

  “Then you need to talk to the woman, Damon. She’s really got you messed up.”

  “She’s not playing games with me. She’s not like that.”

  “Okay, what is she like?” he asked in a neutral tone.

  “She’s sweet and thoughtful and determined and independent and beautiful and—”

  “I get it. You’ve got it bad for her. So go for it. Don’t be sad sack who sits around this bar a year from now telling me how much you miss her.”

  “What are you saying?” I said.

  The idea of letting her go, watching her succeed in her business, knowing I had a small part in that, as she went on her way alone and my role in her life became smaller and smaller, an acquaintance who did her a favor a long time ago—it made me physically sick.

  “That’s what’s going to happen, isn’t it?” I asked. It wasn’t really a question though. “I’m gonna have to go to her real wedding and shake some asshole’s hand and tell him congratulations. Because I let her go.” The horror of that settled around me.

  “It doesn’t have to be like that. But you have to tell her what she means to you, that you want to make it real. Otherwise, you stick to the plan and watch her walk out of your life. If you want something with Trixie, you have to talk about it. Start by talking about the fact you slept together, and then she avoided you and you were afraid to bring it up.”

  “I’m not afraid to bring it up,” I said irritably.

  “If you’re not afraid to bring it up, why are you sitting here with me? Because if you weren’t avoiding an important discussion with your wife, I’m guessing you’d be at home about now,” Brody said.

  “Whatever. I’m hanging out with my best buddy. You’re a great guy. When you’re not talking about your intimate experiences with my sister.”

  “You know I just said that to wind you up.”

  “Yeah, and it worked. I’m not even ashamed.”

  “Whatever. Tell her the truth. Tell her you didn’t mean for this to happen but you’ve got feelings for her. The fire made you realize it.”

  “What if I did intend for it to happen? What if part of me thought this might have bee
n my shot with her?”

  “I’m not sure I’d admit that as a strategy. It seems manipulative.”

  “You’re right, but I also don’t want to lie to her. She means too much to me.”

  “Lead with that. It sounds sincere.”

  “It is sincere. I’m not trying to sound sincere, I am being.”

  “Don’t ignore this advice. Tell her you have feelings for her and be totally serious. No sarcasm. No trying to lighten the mood. Don’t mention anything that doesn’t show her in the best light. She’s an angel. Okay?”

  “Right. Angel,” I said, a half-smile sneaking in.

  “If you want her, don’t give up.”

  “I won’t. I don’t want to lose her,” I said. “Let’s go. I need to get home.”

  All the way to my house, I blasted old country music, which was mostly depressing and about broken hearts. All those sad cowboys who’d lost their true love forever were enough to underline the fact that I didn’t want to lose my wife.

  I unlocked the front door, half of me hoping she’d run into my arms like she did the other night. That had been probably the best moment of my adult life. I’d survived a fire, saved a man, got the girl. That was when the credits should have rolled, Hollywood style. The lamp beside the couch was on, and when I closed the door behind me, I looked around for Trixie.

  There she was, asleep on the couch. She had her phone on her chest, her head tipped to the side, like she’d nodded off while reading something. She had a blanket drawn over her lap, her work clothes still on. She’d been putting in long hours, hours without me. I wanted to spend more time with her, watch more trilogies of declining quality like Back to the Future and the Karate Kids we’d binged one Sunday afternoon. I wanted more of her in my life, in my arms.

  I’d told her weeks ago she was prettier than the flowers in her shop. That hadn’t been nearly the truth. She was prettier than anything I’d ever seen, from the sweep of dark lashes across her cheeks to the droop of her bottom lip as she slept. I felt the heavy tug of desire for her, but I forced it away. This was not just desire, though. It was tenderness, affection. I brushed her cheek with the backs of my fingers lightly, thinking how much I liked having her here and coming home to her. This girl, the one I was just helping out, had somehow made a place in my life for herself until she took up so much room I couldn’t imagine my home without her in it or my weekends without her, my random Thursday nights—nothing would be any good anymore without Trixie in my life the way she was now or even closer.

  For now, she was exhausted, and I could tuck her into bed. I heaved a heavy sigh. I wanted to take her to my bed, hold her while she slept. But I knew that would make her uncomfortable when she woke up there, wondering how she got there or what we’d done that she didn’t remember. So I did the grown man thing to do. I picked her up, blanket and all, and carried her to her own room, to her own bed, and lay her down carefully so I didn’t disturb her sleep. Sure, I wanted her to wake up, find me carrying her, and be so overwhelmed with the romance that she wound her arms around my neck and kissed me.

  It seemed like I was obsessed with a Hollywood ending.

  But she stayed stubbornly asleep, her head lolling onto the pillow without so much as a murmur. I took the phone from her hand and plugged it into her charger by the bed. I knelt beside the bed and looked at her for a moment, studying her pretty face while she was relaxed.

  “How did I miss seeing you sooner?” I whispered, barely above a breath, “when you were always this person, the only one I’d want to be with.” I pressed a kiss on her forehead softly, barely brushing her warm skin with my lips. “It’s a good thing you’re asleep. I would’ve had to tell you I think I love you,” I whispered, a fond and rueful smile taking up residence on my face. It made me feel good that I was the one who got to tuck her into bed when she was completely wiped out. I even drew the blanket down to cover her feet, switched off her lamp and left her in peace.

  Dream of this, I willed her silently, dream of me putting you to bed as tenderly as a lover, protective and devoted.

  15

  Trixie

  I woke up in my bed, covered with the blanket from the couch. I looked around, not remembering how I got there. Frantically, I glanced beside me to see if he had gotten into bed with me, if there was a naked man beside me. I was alone, and breathed a sigh of relief. Okay, maybe I was a tiny bit disappointed not to find Damon naked in my bed, but I was relieved to find he was still such a gentleman, that he hadn’t intruded without my agreement. In fact, I felt—heart-warmed, if that’s even a word. To think he’d probably carried me to bed, to my bed, with no design other than to make sure I was comfortable. I looked over to check the time, and saw my phone on the bedside table. It was plugged in. I smiled, but it was almost a teary smile, knowing how thoughtful that was of him to charge my phone for me. It was 7:20—I had obviously forgotten to set my alarm. When I set the phone back down, I found a piece of paper I didn’t remember putting there. I picked it up, saw that it was folded in half, Trix written on the outside of it.

  I sat up in bed, unfolded it and read his note:

  Good morning,

  You are so beautiful even when you’re asleep, that it was all I could do not to kiss you awake, Sleeping Beauty style. I knew how tired you were, and how you’re determined to do all this yourself. Let me help if I can. I’ve missed you.

  I made breakfast. Yesterday I stopped at the bakery and got the good sourdough you like. It makes kickass French toast which I left in the skillet on the stove. Take the lid off and heat it up so it’s crispy. Don’t microwave it—you deserve better than mushy toast, even if it takes a whole five minutes of your busy day.

  Did I mention I’ve missed you? I’m not working this weekend. Ghostbusters and popcorn?

  Damon

  I smiled to myself, and thought this must be what beaming felt like, when you’re so happy that your cheeks hurt from grinning too hard. That was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to me, and here it was, written down where I could keep it forever. I actually pressed the note to my chest and held it, like I was Anne of Green Gables or some other melodramatic girl in an old-timey romance story. His words felt sweet and funny, like he was, but also secret, intimate. A note a man writes to his wife when he leaves before she’s awake, when he’s made her breakfast.

  I grabbed my phone to text him: I love the note. I love everything. I love you. I stopped myself before I hit send, my face flaming. I couldn’t do that in a text message. I couldn’t risk saying it at all. He’d done so much for me, for my business and been such a good friend, I couldn’t impose on him that way, expect him to deal with my messy feelings when he was such a good guy and it would be so awkward. He was nice to me, thoughtful. It was a big leap from being an extra-nice roommate to imagining he felt the same way I did. I was reading too much into a couple of really considerate gestures on his part. Michelle brought me a muffin sometimes for breakfast and I didn’t go around trying to French kiss her. This was probably like that, I told myself, so calm the fuck down.

  I settled for texting: Thanks for breakfast that was so sweet!

  Because I was a damn coward.

  I heated my breakfast and was eating it when I got a reply: You better not put that kickass toast in the microwave.

  I laughed and sent back: So yummy ty

  You microwaved it didn’t you. You’re killing me.

  I shook my head, grinning my face off, You will never know. Gotta keep the mystery alive.

  RU flirting with me, wife???

  Never. Too mysterious to flirt. Just eating toast and kicking ass.

  He sent back a heart eye emoji. Did that mean he loved my sarcastic reply about flirting? Did that mean he loved texting me? That he loved the French toast? That he loved me? Did it mean I was fucking thirteen years old and trying to analyze an emoji? Yeah, that last one, definitely. I wanted to smack myself in the face. I dumped the rest of my toast and got ready for work.

 
Things were going great on that end. My post-coital panic had sent me into a frenzy of workaholic hiding out. So the repairs had been finished, and Nicole and my dad had helped me with the laminate flooring I got and helped me patch some drywall. I repainted it a soft sage green with white trim. I had gotten a slightly cheaper replacement cooler and used the rest of the insurance money to help cover the cost of the flooring. I put in a huge chalkboard I got at a yard sale and practiced some hand lettering off a YouTube video till I could manage some fancy-looking writing for a daily quote about flowers. It made the shop feel more like mine now that I owned the building and had redone it with a nice, clean fit and finish to my own taste.

  I’d ordered new stock, advertised a grand re-opening special for the first week for buy one get one half off bouquets and potted plants. I was running a 10% off on grapevine wreaths with silk flowers and bows I’d made and 15% off artificial cemetery arrangements, too. I made some up in advance and got my part-time help rehired as well. The people in Rockford Falls and even as far away as Overton had been so good to me, placing orders as soon as they saw I was ready to open back up. It seemed like everyone I knew was ready for a new wreath for their door or a bouquet of flowers to cheer up a friend. I was thrilled to be flooded with orders, doing the math in my head as I wrote out instructions for each arrangement.

  I loved getting to work with flowers again. I was crazy about the redecorated shop, but fixing it up wasn’t the kind of work I loved. I liked coaxing scrawny little plants to get stronger and bloom, loved arranging even the humblest stock flowers into a pretty arrangement that would brighten someone’s mood. I delved into my list of things to do and things to get ready. Michelle and Nicole were coming to help after they got off work around four, but it was just me and my part-timer, Cathy, racing around getting bouquets ready and ringing up customers. I had Cathy call her cousin to come make some deliveries because there were more orders than I had room to store! Every surface on the counter, worktable, and desk were covered, and I couldn’t risk putting them on the floor where they might get knocked over.