“Yes,” I say, gulping down some wine. My voice is nasally, and the poor woman has no idea that I’m mocking her. “My grandmother, Lady Olenna of the House Tyrell will be bestowing two hundred dollars upon me once I enter into the union of marriage,” I say, and before I can say anything else, Charlie jumps up and grabs my arm.
Both Perry and Linda look uncomfortable.
“I better get Marlin home. She’s had too much to drink.”
“Son, the second course hasn’t even come yet. Give her some bread, she’ll be fine,” he says through gritted teeth. What he really means is, sit the fuck down and stop causing a scene.
“Oh no, darling,” I say, exaggerated, pouting at Charlie. “The second course! Whatever will we do without our foie gras medallions and bosc pears?” As if anything could be more pretentious…
“Okay, that’s enough,” Charlie says, throwing his napkin down and giving his parents a look that says I’m sorry.
“You’re making a scene,” Linda says quietly, looking around. I’m not sure if she’s talking to me or to Charlie, but either way, I start to laugh. Loudly.
“Marlin,” Charlie warns. “Let’s go.”
“By the way,” I add, looking straight at Perry. “Welcome to the twenty-first century, where women can order for themselves. I hate caviar. It tastes like boogers!” Linda gasps, and Charlie starts to drag me away. I’m not finished. “Lastly, when your son brings you a fifty-dollar bottle of wine, the polite thing to say is thank you,” I hiss, and with one final, hefty tug, Charlie has me out the door. He doesn’t stop until we’re twenty feet away, standing in the parking lot. The rain is coming down hard now, and I look up at the sky and laugh.
“What the hell, Marlin!” Charlie yells, letting me go and spinning around to face me.
“I don’t even care,” I say, giggling. “That felt awesome. I’ve always wanted to tell your parents off.”
He studies me for a moment, regarding me like a foreign entity. I’m not sure of the words that are about to come out of his mouth, but I do know that whatever he chooses to say next will define the rest of our relationship. It’s odd, the reverence I feel for that moment—whether or not he’s on my side. It’s a big deal.
“You didn’t have to be so fucking rude,” he says, brushing past me and to the car. “The Game of Thrones reference was a bit much.”
I stay standing in the rain for a few seconds longer as he starts the car. For a second, I think he’s going to leave without me, but the car just idles, and the windshield wipers start going at a thousand MPH again. I close my eyes, wishing he’d said something along the lines of, you were incredible in there, or, thanks for standing up for me. The rain soaks through my nice clothes, and I realize I won’t ever fit in with Charlie’s family. Not ever.
Chapter Three
PRESENT
The light from the window wakes me up, and right away, I know something is off. I don’t dare to open my eyes just yet, so instead I roll over, and my arm brushes up against someone’s skin.
Please let it be Charlie, I think.
“Morning, beautiful,” Sebastian says, and I feel like someone has punched me in the gut.
“Morning,” I mumble without opening my eyes.
This is all a dream. It has to be.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, bringing one of his arms around and pulling me gently into his naked body. It feels wrong—like I’m cheating—even though Charlie has no memory of our relationship and no regard for the fact that I was supposedly kidnapped.
But I wasn’t kidnapped. Predators don’t cuddle with their prey.
“Still a little out of it,” I lie. Or am I lying? What the fuck is going on? I open my eyes, and the bright winter sun blasts through the window and practically blinds me. I groan and throw my free arm over my face.
“Stay here. I’ll make you something for your stomach,” Sebastian says. When I open my eyes again, peeking out from under my arm, he’s throwing on sweats and a flannel robe. I have to stifle a giggle when I see him slip into the world’s ugliest Scooby-Doo slippers, worn and tattered. To my horror, a matching pair lies next to them.
“Thanks,” I manage to say, my voice quiet. He just pats me on the head before leaving the room, and I realize I’m free to run now.
I quickly throw the blankets off. Frigid air greets me—the kind I felt as a child growing up in Wyoming. Just as I throw a sweatshirt over my tank top and slip on my ghastly Scooby-Doo slippers, I feel the warm air working its way through the heater vents.
I walk over to the window. Snow covers the ground, and I have to close my eyes quickly because the stark whiteness burns my eyes. I haven’t woken up to snow in a very long time.
“Mar?” Sebastian calls from the kitchen. “What kind of tea do you want?”
Tea? Please. Give me a steaming mug of the strongest coffee in the world—the more it resembles mud, the better.
“Do we have coffee?” I croak.
He doesn’t answer me right away, and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s looking for coffee or because my question surprised him.
“Since when do you drink coffee?” he asks, and I hear him walk into the bedroom. He’s holding a hot mug of something. The string says ‘Yogi,’ and I catch a whiff of some sort of herbal tea. God, do I drink herbal tea now?
Now. As if now is my new reality. I refuse to accept that this is my life. How can it be? The phone I called Charlie from last night said it was February 18, 2015, so it’s not like I have amnesia and I don’t remember the last two years or something. Where was I yesterday? I can’t even remember. It’s like my brain is trying to climb through mud when I try to recall what I was doing before going to sleep last night. Why don’t I remember?
“Mar?” Sebastian asks, holding the mug out to me. “Drink this.”
I take the mug from him and sniff. “Thanks. I just didn’t sleep very well last night, and coffee sounds good for some reason.”
He watches me skeptically, his tongue rolling around one of his cheeks. He puts his hands on his hips.
“I’ve known you for seven years. I’ve never seen you drink coffee.”
What? SEVEN years?
I shrug, and I take a sip of the putrid liquid. It’s okay I guess, but I doubt it’ll give me the jolt I’m accustomed to.
“What happened last night?” I ask, hoping for some sort of answer.
“You mean before you started acting weird?” He raises one perfectly-arched eyebrow. At least the Marlin in this universe chose well—Sebastian is very handsome. I study him in the morning light. Dark-brown hair, cut short, slightly messy. Brown eyes, the color of milk chocolate; eyes you could get lost in. Angular features. He’s Enrique Iglesias’s more handsome cousin.
I nod. “Yeah. Before we went to bed. Did I drink too much?”
He continues to stare at me. “You’re joking, right?”
I stare at him. “It’s a valid question,” I say, defensive. What, is the Marlin in this universe a prude when it comes to drinking?
Sebastian shakes his head and folds his arms across his chest. “You’re pregnant, Marlin.”
In one swift swoop, the world tilts on its axis slightly, and I drop the mug of scalding hot liquid. Before either of us can react, I grip the windowsill and close my eyes.
“Shit, Marlin,” Sebastian says, running to the bathroom and retrieving a maroon-colored towel. “Did it burn you?”
I feel him start to wipe the bottoms of my pants, and then he moves to the beige carpet. Luckily, whatever kind of tea was in the mug was light yellow—it won’t leave a stain.
“Pregnant?” I whisper, my hand instinctually going to my flat stomach. If I am pregnant, I’m not very far along.
I probably still have time to take care of it. That’s the first thought that pops into my head—isn’t that awful? It just goes to show that I am not ready to be a mother.
“Yes, baby, pregnant,” Sebastian says, enunciating the last word. He’s still squatti
ng and blotting the carpet. “We found out last month. Our guess is eight weeks along, but we won’t know for sure until our first appointment later today.” Today. He stands and throws the towel over to a small pile of laundry. He’s holding my mug. “More tea?” he asks, studying me.
I don’t know Sebastian very well, but the way his lips are tight over his teeth and his eyebrows are arched give me the distinct feeling that he’s suspicious of my behavior. Until I can figure out what’s going on, I have to play the game. I can’t have him locking me up in a psychiatric hospital before I can figure out why this is happening to me.
“Yes, please,” I say sweetly, rubbing my belly.
This seems to appease him, because his face relaxes, and he nods once before exiting the bedroom. I rush over to the mirror hanging on the back of the bedroom door and throw my clothes off. I stand, looking at myself from the side. In the daylight, I can certainly see that I’m thinner. The muscle gains I made at the gym this week (or was that this week?) are gone, that’s for sure. This body of mine is delicate and thin, like a dancer. I hate to admit it, but the short hair is growing on me. I never thought I’d like myself with short hair, but it actually frames my face in a nice way. Who knew?
“Here you go,” Sebastian says, surprising me. I jump and shriek, and then I run over to my clothes and hold them in front of my body. Sebastian looks bemused and then scrunches his eyebrows together in frustration.
“I’m seen you in much more compromising positions than that,” he says, irritation tainting his words. “You’re acting weird.” He hands the mug to me, and in a bold move, I drop my clothes and saunter over to him.
“I’m sorry. You just scared me.” I smile weakly and take a sip of the minty tea. I guess herbal tea isn’t so vile, considering I can’t drink coffee anymore. “Mmm,” I add, to really drive the point home.
“I got a call from Jeb just now. He says the flooring’s been laid, and we’re free to go take a look later if we want. What time are you going into the shop?”
Who is Jeb? What shop? Flooring? I vaguely remember Sebastian mentioning renovations being made to “our” house last night, and I nod once.
“In an hour or so. Can you drive me? I’m still feeling a little woozy.” I wait with bated breath to see if my bold statement passes the test. I need to fly under the radar until I get my bearings, and I have a feeling that’ll happen when I’m not distracted by the overly attractive man in front of me who keeps calling himself my fiancé.
Sebastian smiles and walks over to me, pulling me into a warm hug. He kisses me on the top of my head, which isn’t hard, because he’s at least nine inches taller than me.
“Sure, no problem. It’s probably a good thing, since, you know, we only have one car, and we do that every day anyways,” he jokes, letting me go and walking back out of the bedroom.
When he’s gone, I walk into the bathroom and hop into the shower. It takes a few minutes for the hot water to make its way to the showerhead, but once it does, it feels glorious. I wash my body and my hair, and I stay in there for an extra minute, relishing in the familiarity of running water, even though everything else feels so foreign.
I turn the water off and step out, drying my hair and pulling a starchy towel around myself, securing it on my chest. I reach for my toothbrush—or what I think is my toothbrush. I touch my chin, studying the blue and green toothbrushes lying next to each other. I pick up the blue one on a whim.
“You know, I love you and all, but the fact that you’re using my toothbrush has me worried,” Sebastian says, coming up behind me and watching as I spit the toothpaste out.
“Pregnancy brain,” I say, shrugging.
“That’s actually a thing?” he asks, pulling away from me as I wipe my face on the hand towel hanging on one of those plastic rings.
“Sure,” I say matter-of-factly. “It’s actually a thing.”
He shakes his head and smiles. “You’re such an odd bird sometimes, do you know that?” He kisses the back of my neck, and I feel goose bumps rise on my skin. I close my eyes. It feels good. “It’s what I love most about you,” he whispers into my right ear.
“Thanks,” I whisper back, unsure of what else to say. Do they make guidebooks for waking up in an alternate reality? If so, I need to get on that.
Sebastian removes his clothes, and I look away as he steps into the shower. His movements are fluid, and the ease with which he touches me and moves around me startles me. With Charlie, we’re always bumping into each other, always aware of the other’s presence, always clumsy. With Sebastian, I instinctually move with familiarity. It makes me think of phantom limbs. I have a phantom brain right now: I know I don’t belong here, but certain parts of me, like my body, react in such a way that makes me think I do belong here.
I slather on some facial lotion, promising a “morning glow”. I realize my vomiting from last night was a product of the fetus growing inside of me. It hits me suddenly—I’m pregnant! And we’re excited! I’m getting married!
I lean against the sink with my arms around my chest, thinking about all of the facts I’ve learned about this life so far.
I’m pregnant, Sebastian is my fiancé, we’re getting married in two months, we’re renovating a house, we live in Vermont, we only have one car, and he drives me to the “shop” every morning. I don’t drink coffee, and a guy named Jeb is somehow involved in the renovations on our house. I’ve known Sebastian for seven years. Charlie has no memory of our relationship.
Sebastian begins to sing in the shower—a touching rendition of “Shake It Off” by Taylor Swift. I can’t help but smile.
“Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play, and the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate, baby, I’m just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, I shake it off, I shake it off,” he warbles, and his voice is annoyingly good.
The water shuts off, and he throws the flimsy curtain open quickly, pretending to perform, and winks at me. I gape at him, trying to keep my eyes focused on his face. Somehow, even though I know he’s my fiancé, it feels wrong to ogle him in all of his glory. I turn away quickly.
“You know, all morning you’ve avoided looking at King Henry.”
No. No, no, no. Please don’t let King Henry be the name for his penis. That’s so wrong in so many ways, but the way he’s shaking his hips in my peripheral vision makes me cringe.
“I’m not avoiding it,” I accuse, walking out of the bathroom before he can see me blush.
“Whatever you say,” he acquiesces, wrapping a towel around his hips and going to brush his teeth.
I walk over to the small duffel bag on the ground, and I pull out some plain black-cotton underwear. I shake my head and sigh. I say a silent goodbye to my Agent Provocateur undies from my other life. I find some loose jeans and a brown thick-wool sweater, neither of which I’d ever wear in real life, so this Marlin must be going through some sort of fashion crisis. I may not like spending a lot of money on clothes, but I do make sure I look good most of the time.
I throw on wool socks and pick up my Sorrel snow boots, tugging them on. I haven’t worn snow boots in ten years. I miss the ritual of dressing for a real winter. All of those layers make one appreciative of spring, my favorite season. There’s nothing like the first jacket-less day and feeling the warm sun on your bare skin.
Once I’m dressed, I hunt for a blow-dryer and/or some sort of makeup, but all I can find is cheap concealer and an old, crusty tube of mascara. I don’t even bother with that—it’s an eye infection waiting to happen—so I just swipe some concealer underneath my eyes and call it a day. Besides, I don’t look awful. The facial lotion did as promised. It gave me a “morning glow.”
Once I feel presentable, I walk down the hall to the kitchen, where Sebastian is standing with his back to me, towel around his waist, and frying something up on the stove.
“Bacon for the mama to be,” he says, handing me a small plate with three strips of bacon. The smell is tantalizing
—I haven’t had bacon in years. He also hands me a piece of whole-wheat toast and a green smoothie. “Eat,” he dictates. I plop the toast on the plate and walk over to the small table nestled in the corner of the kitchen.
“Thanks,” I say, biting into the crispy bacon. My mouth waters immediately.
“You need to gain some weight. I’ll make you bacon and toast every day if I have to. Fatten you up.”
I laugh. I look around and spot my phone on the carpet next to the couch, from where I threw it last night. As surprising as this life is, it’s kind of quaint. Sebastian and I seem to be in love. We don’t need very many material possessions, and though the apartment is basic, it’s actually very homey. It has a good vibe. Life is simple here.
When I finish my delicious breakfast, I walk over to my phone. No missed calls. Even after my frantic call to Charlie last night, he hadn’t bothered to call back. Knowing that gives me a bitter taste in my mouth, like he would be the kind of person to witness a crime and walk away. Now I know he’s the kind of guy who receives a disconcerting call from an old acquaintance and hangs up without a care.
“I’m going to go get dressed,” Sebastian says, walking past me as I sit on the couch with my phone.
“Okay,” I answer.
I flip the phone open. It’s almost dead. I walk back to the bedroom. Sebastian is brushing his teeth in the bathroom. I find the charger in my purse—of course. That’s such a Marlin thing to do. I find a little bit of comfort in my predictability.
I plug my phone in, and I hear Sebastian whistling as I look through the call log. Most of the calls are either incoming or outgoing to Sebastian, a few from someone named Emma, a couple from Jeb, and of course, Mom and Dad.
Mom. Mom would understand my situation. I decide that I’ll call her later. Before Sebastian comes back out, I skim through the text messages. I’ve forgotten how to use a flip phone, so it takes awhile to navigate between messages.
The Realm of You: A Novel Page 3