Not the Girl You Marry

by ANDIE J. CHRISTOPHER

  “Kid, you’ve been lying to her the whole time.”

  Wasn’t that the sad truth. Except for the first night they’d met and a handful of text messages, everything about them had been a lie. Other than the sex—he hadn’t been able to keep the truth of how much he wanted her out of that. But sexing her up wasn’t going to prevent her from doing him grievous bodily injury when she found out—or after she read the article.

  His mind scrambled for a way to get out of this stupid story. “Can’t I just fill in the rest with generic advice? I really have chemistry with this girl, and I want to see where it goes.”

  Irv paused for a moment, and then guffawed. “I pay you to do a fucking job. If you don’t want to do your fucking job, I have thousands of résumés in my e-mail from people who’ll do whatever the fuck they’re told.”

  He’d never heard his boss say anything that cold before. Suddenly, he realized why the seemingly avuncular man had been brought in to steer the digital ship. Irv was ruthless; he got people to do what he wanted, but he snuck up on them.

  Jack’s only response was a nod.

  “Good.” Irv hit him on the back again. This time, Jack listed a bit to the side, as though some of his muscles had been pulled out of his body during their conversation. “We’re actually going to do something with a streaming service, and I need your pretty face on the news.”

  Jack struggled to process the pivot to a pivot-to-video this conversation had taken. “I’m up for that?” He had a hard time believing it given that Irv had just threatened to fire him.

  “Of course,” Irv said, apparently ready to forget all the shit he’d just said. “Team players get to do real news. On-screen.”

  So he had a clear choice to make. He could either tell Hannah the truth, not write the story, and get fired, or he could write the story, which would tear Hannah apart, and get to do real news.

  Shit.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Wednesday, 10:17 p.m.

  Jack: hey

  Hannah: sup?

  Jack: what r you doing?

  Hannah: about to go to sleep.

  Jack: what r you wearing?

  Hannah: r u sexting me!?

  Jack: trying to

  Hannah: I’m about to go to sleep

  Jack: send n00ds?

  Hannah: are you drunk?

  Jack: no

  Hannah: if I send you a nude, it will be a nude cat . . .

  Jack: I like pussy.

  Hannah: I recall

  Jack: yeah, you do

  Hannah: stop being a jerk. Going to sleep.

  Jack: asking for n00ds makes me a jerk?

  Hannah: yup

  Jack: sleep well

  Thursday, 12:45 p.m.

  Jack: whatcha doing?

  Hannah: working. Aren’t you?

  Jack: I’m bored.

  Hannah: my grandma used to say that if you’re bored, you’re stupid.

  Jack: wow

  Jack: you’re a little mean, aren’t you?

  Hannah: listen, Jack. Last night you asked me for naked pictures . . .

  Hannah: now you’re interrupting me at work

  Hannah: what are you trying to do here?

  Jack: just trying to talk to you . . .

  Hannah: I’m at work now

  Jack: so am i

  Hannah: I don’t have time to talk at work

  Jack: because planning parties is so important

  Hannah: I don’t think I like Jack-on-text

  Jack:

  Hannah: can we put a pin in this?

  Jack: I guess

  Hannah: want to grab a quick bite after work?

  Jack: so, I only get a quick bite?

  Jack: I like long, lingering bites.

  Hannah: I’m still at work. Why are you talking about sex?!

  Jack: I’m a dude.

  Hannah: let’s pause this

  Jack: whatever. Ur no fun

  Hannah: That’s certainly not what you thought the other night.

  Jack: you’re still thinking about it, too?

  Hannah: of course.

  Hannah: That’s why I didn’t block your number after you asked for nude pics

  Jack: noted

  Hannah: so, dinner tonight?

  Jack: let’s play it by ear

  Hannah: fine

  * * *

  —

  NOTHING—OTHER THAN MAYBE ORAL sex from one Jack Nolan—made Hannah happier than cake. She liked all cakes—white, yellow, chocolate, cheese, even carrot as long as it didn’t have raisins. And she wasn’t even particular about frosting. Buttercream and cream cheese were the superior options, but she would never turn her nose up at a fudge or meringue.

  Hannah would let nothing stand in the way of her enjoyment of cake, not even a certain senator’s daughter whining about her fictional gluten allergy. Her father had let that one slip after one too many swigs of scotch last week while tasting signature drinks at one of the possible wedding reception venues.

  And now Madison was trying the patience of Hannah and Sasha’s favorite baker in town. It had taken every string Hannah could pull to get Ali to create a cake for the engagement party on short notice, but Ali seemed to be souring on their deal (cake in exchange for Beyoncé tickets) with every reference to how any trace of wheat flour would cause Madison digestive issues.

  “This coconut cake is gluten-free,” Sasha said as Hannah stuffed her mouth with a piece of the gluten-rich chocolate option to keep herself from making a smartass remark. “Really, any of the options could be.”

  Madison scrunched up her face and looked to her mother for guidance. For her part, her mother looked bored. “Just make a decision, Maddy.”

  Madison bit her bottom lip and looked as though she was trying not to cry. For Christ’s sake, it was just cake. It didn’t matter what she chose. People were going to get drunk and eat the cake. It was the most important day of only Madison’s life; everyone else there would just be in it for the party and possibly a photo op with the senator.

  Her hesitation to make any real choices made Hannah wonder if she really wanted to get married at all.

  The bride-to-be’s indecision was going to drive her nuts. Hannah reminded herself that she wanted to be planning weddings because it would be good for her career, not necessarily her sanity. But at this point she didn’t know if she would make it through planning this engagement party—and it was just a test run.

  Huh. Maybe a test run of the cakes would make Madison’s ultimate cake choice easier.

  “Why don’t you get a selection of all the cakes for the engagement party and then pick what you and the guests actually like best for the wedding?”

  Madison’s eyes lit up, and Hannah knew that she’d made the right decision. Sasha thanked the baker, who gratefully packed up leftovers for Hannah and Sasha to bring home.

  Thursday, 6:45 p.m.

  Hannah: leaving work now. Still on for dinner?

  Thursday, 7:34 p.m.

  Hannah: I’m getting hangry.

  Hannah: like scaring small children hangry

  * * *

  —

  HANNAH WAITED FOR JACK to respond to her texts about dinner for a good half hour before breaking out the cake samples. Sasha would understand when she came home from her date to find nothing but crumbs—this was an emergency.

  After today’s success with getting Madison to pick a cake, she actually felt really good about her chances of earning her promotion the right way. And Annalise believed that she and Jack were in love. But his not responding to her texts when they had plans was not a good sign that they’d make it as a “couple” through the weekend. And then it might not matter that she was actually good at
her job.

  She was eating red velvet cake with the richest cream cheese frosting she’d ever had, but she wasn’t really enjoying it. It was hard to enjoy one of the bonuses of her line of work because she wasn’t sure it was the right line of work for her anymore. If she had to have a boyfriend to get a promotion, then what was the point?

  And she was starting to think that she’d rather have the boyfriend be her real boyfriend than have the promotion. Which was a real problem. She’d thought she would be able to keep herself from growing feelings for Jack. He was too perfect—not just for her, but for any flesh-and-blood woman. But then he’d started showing cracks, acting like a normal guy, and it almost made him seem more attainable. More human.

  But it was silly. Almost all of his behavior since their first date had the stench of ambivalence all over it. If she’d been seeing him for real, she really hoped she would have dumped him by now—no matter how good the sexy times were. But she had the sneaking suspicion that she would have let him do all the stupid stuff he’d been doing because they had chemistry like she’d never had with anyone else.

  And that made her feel like a real fool.

  Thursday, 10:18 p.m.

  Jack: still want to get dinner?

  Hannah: had takeout two hours ago

  Hannah: And cake. You missed out on cake.

  Hannah: going to bed. G’night

  Friday, 10:18 a.m.

  Jack: you still want me to come to your thing 2morrow night?

  Hannah: you still want to?

  Hannah: I thought this was turning into a booty call for you?

  Jack: u mad at me?

  Hannah: kind of.

  Jack: why?

  Hannah: I feel like Jack-on-text is like every other guy on Tinder.

  Hannah: I like Jack in person much better

  Jack: you like me in person?

  Hannah: stop fishing

  Hannah: if you want to come, please pick up a tux today before five

  Jack: I have a tux.

  Hannah: a 1920s vintage one?

  Jack: that sounds uncomfortable

  Hannah: if you want to see me festooned in sequins, pick up the tux like I told you

  Jack: I like it when you order me around

  Hannah: of course you do.

  Jack: so, I’m forgiven if I pick up the tux

  Hannah: see you tomorrow night

  Jack: send pictures of the sequins

  Hannah: I’m busy. Have a caterer to menace.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  JACK HADN’T BEEN TO confession since the time he had to go before his First Communion. But he couldn’t just lay everything out for Patrick during their weekly basketball game. He didn’t want Chris, Joey, or Michael to hear about how guilty he felt and about how much he felt for Hannah.

  Any one of his friends and family would help him move. They’d bail him out of jail. They’d help him bury a body. But they would give him a rasher of shit if he told them that he was so in love with Hannah that he couldn’t see straight and that he was thinking about tanking his career—again—just for a shot at being with her.

  Patrick would get it because he’d made the same type of hard choice when it came to becoming a priest, and Jack had been there for his friend when it had come time for him to make that choice.

  He got in the little confessional booth and waited until Patrick’s silhouette appeared through the metal mesh screen. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

  “Nolan?” Patrick’s surprise was certainly unpastoral. “What are you doing here?”

  “Aren’t you supposed to ask me how long it’s been since my last confession?”

  “I know it’s been at least twenty years, because I was waiting in line behind you the last time.”

  Jack laughed. His friend was right. And he’d been waiting a long time. That last/first confession had happened around the time his parents were divorced. The priest had taken a long time trying to convince him that it wasn’t his fault, that he had nothing to do with his mom not being there when he got home from school, or the fact that his father never laughed anymore.

  “Seriously, what did you do?” Patrick asked.

  “I lied to Hannah.”

  “That’s not new. You’ve been lying to her since you met.” Maybe Patrick couldn’t keep his judgment tamped down because they’d been friends for so long, but still.

  “You’re kind of shitty at this, Padre.”

  “Don’t swear in the confessional.”

  “Aren’t you just supposed to give me a thousand Hail Marys or something and send me on my way?” That wasn’t really what Jack was expecting; he certainly deserved to crawl across a floor of nails for what he’d done to Hannah—what he was thinking about doing to her.

  Patrick sighed. “Why is this just bothering you right now?”

  “I think I could be falling in love with this girl.”

  “You can’t know that, dude.”

  He certainly felt like he knew it. The idea of losing her made him feel like shit. “I think I know myself.”

  “I beg to differ.” Patrick had the nerve to sound bored.

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “Language. House of God. C’mon.”

  “Sorry.”

  Patrick paused before continuing. “You say you’re in love with this girl, but you hardly know her.”

  “I know enough.”

  “You know you have a healthy amount of lust for her.”

  “About that, I should probably confess to more than the lying—”

  “Jesus Christ, Nolan.” Patrick must be disappointed in him if he was taking the Lord’s name in vain while performing his priestly duties. “You slept with her?!”

  “No. Kind of.” Jack decided to come completely clean, with the likely effect of making pre-priesthood Patrick very, very jealous. “There was some sodomy—some mouth sodomy—and some very impure thoughts exchanged via sext.”

  He wasn’t going to say anything about the sex-toy thing because that might blow up his friend’s brain.

  “You have to tell her the truth,” Patrick said. “And I’m not just saying that’s the way to get right with God. You’re barely even Catholic anymore.” True. Jack just wanted someone with some authority to tell him how to fix this. Patrick being the smartest guy he knew and having God on his side, he thought this was the right place to come. “But you have to tell her the truth if you want a chance of finding out if you’re in love with her.”

  Damn. Patrick was right. “What if I tell her the truth and she never wants to see me again?”

  “There’s a chance that will happen, but it’s not like you have anything to lose here if it does. If she won’t listen to you and accept an apology, then what do you really have now?”

  “I’ll lose my job if I tell her the truth.” Patrick knew that Jack had made most of his academic and career moves because of whatever woman he was dating at the time, so that was a big deal to him.

  “I wouldn’t say this to any of my parishioners, and definitely not to any of my other friends, but maybe think about yourself and what’s best for you for once?”

  Part of Jack wanted to do that. If he could turn off his feelings for Hannah and go through with the story, he would take that opportunity right now. He didn’t like feeling as much as he did about Hannah and not knowing whether he could make things work.

  On the one hand, he was afraid that she was just like every other girl he’d ever been involved with. He was afraid that he would never be enough for her, no matter what he gave up to keep her. Just like he hadn’t been able to keep his family together by being a good little boy. Maybe he was done being a good guy altogether.

  But still, selfish didn’t fit him. It wasn’t the man he was raised to be,
by either of his parents.

  “I can’t tell you what to do, but I can tell you this—” His friend paused and breathed. Oddly, even though Jack wasn’t a real believer anymore, a sense of calm came over him just sitting there for a beat waiting for his confessor to speak—to give him his penance. “You have to figure out if this thing with Hannah is different from your things with Maggie, Katie, and Lauren. If she’s the other half of you and not just a way for you to work out your mommy issues.”

  How the hell was he supposed to figure that out? Next time he went to confession, he was definitely going to a priest who hadn’t known him since he was in diapers.

  * * *

  —

  JACK DIDN’T WANT TO talk to Hannah’s ex. There was a good chance that he would tell Hannah that Jack was researching a story, and Hannah would assume that he’d only been dating her to get information about the senator. Of course, she would be right in assuming that he was using her for a story. But talking to Noah Long was his best shot at getting what he needed to break the story on Senator Chapin.

  Even after Irv’s smackdown at happy hour, he wasn’t about to quit working on this story. He didn’t become a journalist so he could humiliate a woman he could really fall for. And he had a gut feeling about this story. It could be his ticket out of working puff pieces. It had to be.

  Nolan men never quit when they had a gut feeling like this. And they never hesitated to make their own opportunities.

  He’d been sitting outside the senator’s local office for a few hours when Noah finally emerged.

  Jack didn’t make a habit of comparing himself to other guys—he’d never had a reason to. But he found himself wondering how he measured up against Senator Chapin’s aide. He couldn’t not. Hannah had sworn off dating for years after things ended with this guy.

  He’d never been into a dude before, but he knew for a fact that Noah was handsome. Noah’s parents were both professors at historically black colleges in Georgia, and he had been valedictorian at Morehouse. He’d worked in advertising for a couple of years before entering the foreign service, which had landed him in Senator Chapin’s office.