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I gulp. “Gage and I talked about it in the car. But I should probably tell Amanda first,” I say, and all at once, my sex high wears off. Reality slams into me. “I just got married to ward off a threat to my livelihood, and I’m also trying to raise my sister to be a good person who doesn’t lie. What does this say to her about how I solve problems?”
Juliet grabs my arm, squeezing it like she’s trying to impart all her boldness into me. “That you’re a mama bear.”
I frown. “Juliet. You can’t believe that.”
She squares her shoulders. “I can and I do. You’re busting your cute little butt for your sister every day. You’re finding new ways to take care of your family. You’re fighting and working it. Do not dismiss that.”
My throat catches. “Really?” I need this so badly—someone’s reassurance that I’m doing this right. Or at least, not wrong.
“Yes, you may be unconventional in your methods, but your heart, friend?” she says, then points importantly to the door. “It’s beating for that girl in there.”
As if on cue, my chest swells with emotions. “I have no choice. I must hug you right now.”
She widens her arms. “Incoming hug.”
We embrace, and buoyed by her strength, I go inside. Girl pop is blasting from Amanda’s phone in greeting as I prepare to tackle the start of what’s next.
But first, Amanda and Sawyer are facing off on Juliet’s couch while a black-and-white cat paces, watching them like an official in a tennis game. Amanda slaps a palm down on the couch cushion. “Zendaya doesn’t have a last name, bro!”
“So I was right then,” Sawyer insists, “when I gave her first name.”
“She’s not Zendaya Smith,” Amanda argues.
“But she is Zendaya. I got that part right. The rest is details,” he says, ever the businessman, trying to talk his way out of a situation and looking the part, too, in a crisp tailored shirt, even on a Sunday.
“How do you not know who Zendaya is?” Amanda continues.
“How does she not have a last name?”
“That woman from your generation doesn’t. You guys have all those celebrities with no last names. Madonna and…you know.”
Juliet clears her throat. “Hello, Madonna is our mama’s generation.”
“Yes, kiddo,” I add, backing up my friend and my generation.
“It’s all the same. It’s old,” Amanda insists.
“Fine, fine. Don’t give me credit for Zendaya Smith. I will still destroy you,” Sawyer warns, but ten minutes later, he’s schooled by my sister. She lifts her arms in victory. “I am the trivia queen,” she says, then glances at me, then my shiny gold ring. “So the outfit of the day is married, I see?”
I gulp, hoping Juliet is right. “It is.”
Before dinner that night, Gage calls, and I can hear the pride in his voice, a man who’s solved a problem. “I have a proposal for you,” he says, as I turn the heat down on a pan of sauteed broccoli and carrots.
“But you already proposed. Kind of twice.”
“Woman, there was no kind of.”
I smile. “For real twice.”
“A man should do all good things in multiples. Orgasms, proposals, and purchases of chocolate.”
“I don’t disagree,” I say, plating the veggies on top of the fluffy rice I cooked earlier.
“So, what do you think about this…” He details the idea, and it feels a little like a fairy tale.
After dinner that night, I tell Amanda the plan for the next two months, the time left on the lease, and she just shrugs a yes. “I guess it sounds cool. Like a vacation for the rest of the year or something.”
She sets a plate in the dishwasher. How can she be so level-headed about it? My stomach churns with another set of am I doing this right worries as I rinse off a bowl to hand to her. “You really are good with it?”
