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I fully expect she’ll say something to everyone. But I could give a shit what the other people in this apartment complex think about me. Better for her to believe I’m a nutjob than that Ruthie is hiding a dog.
The look on Mrs. Longhorn’s face tells me I’ve shocked her speechless, proving there’s a first for everything.
I leave the apartment, whistling a tune.
I feel pretty damn good.
The only thing bugging me, although I couldn’t say why, is Izzy saying, It’s like that time Uncle Tank stayed over.
Ruthie’s not mine, so it shouldn’t matter, but all the same, I’d like to meet this Tank.
Chapter Ten
Ruthie
Conversation with Tank
Everything okay with Vanny? You’ve been radio silent this week. That means you’re either up to something, or something bad happened and you’re trying to fix it by yourself.
Up to something. I’ll tell you later.
I don’t know whether to be excited or worried.
I suggest you lower your expectations. Take a deep breath, then lower them further.
“You’re doing what, baby girl?”
I’m standing at the back of the diner with my boss, Eden, who’s looking at me as if I just announced that I’d doused the diner with gasoline and have a pocketful of matches. Then again, I did just tell her I need to take tomorrow afternoon off so I can get married.
Shane works fast. He told me about this whole thing last Thursday, a week ago today, and now it’s happening tomorrow. We’ve signed the simple prenup his friend put together, and yesterday we picked up our marriage license in the short window of time between the end of my shift at the diner and Izzy’s school pickup.
It was a surreal experience, because the last time I’d been there was with Rand.
Remembering the excitement I’d felt that day was like swallowing a spoonful of ash. I’d been so certain I was in love—that Rand was the wealthy, handsome prince who’d stepped into the chaos of my life and pulled me out of it. But it had fallen apart so quickly that I’d barely had time to notice it was happening before it was over. I’m glad he’s gone, glad Izzy doesn’t have to find out the truth about the man who fathered her, but I also mourn the loss of the innocence and hope I’d felt.
Shane was in a bad mood at the Register of Deeds. I was also in a bad mood, made worse by the fact that there was no coat rack and someone had turned up the heat in the office to a good seventy-five degrees. We spent the whole time bickering—so much so that the clerk raised her eyebrows and wished us good luck.
So it surprised me, maybe even shocked me, when Shane handed me a big bottle of Zyrtec before defecting to his car. “For you, kid. Consider it an engagement present.”
It made me smile, and I found myself watching his back as he retreated, taking in the way the muscles bunched beneath his shirt, because he’d pulled off his jacket in the office and hadn’t put it back on yet.
Eden’s still giving me that look, and who can blame her?
I glance around, making sure no one’s paying attention to us. No one is. We’re hanging out near the back of the diner so we can keep an eye on our tables. One of them is occupied by an older man named Ralph who comes in every morning and orders only coffee. He spends more time ogling Eden and me than he does drinking his beverage and always complains it’s too cold or hot, criticisms that seem to have nothing to do with the actual temperature of the coffee.
Turning back to Eden, I say in a hushed voice, “This isn’t a big deal. It’s not a real marriage.”
She lifts her eyebrows. “I don’t claim to be an expert, baby girl, but from my understanding, most fake marriages don’t happen at city hall.”
“Seriously,” I insist, wishing I’d told her I had a gynecologist appointment instead. I probably should have, but Eden has always been important to me. She’s like the mother I wish I’d had. Speaking of which: my mother has texted again and left a voice message—as if she knows I’m going through a period of weakness and might actually accept one of her calls.
I won’t. True, I may be bursting to talk about the Shane situation, but she’s the last person I’d confide in. When I was a kid, my brother was the only one who ever made me feel loved. My parents had used him for parenting as much as money making. Now, my mother says she’s found Jesus and changed her ways, but I can tell when a person’s drunk—and she’s several drinks in on most of the messages she leaves. She may want forgiveness, but she hasn’t changed. She won’t. She’ll always be the woman who took advantage of my brother and preferred a bottle to either of us.
Speaking of my brother. I almost gave everything away over the weekend, when he stopped over with some toothpaste from the bulk pack he’d bought at Sam’s Club.
He’s constantly buying shit in bulk because he hates going grocery shopping, and probably also because he knows Izzy and I have needs that I struggle to meet.
Flower met him at the door with a few little flower clips in her hair from Izzy’s “beauty salon.” After Izzy told him the whole story about Flower in a quick burst of information, he looked at me, eyebrows raised. I expected him to remind me that I’m allergic to dogs or maybe even to point out that he could tell I was allergic to this one. Instead, he said, “Huh, will you look at that. It just so happens that I have some bulk dog food at home too. Can’t do much with it. Turns out you can’t give it to hamsters.”
