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Marian grinds to a halt, and so do I. “You can’t tell anyone just yet. One, I haven’t confirmed with the doctor, and two, it’s early days. Let’s wait a while.”
“Sure, no problem,” I say, disappointment coming over me. Which is stupid. There’s no urgency for anyone to know. The baby will come when the nine months are up, whether we tell anyone or not.
We resume walking. My gaze goes out to sea at the gentle waves as they rise and fall over each other. White boats glide over the water, with happy people on the decks. No matter where life takes me, Santa Monica will always be my home. Me and my family.
“After we got married in Vegas, did you ever imagine that one day, we would be walking on the beach like this?” Marian asks me, her voice tinged with laughter.
“Not at all. You were so angry and initially refused to entertain the idea of staying married,” I said, chuckling as I remember the look Marian had given me when I made the suggestion.
She laughs. “How many people do you know, though, who have done what we did?”
“None,” I admit. “But that only goes to prove that we’re special.”
“Ha,” Marian says.
“The beach suits you,” I tell her. “You look carefree and happy.”
“I am, but it’s not just the beach; there are lots of reasons why I’m happy,” Marian says. She’s silent for a beat before she continues talking. “Have you ever come close to getting married?”
“No, never,” I tell her honestly. “I’ve never met someone who made me want to get married. If anything, it was the other way round. I took off as soon as a woman hinted at wanting to get married.”
“What made you agree to my mad scheme then?” she asks me. “Was it the trust fund?”
It would be easy to say yes, and that would be the end of that, but it wouldn’t be the truth. “I thought about the trust fund the following morning. It’s crazy, but I just wanted to be married to you.” Even though I’d been drunk out of my mind, getting married to Marian was not a decision that I had wrestled with. A part of me had known she was special right from the moment when I first saw her on the airplane. “What about you?”
“Before going to Vegas, I’d invited Jason and Brooke for dinner at the house. It was their first time after I moved in. Anyway, by the end of the dinner, I realized how little I had.”
“Buying a house is quite an achievement, Marian,” I point out.
“Yes, but it’s mortar and brick. I had none of the things that mattered. Kids, a family. So, when we met and drank ourselves silly, those were the things on my mind, and the idea of marrying you just kept growing and growing through the night.”
I laugh. “I’m glad you were crazy enough to go through with it.”
“I’m glad you didn’t just marry me for the trust fund,” Marian says.
We’ve walked a long way along the beach, and I point out my parents’ house in the distance. “That’s my parents’ home from the back.”
“Nice, I wouldn’t have recognized it,” she says. “Imagine growing up next to the beach like that. You and Ace were two lucky boys.”
I’ve never thought of it like that, but I suppose she was right. There was always something to do. “We were.”
We turn around to walk back. Marian’s phone rings, shattering through the sounds of the waves crashing on the sand. She picks it up.
She stops walking. “How did you know where it was?” She’s silent for a few seconds before she continues talking. “You can’t just come to my office without telling me.” She shakes her head. “Fine.”
She clicks her tongue and disconnects the call. “That was Leonard. He’s in my office.”
“How does he know where you work?” The thought of that slime ball in Marian’s office gets me all riled up.
“I don’t know,” Marian says with a sigh. “He refused to say. We should go back. I need to talk some sense into him.”
Why does the jerk have to show up now when our lives together are just beginning properly? Still, he won’t stay. That I’m sure. Marian is not interested, and he’ll get tired of wasting everyone’s time.
We are both lost in our own thoughts on the drive back to LA. I keep glancing at Marian. She’s worried. I wish I had the words to reassure her. It’s common sense. The divorce was already granted years ago. What happened was a clerical error.
I’m pissed off that our plans are ruined. I’d intended to take Marian to my apartment and make sweet love to her. We’d spend the afternoon in bed; I’d cook her dinner, then we’d drive back to LA.
Instead, I’m pulling up to Marian’s office to drop her off. “I’ll stay,” I tell her when I bring the car to a stop.
