Eslin leans in, shaking her head. “Oh Lord. Exactly how did you get him back?”
“I ordered a set of skin-tight scrubs in his favorite colors—red and black—and prepared to test his resolve. On day two, I staged a small ‘accident’ with the mop that forced me to change from the black set into the red. Of course, I left the bathroom door cracked and ensured I changed right in his peripheral vision.”
“You didnot!” Holly cuts in.
“Did,” I continue. “I timed it perfectly, making sure he was stuck in a position where he couldn't reach me and he was forced to stay put and watch. I knew I’d won the round when I heard him grumble a strangled ‘fuck me’ under his breath as I wiggled into the pants.”
“You are on an entirely different level,” Holly chirps.
“She’s on something,” Eslin says, judging. I can tell she thinks I’m playing a dangerous game.
My phone vibrates against the table. Speaking of petty parents, my father has now taken to texting me with the same ferocity as my mother.
Dad:Sweetpea, I think your mother is actually going to blow a head gasket if you don’t call her soon. Also, I’m currently sitting here polishing my guns and trying to wrap my head around how my only daughter could run off and get married without us even meeting the man.
We don’t know anything about him. Does he take care of you? Most importantly, how does he hang the toilet tissue on the roll?
Please just call us. I am doing my best to keep her calm, but don’t make us show up at your front door. We just need to know you’re okay. Even though it’s clear you have lost your Black mind. —Dad.
My father treats text messages like letters. He just keeps typing until he’s said every last thing on his mind. But I can’t respond right now. I need time to think. And maybe hide.
I skipped church today. It was a calculated move to avoid my parents and the inevitable interrogation waiting for me after my bombshell. My father has texted me several times, my mother has called at least twenty. After the twenty-first ignored call, she finally resorted to texting me to ask if I was attending today, since it’s Baptism Sunday.
She already knew the answer. She knows I hate standing for thirty minutes while the pastor slam-dunks people under the water in the name of Jesus.
Sitting here with the girls feels like stepping up to a different kind of altar, one where the wine flows and the judgment is at least constructive. Only, instead of anointing oil and worship hymns, I have caffeine and the blunt honesty of my best friends.It is the only place I can lay my debaucherous burdens down without being told all I had to do was pray them away.
Because I have prayed, actually. And at this point, I think God has taken to mocking me.
“Also, I finally told my mom I was married. Then promptly hung up the phone in her face.”
Tatum chokes. “You did what?”
Eslin pauses with food in her mouth. “I’m sorry? You hung up on your mother?”
“Talk about ripping the band-aid off,” Holly says under her breath.
I groan. “I’m an idiot. I told her I was married in a hurry because I wasn’t sure how I was going to finally let the feral fucking cat out the bag and when I couldn’t take her condescension anymore, I snapped!”
“Snapped. That’s a word I would actually use in this situation,” Eslin comments.
“And then, because Clarissa’s name was mentioned and my pride is a fickle bitch, I told her I was bringing my husband to Martha’s Vineyard next month.”
Holly leans forward, her eyes wide as she processes the mess. “So, the man you are currently trying to divorce is now your date to the most competitive family gathering of the year?”
“Exactly. And since he knows he has me over a barrel, he didn't just agree to go. Here-imaginedthe terms for my services.” I take a long, shaky sip of my drink, bracing myself for the rest. “If he plays the doting husband for my family, I have to play the devoted wife on his terms.”
Eslin’s brow furrows. “On his terms? What does that mean, exactly?”
I let out a breath, still unable to believe I actually agreed to this. “It means I have to stay at his house. I have to be at hisbeck and call and attend some birthday gala or something for his mother. I told him absolutely no sex, though.”
Eslin lets out a whistle of disbelief, shaking her head. “Yeah, right. ‘No sex’ my ass. This entire situation is beginning to sound incredibly familiar. And incredibly stupid. This team and the women they meet simply cannot seem to get it together.” She leans back, crossing her arms over her chest. “I just want you to know, your little games are making my life as the team therapist very difficult.”
I shrug sheepishly, my straw stirring the ice in my latte. “Sorry.”
“But, despite your shenanigans,” she adds, a reluctant smirk tugging at her lips, “I’ve got to hand it to your husband. Turning your lie into his leverage? He’s a genius.”
“He’s a slut,” Holly interjects. “And I think I love him.”
