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Where does this fantasy end?
I’ve been married to Abel for seven weeks now, and not once have I talked to my parents.
Well, obviously.
They don’t care about me. They don’t even know that their only daughter’s married. They probably pray to God that I’m dead, while I’m showing them the finger with my clothes off.
I shouldn’t be thinking about them, but I am. Today’s my dad’s birthday and it makes me realize that I’ve been in the city for about three months, but it feels like forever. It feels like I’ve lived here longer than I lived in Prophetstown.
I’m melancholy and Abel isn’t home to distract me. He’s hanging out with his friends. And even though I’m sad, it makes me smile that Abel is socializing.
My husband is a classic loner. He doesn’t make many friends but he’s made some ever since he started working at the studio. Both he and Ethan are out so I have the apartment to myself.
I call up Sky. Usually, I don’t ask about my parents when I talk to her. But this time, I drop the question: “How’s my dad?”
“Fine. He’s fine,” she says, quickly. “So, how’s married life treating ya?”
I’m not fooled by the false cheer in her voice. “Sky, how’s my dad? My mom?” Do they ever ask about me? I can’t say that, but I’m silently asking the question.
“I said he’s fine. They’re fine.”
I plop down on the bar stool in the kitchen. “Sky, tell me.” I sigh. “I know, okay? I know they hate me. I’m prepared for the worst. So just, lay it on me.”
She’s silent for a few beats. “I don’t think you’re prepared for the worst.”
I sit up, my heart slamming in my chest. “What? A-are they okay? Is my dad okay?”
She scoffs. “Oh, yeah. He’s fine. I saw him just the other day. He was at the church with your mom and they were chatting up Mr. Knight and that asshole I’m gonna murder: Duke.”
A broken laugh releases from my throat. God, I miss my best friend and her bloodthirsty ways. She’s getting ready to go to college. She’ll leave in a few weeks. I haven’t thought about school in so long; it almost feels like I’m too grown up for it, or maybe not grown up enough.
“You still hate him, huh?”
“Well, yeah. It’s only been a few months since you ran away. Not that long. Besides, I’ll always hate that asshole. He’s my enemy number one.”
“Really?” I prop my chin on my palm, thinking back to the conversation I had with Duke on prom night. “Because I think he might like you.”
She sputters and I can’t help but laugh. “He does not. Ew. That’s the most disgusting thing ever.”
“Is it? Because I think you hate him a little too much.”
“Hey, you know? I think you’ve lost your mind,” she says, mimicking my tone. “Besides, there’s no such thing as too much hate. The more, the better.”
I laugh again, but then stop because it turns sad. I wish I could see her. I don’t know if I ever will. I wish I could… go back and see my town.
No. Bad Evie.
I don’t want to go back. But sometimes I think what if…
What if I tell them that I’m married and I’m happy? I mean, I know they are angry but what if they come around? They are my parents, they are biologically programmed to love me.
I’ll tell them how great Abel is and how he’s the most wonderful husband ever. Yes, he drives me crazy and he’s controlling but he loves me. I’m his world and he is mine.
Why can’t they make peace with it? Maybe if my dad sees him with me, he might apologize to Abel for beating him up and throwing him in jail. Maybe they won’t be best friends but they might tolerate each other.
I gather my courage again and say, “Now are you going to tell me how my parents are? How’d they look?”
A big, long sigh, and there goes my heart again. It’s pounding, with dread, with anticipation. “Evie, you don’t wanna hear this.”
“Oh my God, just tell me, okay?”
“Fine. Here it is: they are not looking for you and they’ll never look for you because they are pretending you’re dead, okay? Your mom had a wake for you. They told everyone that you’re dead to them and that they don’t support you.”
For a second, I don’t feel my heart anymore. It’s stopped beating. I don’t feel myself. I don’t even think I exist.
“Evie?” Sky sounds concerned. “Hey, you there? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, babe.”
I shake my head. It’s not her fault. It’s mine for asking. For hoping. And yet, I can’t help myself. “Was my…” I clear my throat. “Was my dad the one who said it?”
“I wasn’t there. I, uh, heard it through my mom.”
