Page 10 of Fall For You

“Okay, Ireallyhadn’t thought about that part,” I admit. “That might kinda suck.”

Jo rolled her eyes. “Ya think?” she grumbled quietly, and then fell silent, staring out through the windshield of my truck. “I guess we could pretend to have an open marriage.”

“Sure,” I agree again. “I still say you’re overthinking this, but if that’s what you want…”

“Yes, because that way you could date whoever you wanted to while I’m away at school.”

“And you could date whoeveryouwanted to, as well.”

“But only while I’m away,” she insisted. “Because if we’re both in town—and dating other people—that could get awkward.”

“We’ll make it work,” I promised, as I lifted my bottle in a toast. “To us.”

“To us,” Jo repeated as she clinked her bottle against mine and once again began to laugh.

Even now,as I remember the sound of her laughter, the warmth that expanded in my chest as I watched her giggle, I can’t completely regret making that decision. And my motives were mostly pure. I was giving my best friend something she wanted. I’d be keeping an eye on her, keeping her safe. And the fact that we’d be keeping people guessing—are they really married, are they not? – while simultaneously annoying the shit out of them? Yeah, that sounded like a good time, to me.

And yes, I hadn’t thought the dating thing through, which was dumb. But that’s not what eventually fucked me up. That was something else. Something I should have seen coming and absolutely did not. I caught real feelings for my fake wife—with predictable results.

Jocelyn

Shortly after breakfast,Vi announces her intention to go back to bed for a nap. This strikes me as weird and alarming, but according to Evelyn it’s extremely common and nothing to worry about. Since she has medical training and I don’t, I decide to take her word for it. But it’s disappointing, all the same. I’ve been looking forward to visiting with my aunt, spending time with her, catching up on all the things I’ve missed. But clearly that’s not going to happen today. I guess it’s a good thing after allthat I’m between jobs at the moment. This way I can stay for as long as I’m needed.

Evelyn sets an alarm on her watch to wake Vi when it’s time for lunch, then she settles down to watch TV, leaving me with nothing to do and no one to talk to, so I retreat to my bedroom—which is a little like entering a time-capsule.

I was exhausted when I got in last night, so I didn’t really notice it. But now, everywhere I look, I see memories, pieces of my past. But, because I’ve changed so much in the time I’ve been gone, what should feel comfortable and familiar, seems anything but.

I’d already set up my laptop on my old desk. Now, I power it up and go online, check for messages and job offers, but there’s nothing new. On a whim, I type in Heartwood and restaurants and locate the website for Carter’s restaurant without too much trouble.

The website is simple, a little basic. He could use some better photos, for sure. But the restaurant looks just like I’d imagined it would—which leaves me feeling unexpectedly melancholy. I wish I could have been here when he was building it out, I wish I’d have kept in touch. We’d talked so much about our dreams and goals when we were together that they felt like they belonged to both of us. And I would have liked to have seen it all come together.

I’ve missed out on so much and it doesn’t help to know it was mostly my own fault.

I close the computer and wander around the room some more. I stare out the front window—the window seat seems smaller, and less comfortable than I remember. But the view is mostly the same.

I remember sitting here and watching for Carter’s truck. If he was coming here for tutoring, he’d park in the driveway. But if Iwas sneaking out to meet him, he’d park up the block and flash his brights so I’d know to come out.

It irritates me that so many of my thoughts seem to include him. It’s enough to make anyone think that I must be obsessed; that I must have spent the entire past decade thinking of nothing but him. I assure you; that’s not the case.

It’s just that I wasn’t expecting to see him today—I’m sure that’s all it is. And I especially wasn’t expecting Vi to refer to him as my husband. And now I can’t get him out of my head.

Hoping to exorcise his ghost a little, I open my closet and pull out the first of three moving boxes that are stacked in there—just like I’d left them. I’d packed these boxes when Carter and I were still together, back when I still believed our futures were entwined. They’re filled with mementoes from our time together—things I’d always planned on returning for once we’d finally found a place to settle down. Of course, that time is never going to come. So, I’m not sure why they’re even still here.

If I’d been thinking clearly, I’d have dumped them in a landfill on my way out of town. But then again, if I’d really been thinking clearly, I probably wouldn’t have left town back then, at all.

Amid the bar coasters and motel key cards (seriously, why did I save any of those?) beneath the jokey anniversary cards that Carter and I used to send each other, I find a tiny, desiccated bouquet and a matching boutonniere. White roses and baby’s breath tied up with blue ribbons—the flowers from our fake wedding.

I think that ceremony (even short and unexceptional as it was) was where we went wrong. The judge was old and critical—and lectured us on the perils of getting married too young. The clerks who served as witnesses were bored and disinterested. But Carter’s hands were clasping mine, his eyes were agleam with mischief, and I’d spent five years imagining scenes just likethis. Of course, my heart refused to believe it was all just pretend—no matter what my head kept telling it.

And of course, we should have known that our marriage would not have gone unnoticed or unremarked upon. We’d done too good a job of hiding our friendship up until then. We couldn’t just show up at a bar in the town where we lived and not have everyone question the validity of our marriage. Of course they’d want more proof than a simple piece of paper.

Which led to drunken, public make-out sessions; me straddling Carter’s lap, his hands clutching my hips, the bar noises receding as our kisses grew more heated. Which led to voices prompting us to get a room. And then to the two of us stumbling into Carter’s trailer, late at night, stripping out of our clothes as fast as we could, tumbling naked onto Carter’s bed, fumbling with the condom, asking each other some of the stupidest questions in the history of stupid questions:

“Are we doing this then—really doing it?”

“I mean, yes? Aren’t we?”

“I…guess? Is that what you want?”

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