Page 40 of This Means War

“For now,” she laughs, “but we all know the senate is where he’s headed.” Another sigh. She’s starting to sound like Snow White, staring out the window dreaming of her prince. Or in her case her ideal son-in-law. “My daughter, a senator’s wife. I never could’ve imagined. Oh honey, your dad and I couldn’t be more proud.”

I fight the instinct to tell her how absolutelyridiculous she’s being. She’s not proud of me for something I’ve accomplished; no, she’s proud of me for marrying well. It’s like I’ve been tossed backwards into one of my regency romance novels. I’m Jane Bennet, and I’ve caught the eye of the wealthy gentlemen who just moved to the neighborhood.

“Lydia, are you still there?” My mom finally notices my silence.

“I’m here,” I croak, suddenly at the brink of tears.

“Oh good. Now, why don’t we finish this call, and you can go talk to Cole about when might be good for us to have the reception. I’d love to get a date on the books as soon as possible. The best venues fill-up months in advance, you know.”

To my great annoyance, a tear slides down my cheek. I want to fight her on this, to push back on her archaic standards, but my sadness weighs me down. So instead of taking her to task by actually making some good points, I find myself self-destructing.

“I’m not actually sure we’ll be able to come down for a reception, Mom. You see, I'm pregnant. With twins. And the doctor said I can’t fly.” This last part is a lie, but I don’t care. “So, sorry to put a damper on your plans, but there you have it. I hooked my guy the old-fashioned way, with an unplanned pregnancy. I’m sure your friends will be so proud when you tell them. Much better to have a daughter who trapped a politician into marrying her than a daughter who just coaches middle school track and field.”

Absolute silence follows this pronouncement, and I tell myself not to regret my choice even as my palms begin to sweat and my breathing starts to feel constricted. After what feels like hours, she speaks.

“There’s no way I’m going to tell my friends that my daughter had a shotgun wedding,” her words slither across the phone line, their bite hitting me like poison. “Don’t you dare tell people that either, Lydia. You’ll ruin Cole’s career before it’s even started. Do his parents know? My goodness what Felicia and Joel must think of you. Of us! I suppose Joel must be working on a way to spin this, though. What an absolute mess. Pregnant out of wedlock. Shameful!”

My tears dry as she continues to rant. I’d been prepared for her anger, so maybe that’s why I prefer it to her pride. Anger is what I deserve. There’s a rational part of me that knows God forgives all sin, that Jesus’ death paid the price for all my wrongdoings. It’s the same part of me that was able to sit in the kitchen with Cole and tell him he clearly needs God. But there’s a louder, more emotional part of me that keeps trying to figure out how I can earn back God’s love, that keeps telling me I’ve lost the right to need God.

As my mom continues, moving on to what my father is going to say and how this never would’ve happened if I’d moved home to Florida like they’d wanted me to, I lay back on my bed and stare up at the ceiling. Every word she says is like an act of penance. When she starts to lose her steam, I letmyself hang up the phone. Then, forgetting about Cole waiting for me in the kitchen, I crawl under my covers and cry myself to sleep.

Chapter 28

Cole

Lydia never comesback from her phone call, so eventually I clean up the kitchen and head to the office to do some digging into all of the smartboard stuff. On my way there, I pause by the door to Lydia’s room, listening for her. I don’t hear anything though, so, assuming she’s sleeping, I leave her be. It’s probably for the best that our night got cut short, since I’m not too eager to get back into a conversation about why I need God.

In my office I pull up google and get to work. An hour later, I sit back in my chair, stunned by what I’ve found. Tom is going to flip with excitement. Well, actually, it’s Tom, so he’ll probably just offer me a brief smile. Still, this is big. It might even be enough to put this mayoral race in the bag. And it’s all thanks to Lydia. I’m not sure I’ll be able to prank her after this. I owe her too big.

Pulling out my phone, I open my grocery delivery app and add a box of Pop-tarts to my cart. Then, since delivery is only free if I spend $35 anyway,I add fifteen more boxes. Pop-tarts might not be enough of a thank you, but at least it’s a start.

Lydia

I wake up latethe next morning, and I can tell without looking that my eyes are puffy from all my crying. My limbs ache from all of the gardening I’ve been doing and my ponytailed hair is now a matted mess against my back. Thankfully a shower makes me feel semi-human again, and after putting on a pair of knit shorts and a striped tee, I venture out in search of food.

My stomach does a flip as I enter the kitchen and see the numerous boxes of Pop-tarts spread across the island. I step closer and notice with another stomach flip, that the boxes have been arranged into a peace sign. There’s a note off to the side, and I pick it up with shaky hands.

Lydia, I read,I offer you these Pop-tarts as a white flag. Your question about the smartboards uncovered something huge about Ferris Arnold. Long story, but suffice it to say, Arnold is about to be at the center of a political scandal. I can’t thank you enough for your help, and, seeing as I’m now indebted to you, I clearly can’t be pranking you. Besides, I’d love it if we could be the kind of husband and wife who don’t have a war going. Probably best for the babies too, right? Alright, hope you enjoy the Pop-tarts. No need to write your name on them. I’ll leave them all to you. -Cole

My heart sinks to the floor, and my lips dry intotwo deserts. He wants to call a truce. I should be happy, but instead I’m terrified. I don’t like when Cole is nice to me. I’m having a hard enough time keeping my feelings for him in check without him being nice to me. I don’t stand a chance if he’s going to do things like buy me a year’s worth of Pop-tarts or, I don’t know, come to my track meets to cheer my team on.

I force myself to remember all of the things I don’t like about him. He’s pushy and conceited and, and, and…he covered my room infrogs—my thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the garage door opening. I try to gather myself, knowing Cole will surely be headed my way shortly. I resume listing his faults as I fill a glass with orange juice, wanting to look busy.

He’s, um…well, he’s a politician. Yes, I grab onto this thought. He’s a politician, and everyone knows politicians are liars. Plus, there’s his face, which is stupid.

Cole walks in and a smile covers his stupid face as he sees me. Yes, he’s got a stupid face with stupid dimples and stupid brown eyes and stupidly straight teeth. Not to mention his stupid, stupid body.

“You found the Pop-tarts,” he says by way of greeting. “And, uh, did you read my note?” He looks suddenly nervous. It’s the first time I’ve seen him look nervous, and it wipes away my whole stupid list. I’m making Cole Jacobson nervous. The very idea makes me feel a bit heady.

Maybe I should just go along with his truce.Maybe thiscanbe a real marriage.

“Hey, Cole, you left this in my backseat,” a female voice cuts off this line of thought and coldness descends on me as Ashley walks into the kitchen, Cole’s jacket in her hand. “Oh,” she pauses, looking startled to see me standing there. There’s a beat of silence, then she seems to recover herself. Stepping further into the room, she offers me a smile dripping with annoyance. “It’s Lydia, right? We seem to be running into each other a lot lately.” She lets out a fake little laugh. “The wedding, the office, and now…Cole’s kitchen.”

It doesn’t take a genius to work out the subtext of her words. She’s clearly waiting for me to give an explanation for all of these run-ins. Unfortunately for her, my mouth appears to have forgotten how to form words.

“Oh, thanks, Ashley,” Cole speaks, stepping towards her to take his jacket from her hand. I wait for him to say something else, like maybe tell her how the two of us are married, which is why I’m in his kitchen. Which is actuallyourkitchen. But Cole doesn’t speak. He seems ready to ignore the elephant in the room.

“What’s with all of the Pop-tarts?” Ashley presses on, obviously not planning on leaving without getting her answers.

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