Page 27 of Married in Misty Mountain

I’m still processing that people around town like me. Just say the word if you don’t want me to go.

No, sir. You’re not using your sea hag wife as an out. Let the people celebrate you. Be social.

We’ll be at The Rusty Elk for one, two hours tops.

I smile at the idea of him asking me permission.

I don’t mind.

Jack will take you to Hank and Clara’s house. She’s gonna keep an eye on you, and I’ll pick you up there later and take you home.

I finally get to see the mysterious mountain man lair.

It’s nothing special. Don’t get too excited.

It’s not the house I’m excited about.

Shenna, be a good girl.

To my surprise, Hurley ends the conversation with a pink heart emoji.

As Jack walks me over to Clara’s house a few moments later, some negative feelings start to creep up. He said he would have Clara “keep an eye” on me. Like I’m a child.

I don’t need to be told what to do or how to take care of myself. No one tells me where to stay or where to work.

“You’re quiet. Everything okay?”

I turn to Jack and give him the smallest smile, which is all I can muster. “I’m just wondering if I’m not cut out for marriage.”

“Ah, don’t be jealous,” Jack says. “It’s just a couple of old men taking Hurley out for a beer. I promise we’ll get him home in one piece.”

Obviously, Jack has totally missed the point, but I don’t feel like diving any deeper into the real problem. He wouldn’t understand.

“Hey, Jack,” I say as we’re about to pass my street. “I think I’m just going to go home and start packing. I bet I can have all my belongings ready to go by the time you all are done with the bachelor party.”

Jack hesitates as we stand at the end of my street. “Oh. Okay. Well, if you’re sure.”

“I’ll have Clara come over if it makes you feel better. I know you told Hurley you would drop me off at her house so I’d have company.”

Jack agrees to my terms. He goes his way, and I go mine.

Once inside my little apartment, it feels like I haven’t been here in weeks.

I pack up most of my things in less than two hours, and I don’t need Clara hanging around to help me, either.

See that? Hurley doesn’t know everything.

I start to feel sleepy, so I dig through my suitcase and pull out a pair of panties, my favorite long tee shirt and socks that I wear to bed. I curl up on my mattress and scroll on my phone until Hurley knocks on my door well after 10 p.m. I’m already half asleep but I bound out of bed and throw open the door, eager to give my husband shit again.

“I hope you cleared out a drawer for?—”

My words trail off at the sight of the man at my door.

It’s not Hurley.

He has the tall, doughy look of the man to whom my father promised me more than ten years ago. He wears the uniform of the cult I grew up in: a polo shirt, khakis, and a barely concealed holster on his leather belt.

My fiancé. Well, my ex-fiancé.

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