Page 13 of F*ck Marriage

Loren glances over her shoulder and then slips through the door, closing it quietly behind her.

“Pearl’s pissed.”

“Oh yeah?” I lean back in my chair, trying to keep the smile off my face. Loren and I have been nothing more than Facebook friends for two years, but it feels natural to have our old office camaraderie back. I rest my palms on the desk and push up so I’m standing.

“She’s—” Her words are cut short when my office door opens again and Satcher walks in.

“She’s pissed,” he says, shutting the door behind him.

Loren props herself on the arm of the nearest chair while Satcher sits inside of it.

“What’s she doing?”

“Reaming Woods out.” Loren sniffs.

“For what?”

“For letting you happen.”

“She should be pissed at Satcher then,” I say, shrugging it off. I must be really bad at hiding my delight because Satcher raises an eyebrow and smiles knowingly.

Loren heads for the door. “Everyone put on your seatbelts. It’s going to be a bumpy ride,” she says before slipping out.

“Ride from hell.” He looks at me squarely and I shrug.

“Don’t care. I’ve already been on life’s ride from hell. I know all the turns.”

He grimaces and then stands up, heading for the door. He stops at the last minute to say, “Let’s not make Rhubarb a ride, yeah?”

“Get out of here, Sasquatch,” I say without looking up. “I need to work.”

“Tomorrow, the rest of the staff are back,” Satcher warns. “Best behavior.”

Chapter Eight

The vibe in the office the next morning is somewhat like the first day of school. Refreshed and ready, the employees of Rhubarb gather in the common area, popping pods in the coffee machine and discussing where they went on vacation. I listen outside the door, anxiety clawing its way up my throat. There are familiar voices: Dee, who attended my wedding. I hired her part-time after her baby was born to cover the Crunchy Mom section of the blog. She probably tried the hardest after I left, sending me update texts even when I didn’t answer. I hear Pearl too, she’s updating them on her wedding planning while theyooh and ahhlike good minions. I’m nearly hyperventilating when Satcher appears through the front door, a drink carrier in his hand.Shoot.Shit. I was supposed to get coffee. His eyebrow quirks up when he sees my face.

“It was my turn,” I say when he hands me a cup.

“I knew you’d forget,” he says.

Our eyes meet and I suddenly feel hot under Jules’ Rebecca Minkoff dress. The room has suddenly gone quiet. They’ve heard our voices. I squeeze my eyes shut, but Satcher pushes me forward, forcing me into the open doorway.

“Dammit, you fucker,” I say under my breath.

“Morning.” He flashes a smile around the room, his dimples making a few of their eyes glaze over: men and women.

I smile, smile, smile! So big and so genuine, at least to their eyes. Suddenly, there are arms around my neck, exclamations of surprise. Janelle, our photographer, Dee, Loren ... and Eric, who runs a column called Pretty Gay. Pearl’s smile is frozen on her face like a mannequin. I see that a couple of them glance back to gauge her reaction to my presence. After a few minutes of questions from all of them, Dee goes to the fridge and pulls out the bottle of Champagne, the smile pressed so sincerely to her lips, my chest tightens. The Champagne is a tradition I started when we moved into the building. We always kept a bottle chilled in the fridge ready to celebrate. Now Dee pops the cork at eight o'clock in the morning and everyone holds out their plastic flutes for a swallow. Everyone except Pearl, who demurely declines, saying she’s watching her weight for the wedding.

“It’s just a sip,” Loren presses. “To welcome our Billie back.”

Pearl’s face is strained as she accepts the glass, clutched between her fingers like some dirty object she’d rather not be touching.

“Where’s Woods?” someone calls. “Go get him.”

One of the employees I don’t recognize scurries out. I wait, tensed, the flute sweating between my fingers. I switch hands and rub my open palm down my dress. When Woods follows the girl back into the room, the air stills. He meets my eyes and my stomach does a rebellious flip.Quit it,I want to say.

“You guys are always looking for a reason to drink,” he teases.

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