Page 22 of Beachside Kisses With My Best Friend

“Agreed. But we’d have to swear them to secrecy. I don’t think that would be a problem though, do you?”

“Definitely not. My dad doesn’t really go out or talk to anyone. And Mom…” Well, Mom might have a few words to say about it, but she would also do anything for Ryder. “It won’t be a problem.”

“But the rest of the town…” Marilee pulls a piece off her ciabatta roll, squishes it between her thumb and forefinger. Then she looks up at me, a question there. “We act like a couple in front of them?”

And reality crashes back in. My thumb freezes over the phone screen, and the cursor in my Notes app blinks back at me. Accusing. “I mean, we’d probably have to in order to make it believable. But if you’re not comfortable with that?—”

“No, it’s fine.”

She’s so quick to agree. It makes me wonder…

But no. She’s just an affectionate person. We don’t hold hands often, but she’s always patting or squeezing my arm, resting her head on my shoulder when we watch a movie on the couch, giving hugs.

Still, there’s one glaring difference between friendly touching…and more than friendly. My throat burns with the question, but it has to be asked. “What about kissing?”

The bread tumbles from Marilee’s fingers onto the table. In the distance, the excited shouts of kids brim to the surface. But Marilee and I are still here, in this strange bubble, with this strange question hanging between us.

“Oh. Um.” Shaking herself, she picks up the bread again and tosses it onto the ground. A pigeon dive-bombs it. “I don’t think we have to make a big deal out of it, right? We’re both adults. If the need arises for us to kiss, we kiss.”

Like it’s so simple.

Like it wouldn’t be life changing. Earth shattering. A defining moment where time would only exist in the before and the after…

Then again, to her, it probably wouldn’t be any of those things. Just to me.

And, if it means more stability for Ryder, a chance to give Marilee the freedom to choose her path, to allow her space to discover herself, what she really wants for her future—I’m willing to face the torment of kissing Marilee and knowing it doesn’t mean the same thing to her.

I’m willing to marry my best friend for a year.

I set the phone down and study her. “Are you sure about this, Lee? Because we can eat our lunch, talk about the weather, go home, and never discuss this again if you have any doubts in your mind.”

She blinks back at me, taking a while before she answers. “That’s the weird thing, Jay. I know I’m not the best at making good decisions. But one that means helping out the people I love best in the world?” Marilee tilts her head, and her cascade of hair falls to the side, shimmering in the sun. “That’s a no-brainer. Let’s do it. Let’s get married.”

six

MARILEE

Today is my wedding day.

Again.

But this feels nothing like that did. Back then, at the tender age of nineteen—ten whole years ago—I pretended to be sure. Convinced myself I was. Ignored any concern that any friends or my mom expressed. I just figured they didn’t understand the love Donny and I shared.

Turns out, what we had wasn’t love. It was control.

But this? Helping Jordan, my best friend in the world, who would never do anything to hurt me?

Todayisabout love.

Maybe it’s platonic love, but love all the same. And it’s my decision to make.

Which is why, if Lucy asks me if I’msureone more time, I might scream.

“Don’t.” As I exit my closet wearing a strappy lavender dress that’s probably more appropriate for summertime, I hold my finger up to my sister-in-law’s mouth, which is opening—I’mpositive—to repeat the question that’s been part of every conversation we’ve had for the last four days since I told her about my decision to marry Jordan for a year.

She’s sitting against the headboard of my bed, her blonde hair down for once, a hand on her stomach, which is still flat despite growing my niece or nephew. Her color is a bit better today, though I think she’s only consumed a few crackers and some ginger ale. “But?—”

“But nothing. Yes, I’m sure about marrying him. What I’m not sure about is this dress.” As I turn a one-eighty, the skirt flares out a bit. “Thoughts?” I study my reflection in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of my door.

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