Page 140 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

Just outside Van’s bedroom door, I find a tray of food covered in foil along with a note from Grey.

Thought you could use a little fuel. Don’t worry; my sisters didn’t poison it. I checked. -G

And sure enough, when I lift the corner of the foil, both the sandwich and the cookie have a bite out of them.

I gobble them down anyway.

Technically, we’re family. At least for the time being. Family members swap germs, right?

Then, I snoop. Respectfully.

Van’s house is tidy. I think if his sisters weren’t here, immaculate would be a better word. But I find signs of them everywhere—makeup scattered on the guest bathroom counter, a pair of flip-flops in the middle of a room like someone just walked out of them and disappeared.

There isn’t really decoration—no paintings on the wall or picture frames, or curtains. It seems like maybe he just moved in? Or like he’s running for the Minimalist of the Year award. The furniture though is comfortable and the colors he’s chosen are masculine. It fits him, though I feel like what’s missing is atouch of the irreverent—the sort of smirky, snarky attitude Van has in spades.

When I return my dish to the gorgeous, updated kitchen, I find a bright green beta fish on the counter. I remember Van talking about having a fish while we were in Florida. I’ll admit—I thought Van made him up.

“But you’re real, aren’t you?” I ask, leaning my elbows on the counter. I swear, the little guy struts for me, swimming with a little flounce that makes his tail billow. “Just like your daddy, huh?”

They do say pets often resemble their owners. It definitely seems true in this case. I probably shouldn’t feed him, since I have no idea whether Van or his sisters or both already did. But he’s practically begging, and I can’t help giving him a tiny pinch of food.

“Our little secret,” I tell him as he gulps down the little red flakes. “Can you keep another one? I think I made a big mistake.”

And I don’t mean the wedding.

The mistake, the one I woke up thinking about and haven’t been able to stop thinking about since, was not being fully honest with Van last night.

Not being brave the way he was when he flat-out told me what he wanted.

Because I think I want the same thing, and it terrifies me.

The part of me that’s always done things by the book is scandalized by this. My dad would lose his mind. I think telling him I want to stay married to Van is the only thing that would shock him more than saying I married Van in the first place.

But I think it’s time I learn how to love my dad without doing everything according to what he thinks is right for me. Without living for his approval or at the very least, trying to keep the peace.

Something I’ve done since Mom died.

I wish she were here. Though she died when I was barely old enough to ask for dating advice, somehow I know she’d have the exact right thing to say. Or maybe she wouldn’t say anything, but would just listen and offer me support either way.

What I do know is that she’d tell me I shouldn’t make decisions based on what makes my dad happy.

She’d tell me to be brave.

Which is the exact opposite of what I do when I see the rental car turn back into the driveway. I bolt for Van’s room and dive into his bed, grabbing my laptop and pretending to work.

I hear them come in, then head into their rooms. Music comes on, something poppy and upbeat, and I strain, listening to the lilt and fall of their conversations, their laughter. I should go out there. I should make peace or make friends or … maybe make a fool out of myself?

But I stay in my room, forcing myself to type words that will need to be heavily edited later. The American Marketing Association says writers should aim for an eighth grade level in online articles. Right now, my writing is more like a first grade level.

I jump when someone starts banging at the door.

“Open up or we’ll break the door down,” a voice calls.

“We can just unlock it,” another voice says in a whisper I can still hear.

“That’s an invasion of privacy,” the first voice whispers.

“But we’re literallytryingto invade her privacy. In a nice way.”

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