Page 16 of Where Happiness Begins
I’m not ready for this.
In hindsight, asking him to come live with me was probably a bad idea. I could’ve suggested we go to his place. Or better yet, offered that we pretend to live together while staying in our mutual places. There must’ve been a solution that didn’t involve him moving in.
And yet.
As I plump a pillow on the couch for the seventeenth time this morning, the gold band on my finger catches my eye as it reflects the early spring light filtering through the window. I didn’t take it off after we left the courthouse yesterday afternoon. I’m not sure why. Iknowthis is not a real union. Iknowthe vows we spoke were not true. But for some reason, they felt solemn all the same. Like even if I don’t like it, a part of me truly is his from now on.
I’ve spent the entire morning cleaning around the house, partly because I needed to keep myself busy in order not to go into complete freak-out mode but also because I wanted the place to look nice for him. From an outsider’s perspective, it might appear dated and unkempt, and the last thing I want is for Carter to hate his new home for the next two years, although he’d be wrong tothink the place has been voluntarily neglected. Dad always wanted to do some work on the house one day, but wanting to and being able to are two different things. He was a single parent who had to drive me three times per week to the hospital and who always had to work overtime at his accounting firm to be able to pay all the medical bills his insurance didn’t cover, so having a modernized house was never a priority. However, what this place lacked in beauty, it made up for with warmth. We were never unhappy here. I remember countless Sunday mornings kneeling over the shaggy living room carpet, completing puzzles while Dad sat behind me on the green-and-black checkered couch, going through his crosswords puzzle while an old vinyl of his played on the record player he’d kept from his teenage years. There was always music playing, conversations happening, or laughter ringing. I wouldn’t have changed that shaggy carpet or that checkered couch for anything in the world. And selfishly, I want Carter to feel the same way about the house. Like maybe if he sees how comfortable we are here, he’ll be able to overlook everything that needs to be done to it.
Even though I expected it, I jump to the ceiling when the first knock comes at the door.
I need to calm down. I can’t keep being shocked when he shows up to his own place.
Forcing a calm smile on my lips, I walk to the door, and after placing my hair behind my ears, I open to him.
And lose my breath.
No one should look this good in such plain clothes. He wears his blank T-shirts like some people wear evening attire, like hedoesn’t need any artifice with his clothing because his face looks just that good. His strong nose might look overpowering on someone else, but on him, it only blends with his sharp jaw and smooth lips as if every single trait had been handpicked to balance the others and make a flawless whole. Today, his arms are exposed, and I get a glimpse of the dark patterns inked all over his skin for the first time. They automatically catch my attention, making me look for longer than is appropriate.
Stop watching him like that.He might be my husband on paper, but I still can’t drool over his physique, as nice as it is.
“Hi,” I say, and when he only blinks, I smile even wider. “Welcome in!”
He gives me the smallest of nods, then walks inside with a suitcase in tow and a duffel on his shoulder. Tough crowd.
I stare as he takes in the place, from the stucco walls lining the living room to the old-school wood paneling in the kitchen. Thankfully—thankfully—he says nothing as he turns back to me, and while I usually hate how expressionless his face is, today, I’ll take it.
“So this is the common living area, I guess. Feel free to use whatever you like, whenever.”
When he continues silently looking at me, I show him the staircase leading to the basement. “Want me to show you around your space?”
“Sure,” he says, almost sounding relieved. I’d thought after yesterday, he’d be acting at least a little more comfortable around me, but while he was never the happy-go-lucky type, today, his stiffposture and avoidant gaze make him look even more closed off. Maybe he’s just having delayed reactions, and only after we got married did he realize how big of a thing it was.
We go down the stairs, and once again, I stay back as he takes in the space I prepared for him. I made sure to clean out the clutter that had been accumulating in the guest bedroom at the far corner of the basement for years, and I even set up a living area with the television that used to be in my own bedroom so he could have a nice place of his own.
“I hope this is fine,” I say, fingers twisted together in front of me, “but feel free to make any change you want.”
“All right. Thank you,” he says, slowly walking toward his room to drop his stuff, I assume.
I leave some space between us as he explores, but I remain down here in case he has any questions, like a good B&B host. However, I regret that decision the moment I hear a familiar voice upstairs.
“Hey, Lil? You okay?”
Carter turns at the sound while I freeze. Shit.
I’ve been dreading calling Finn since I decided to go through with the wedding, but I guess I can’t escape him anymore.
Finn Olsen has been one of my best friends ever since the moment he sat on that dialysis chair next to mine, almost ten years ago now. He might’ve been older than me by a few years, but I saw the fear and uncertainty in his eyes when he stepped foot in the room for the first time, and since I was used to the entire process, I took him under my wing and made sure he was distracted. I was only fourteen years old, but I could tell when someone needed apick-me-up, and that teenager sure did. Luckily for him, he only needed a few months of treatment in my unit, but we never lost touch after that.
And I’m pretty sure he will kill me once he learns what I’ve done.
Carter’s watching me with a curious look, not moving either as if he’s waiting for my instructions on the next steps to follow.
Without breaking our eye contact, I call out, “Coming up, just a sec.” Then I whisper to Carter, “You stay here, okay?”
“What’s going on?” he says, having the decency to whisper back.
“Nothing. I just have to deal with this, but I’ll be right back.”
