Page 68 of The Emerson Effect
Emerson
Okay, yeah. I’m being all Zen and “we’ll figure this out” for Twila’s benefit, but on the inside, I’m freaking the fuck out. If we were anonymous people who got drunkenly married in Vegas, it wouldn’t be such a big deal. We could get an annulment and be done with it.
But we’renotanonymous people. We guaranteed that by broadcasting the evolution of this relationship to the world on BingBang. The masses are invested. We made sure of it. I know rational people would realize we just officially met three days ago, and a marriage is utterly ridiculous, but the naysayers would pounce on this as proof that we’re not real. That we never were.
Viewers would stop caring about us. I can’t let that happen. Not yet. I still need to help my mom and sister, and I’m sure Twila still has some debt to pay off.
“I need to take a shower,” Twila says, so I hop up and offer her a hand. She takes it, and I help her to her feet as she adds, “Thanks.”
When she closets herself in her bedroom, I turn back to my phone to address the barrage of text messages I ignored earlier. I see my sister’s name, but avoid her message to open the group chat with my roommates, first.
Ritchie:What the hell, E?
Mason:He was obviously shitfaced. You were shitfaced, right, bro?
Stone:Drunk or not, he’s a married man, now. Congrats, bruh.
Ritchie:I don’t think congratulations are in order, here, Stone.
Stone:Sure they are. She’s hot.
Ritchie:Irrelevant. Hecan’tbe married to a person he just met 3 days ago.
Mason:Except that he is. Married.
Ritchie:Come on, E. Text us back and let us know if you’ve been kidnapped or body-snatched, or something.
I blow out a long breath as I type out a reply.
Me:Not kidnapped or body-snatched. Apparently, I am married, though I don’t remember it because, yes, I was shitfaced. So was Twila. Neither of us remembers it, at all. I’ll get back to you guys later when this hangover eases off, and I can actually think straight.
Just as I hit send, a piece of paper on the coffee table catches my eye. Leaning forward I pick it up. It’s a marriage announcement with a wedding chapel’s logo in the corner. It states that Twila and I were married with today’s date––we must’ve stumbled in after midnight. And apparently, we had enough foresight to apply for a marriage license, first, because according to this announcement, we are legally married.
Dropping it back to the table, I hold onto my phone and head into my bedroom. I need to shower and pack because check-out time is at eleven. That’s when Twila and I will part ways, and fuck, I wish we’d decided to drive together so we could talk this whole thing out on the way home. It only would’ve added a couple of hours to my trip to go get her.
And now? Now, we have about an hour to figure out what we’ll do next.
I plug my phone into the charger, ignoring all of my other notifications…including the text from my sister. I need to get clean and rehydrate before jumping down this rabbit hole with Kennedy. And I need to talk to Twila so we can come up with a plan and get our stories straight.
I rush through my shower, get dressed, and haphazardly throw my clothes into my suitcase before heading back out into the common area. Twila is nowhere to be seen, and her bedroom door is still closed. I shuffle near, and when I don’t hear her shower running, I rap my knuckles against the door.
“Twila? Can we talk?” I call out, and I hear her give me permission to enter.
When I slide the door open, I see her folding her clothes and stacking them into her suitcase with surgical precision.
“Are you okay?” I ask, then flinch at the ridiculousness of the question.
She got wasted last night and ended up married to me, a guy she barely knows. Of course, she’s not okay.
“I will be,” she says, her tone soft. “Let’s just pack up and get out of here. We can go have brunch and come up with a plan.”
“Okay. Sounds good,” I say.
I watch her methodically pack her luggage for a few more beats. She didn’t make eye contact with me once during that little exchange. Letting out a quiet sigh, I spin and head back to my room. My mind reels as I grab everything from the bathroomand toss it into my bag. Then, I unplug my phone and chuck the charging cord in on top of my clothes. Taking a look around to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything, I zip up the suitcase and set it on the floor.
And after all that, I’ve come up with one simple conclusion––I’m scared.
Not because I find myself married this morning, but because of what this situation will end up doing to my relationship with Twila. Not the fake one we’ve been showing the world, but the real one that started here, in Vegas. In this room. On this bed.
