Page 11 of My Wife
She types on the computer and then passes me a digital tablet with the Knights logo on top. “A few quick forms for you to sign, confirming your commitment as team captain.”
My phone beeps in my pocket again. I skim the first form and add my signature with the stylus. The screen freezes on the next one and while Cara wrestles with technology, my phone continues to beep.
Even though this is a more formal process than I thought, I take a peek at my device, praying the kid didn’t set the building on fire or shave Elizabeth—the Maltese. Who names their dog that? Then again, the kid’s birth certificate was a surprise.
The messages are a bunch of Monday morning meme nonsense from my sibling group chat, a reminder for my haircut appointment, and nine missed calls from Mrs. Kirby. I tell myself that she’s just reminding me to be on time. But sweat beads on my upper lip.
“Are you okay?” Cara asks.
I nod longer than is customary as if trying to convince myself that I’m all right. My phone, still in my hand, vibrates.
“Do you need to get that?” she asks.
I shake my head, also longer than necessary as if trying to convince myself that my reply to Cara’s question is true.Yes, I’m okay. Debatable.
“Being the Knights team captain comes with a lot of extra responsibilities. Dadaszek must really respect and admire your leadership skills,” she says offhandedly all the while presenting me with the last digital form to sign.
Meanwhile, my phone buzzes like an alarm clock. Maybe I need to wake up from a bad dream. But it’s just Mrs. Kirby, reminding me not to be late.
4
JESS
I feellike a wet paper bag. Soaked in my wedding gown, I race to the hotel across the street from the theater where we’d planned to spend the night before leaving tomorrow for our honeymoon.
Three-quarters of the way there, I have to stop because I get a cramp in my side.
The shred sessions Sorsha insisted I offer up to the skinks in homage so I fit into my dress—there was a lot of Bundt baking in the lead-up to the wedding day—did not prepare me for this kind of workout.
The relentless sobbing also causes me to suck wind. While at the cross signal, a garbage truck takes the turn a bit too fast and splashes the hem of my gown with filthy puddle water—I think there’s an empty food-to-go container and an ookey baby wipe floating in it.
Instead of going inside the swanky hotel, freshening up, and hiding under the bed like a normal person, I get behind the wheel of my Nissan that came off the factory floor the same year I was born.
Before I realize it, I’m on the freeway, heading northeast.
I thought today was the first day of the rest of my life.
Rexlan wasn’t late. He was eloping.
Sorsha’s final comment echoes in my ears.
You’ll pay for this.
I wasn’t using the Coogan family to strike it big.
When I was looking for a room to sublet in Los Angeles, Sorsha welcomed me. Sure, I thought it was odd that she only wore green and her entire house was outfitted in the same color with a reptile motif, but the rent was right and she offered me a job managing her website.
Considering I was an unemployed, aspiring actress, how could I say no?
Some people follow experts and others believe in the healing power of teas and tinctures. Sorsha purports that skinks are the solution to all of life’s ills and the Skink Society holds secrets to success, health, and wealth.
With her encouragement, and lizard love potions (which I merely pretended to consume) Rexlan and I clicked … maybe … when we were together ... under her watch.
Looking back, I should’ve seen the warning signs. When his “friend” from high school moved back to town, he was away a lot. Sorsha was not enthusiastic, but supposedly he was gaining traction and signing big deals for her to host conventions and give talks all over the world.
Turns out he was with Cassleigh.
I’m such a fool.
